Decaf

I've been home from the hospital for about a week, eight days to be truthful. Over the last couple of weeks I have been poked, prodded, subjected to vampires in the guise of nurses. I've been weighed, examined and been the recipient of various indignities that would scare the fainthearted from ever entering a doctor's office.

I am relatively independent, but I can't work or drive until the surgeon says it is OK. I spent a half hour on the phone this a.m. with a wrong number--true story.  She gave her dog to a nice couple and then found out they lied and the property owner's name is the same as my husband so she called here for more info because she wants her dog back and oh, it's a long story. I am bored.

Worst of all, I am allowed to do laundry as long as I don't carry the basket. Wait. Back up. That's not the worst.

I am decaffeinated. 

The hub of my existence, my wake-up call, is now decaf. The Monsters and Dews  that kept me going are now 7-Up and Hawaiian Punch. Caffeine, that drug of the gods that felt like Jack Daniels being thrust into my veins....gone, at least for now.

I am truly sober. The rush isn't there. The hyperactivity has surrendered to milquetoast. Where have I gone? I've gone to low fat, low sugar, low sodium, non-alcoholic and caffeine free. No fun. Not forever, but for right now.

I hear your laughter, my friend.

I'm wondering if my creativity will come back without the Folger's. Will I be able to be civil in the morning without the Coffee Mate? Will my love of music and dance and other...things...wane because I'm decaffeinated? Ah, it is too soon to tell.

It might be a good thing.. I'm getting a mini stay-cation. I'm not allowed to do much, but I am getting a chance to go through old papers, my jewelry and wardrobe and weed it out. The car needs cleaned out as do the cupboards. It might be God's way of helping me to clean up my act.

My energy is pretty good, seeing as I am only ten days from major surgery. I'm losing weight, my incision is healing nicely. Life is good. I shouldn't gripe about the diet, or the lack of caffeine, but I will anyway.

***HEART ATTACK***

Hindsight is 20/20, so they say.  Looking back today, I see what should have been the obvious signs of something significant.  I chose to ignore them. I am only sixty-one, not old by today's standards. I am a woman. We have no insurance. Excuses.

Is this the beginning of the end of my life? Or just a beginning? Those feelings of wanting to cram as much living as possible into my days, the feeling of foreboding that I wrote about previously....those are not lost on me now.

On Friday I tried to walk the track at the Y and visit with friends there. I was tired, so I went home. Later we went to visit friends, had some wine, played Wii games.  I usually beg to stay longer, but this Friday I was just so tired. I blamed it on the virus I had a few weeks before.

On Saturday, my chest felt as though a large, hot hand was splayed on it. I had my nails done (an aside here...the nurse took almost a half hour to remove my polish. Excellent manicure, Sue!). I was too tired to shop. I thought I had pneumonia. I took a nap like I had been doing most days.

On Sunday I went to church, rubbing my still-sore chest. Friends and Pastor told me to go to the doctor, but I had been called in to work for a colleague. I worked a shift, only four hours, came home and fell asleep. I attributed the pain in my right jaw to a bad tooth. The pain in my left arm was because I "slept wrong".

On Monday we needed dog food. I got in the car, drove to the bay and sat, too tired to think about the store. I went home, changed into my black uniform, put on a pretty necklace (I'll be looking for bigger ones now to hide the scar.) and went to work. Came home, fell asleep.

On Tuesday Hubby was frantically telling me that either I go to the hospital NOW or he will drag me. Clutching my chest (the pain had returned, though not as much), we headed for St. Vincent Medical Center.

Hubby left me at the door, turning to get the parking valet's attention. I went to the triage window....I think I'm having a heart attack, I told the nurse. By the end of my sentence, I was admitted.

The blood enzymes showed that they were elevated. A catheterization was scheduled for the next day. I sent Hubby to make necessary calls. It took no time for sons and dear friend to be at my side.

During the night I woke in pain. I called the nurse. Seconds later I had another EKG and another heart "event".

On Wednesday, I was the first in for the catheterization. It didn't go well. They left the catheter, with balloon, in place. No stent. Too much damage, they said. "Open heart surgery tomorrow" was all I heard.

Family and friends posted on Facebook. Hundreds of people put me on prayer chains. I was scared. Too fast, too fast.

Then came blessed sleep.

I believe that God can heal instantly. I also believe that God gives gifts of healing. I prayed for God to move the hands of the surgical team.

Then a remarkable thing happened. A calm like I have never known came over me. I was awake when they came for me. I knew when they lifted me. I saw the lights of the hallway, the cold stainless of the operating room. Then ...nothing.

I did not awake in great pain, save my back, which is chronic. I did not feel the breathing tubes come out. I knew my husband, my sons, my friend.  I AM ALIVE!!

In the space of five days, I had had three heart events, a catheterization and a quadruple bypass. It could happen to you.

I AM ALIVE!! Thank you, God, I am alive!

I am home now. The doctors and nurses say I'm doing well. The physical therapist and occupational therapist were here once and see no need to come back. I am recuperating in the top ten per cent, I am told.

The incision, about seventeen centimeters, is ugly but healing. The leg from which the vein was harvested is tender but healing. I tire easily, but I am stronger every hour. My husband, my sons and their families, my friends and my church have held me up when I could have fallen. God has chosen for me to live. I have chosen to make Him proud of me.

There are no guarantees of how many years I have left, but do any of us know?

I have chosen to live as full a life as I can. I will have as many new experiences as I can handle. I will make a friend of everyone I touch (even the nurse who woke me at three a.m. the second day after surgery to weigh me, although that might take some doing). I will change your life by telling you what signs to look for.

