I was trying to write a post last night well into midnight. I had two different posts which just disappeared. My attitude about such occurrences is that perhaps what I was writing about was not meant to be published online. Perhaps. So be it.
I used to knock myself out fretting about long e-mails that the net would eat up. Even hitting the back button did not resurrect the lost post. It was, literally, lost in space.
So I am hoping my wireless connection will cooperate this time around. It looks like it will not fail me tonight. (Keeping my fingers crossed..) I have a dozen topics I have been meaning to write about. Half of them have been lost in my train of thought. I know they will return in time. I will write about them eventually.
I visited my cardiologist yesterday and my ECG and ultrasound turned out okay. He sent me home with a halter monitor, though, so I slept with electrodes attached to me and a walkman-type contraption slung around my shoulder just so I don’t tug at the cords connecting them to me. We returned the monitor this morning and unless I hear from my cardiologist in the coming days, I’m not seeing him until Nov. 1 when I’m supposed to torture myself through a stress test.
My mom has had a halter monitor attached to her for one of her maladies, so I thought I’d pull a fast one and tell her the cardiologist I have is just extra cautious. So I sort of told her a white lie and I said it was just a routine monitoring of my heart. She doesn’t have to know about the episodes I’ve been suffering. I didn’t have any major incident while the monitor was attached to me, but I did feel some quirky sensations where it mattered and I’m hoping the monitor caught it.
I’m supposed to go back to drinking baby aspirins and I will probably have to start drinking some wine again. (He had prescribed a glass a day which I didn’t really mind, but I’m a Diet coke girl at heart.) While I can drink merlot without any problem, my preferences when it comes to wines are the sweeter and fruity varieties such as rieslings and when there is nothing better, white zinfandel. Anything to help stave off a health crisis. And I guess it includes getting some exercise. (Yeah.. yeah..)
My bestfriend Fe and I used to say you have to pay us to torture ourselves like that, but I can’t afford to be complacent anymore. At 40, I have to start thinking about my health not just for my personal welfare, but more importantly for the two-year-old tyke whose kids I hope to help take care of and dote on one day. (He better not wait to marry until he’s 30!) And as if on cue, the radiology center where I had my mammogram before I got pregnant just sent me a reminder postcard that I must schedule my next visit and test for November of this year. (Yes, I will call tomorrow…)
I have no illusions about my mortality. I know that good health is something we must nurture. It just doens’t happen and it doesn’t stay in a positive state unless we work at it. And I intend to stick around quite a while — I made a promise to the guy sleeping next to my son, and my son, I know, expects me to live forever and a day.