So is it the beginning of the end of my life? Or a new beginning? Of all the changes that I've made, this is the biggest. I can no longer look at my life as starting over when Mom died. Now it is starting again because I LIVE.

Praise God....I LIVE.

Song of Samsung

I lost my cell phone for almost a WHOLE day. I had to leave home without it. I felt naked, crushed.  How can I live without you, oh Samsung?

See, here's what happened. I came home from paycheck chasing and figured that my whitish dog and my black uniform were not a good match. It's hard to change modes right away, you know. As I dressed for  the evening with friends I was chatting with Hubby, preparing to order pizza take-along and debating on a shirt to wear.

I remember taking my phone out of the work pants pocket....and that's the last I remember seeing it. I have occasionally tucked it in with the girls and forgotten it was there till it went off. (Hubby, with one raised brow said, "your shirt is ringing." Not exactly those words, but you get my drift.)

I posted my trauma on Facebook. Well-meaning friends tried to call it (ringer was off). Some were sure it was in the car (I changed in the bedroom) and I even got a private message that suggested that I was losing "it", not the phone.

Have no fear...Samsung is back in my pocket.

I had torn apart the bed,  wastebasket, pile of clothes, you name it, even the stove and refrigerator (someday I will tell you the tale of the wallet when I get nuts enough). I knew it was there somewhere, and to everyone who said it would be in the last place I looked...well, of course it would! Why would I look any further?

Rather irritated I pulled out my work clothes--black pants, black polo, black trouser socks, black shoes...and there, in the toe of my wingtip I saw it--a faint blue stripe.Oh, Samsung! You've come home!

Are you OK? I queried. The phone log showed seven calls from those trying to locate the poor dear, and one I really have to return. Ah, my pet, you've been so busy without me.

It's in my pocket again, never to be mislaid again. To think it was actually suggested that I might have to get another phone! When I do, my little friend, you can be assured that your essence will come with me (via SIM card).

The little LG isn't a smart phone, it's designed for techno-dummies like me.  No offense meant, Sammy. I just never wanted a phone smarter than I am.

Clothing Madness

I found a bag of clothes in the dungeon I call my basement. They were marked "spring clothes" and had been packed away (OK, lost) for some years (probably a decade).

Horrors.

I actually wore these? and liked them? What was I thinking.

Yes, I have had cyclical bouts of mild depression. I've had issues, which I freely admit, with my body and lack of style. But this batch of ...rags does not belong in any one's closet. 

I tried some on, trying to justify why I had chosen them in the first place. Some sturdy white underclothes hit the trash first, then the summer pj's in putrid shades of yellow and yellowed.

I tried on a summer dress that felt like it was made out of used tissue, a polyester pant suit and three pairs of elastic-banded slacks. The collar on one blouse was as wide as a linebacker's shoulders and had a lace trim. Ugh. And they were all too big. I weighed less in some of those years.

I examined each piece before I put it back in the storage place--a Hefty bag. I shuddered to think how I must have appeared to my co-workers, my employees, my friends and, most of all, my husband and sons. My hair, longish, often in a bun or loose ponytail. Sparse make-up. Little jewelry. What was I thinking? I wasn't.

A few years ago it hit me. Even though Hubby told me different (I assumed he was being polite), I knew I was plain. Chubby. Totally unsexy. Miserable with myself and powerless to change (or worse, days when I thought I looked OK).

Today I invest in satin and lace, jewelry that mandates attention, enough make-up to camouflage the flaws. My jeans mostly fit (I didn't have any then), my heels are higher (and comfortable) and I've learned to laugh more. Still chubby, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore. What I have done is changed not just the outer me (Lord knows I needed that), but also the inner me.

I have adult friends who still suffer from shyness or mousiness. Come out. Dance, even if you are alone in your cellar. Sing, even if cats growl at the sound of your song. Ladies, put on a little lace every day. Smile more. Flirt a little (yes, you do know how). 

Most important of all, take an inventory of yourself, Are you what you want to be? Have you done what you wanted to do? Have you any joy in your life, even little things?

Every day I am evolving. I am not who I was. I'm learning to like me. As I write this, I realize that the problem wasn't just clothes madness. That could be remedied. the problem was me.

I'm working on it.

Counting Down

I applied for social security today. It only took a few minutes online to make one of the most serious decisions of my life.  When it was done, I heaved a big sigh, and waited until Hubby left for work to cry. I feel old today.

I also feel a sense of freedom. I can afford (beginning in August, anyhow) to work one job, no matter what it pays, whatever I choose to do. I don't any longer have to put up with politics or crap in the workplace. I can quit.

Working one regular-houred part-time job gives me time to go to the Y as a patron and have fun like it used to be. Hubby and I can make plans to go out on Friday or Saturday or Sunday afternoon, without having to wait until my schedule works out. I can make those regular forays to the library, or spend a summer evening watching a sunset or going out with friends and daughters-in-law (sons, too!).  I can find time to read again if the eyes allow.

I made a list of all I want to do, and a schedule for when and how--a schedule that is made to be broken! I haven't been to visit my former clients for awhile. I can go back to Saturdays, getting my nails done at a leisurely pace instead of being rushed. Aaahhhhh.

Will my newest in a getting-longer line of new jobs work out? Perhaps. I am no longer afraid if it doesn't. I am no longer stuck, no longer bound to that which I don't want to do.

After a sufficient amount of Lambrusco and chocolate, a sob session and yet another viewing of "The Notebook", I feel better. I am only a day older than I was yesterday.

I made the right choice.