Over the weekend,
Jordan and I came to the difficult decision to postpone our Great Lakes Cruise –
we were to depart Thursday. I simply didn’t feel well enough to enjoy a cruise—who
wants to go on a cruise when they can’t look at food? —and it seems more important
to find out the cause of my malaise, malingering, whatever it is. Accordingly,
I emailed my doctor and Jordan began cancellation plans.
My general
practitioner had said all along he wanted me to be seen by a gastroenterologist,
and first thing this morning he said he was working on that. Last week when I asked
about the cardiac medicine, he said I’d have to talk to my cardiologist. I left
calls for his nurse Thursday noon, Friday morning, and again this morning.
About two-thirty this afternoon, she called and in a chipper voice said to
discontinue the med in question and let them know if my heart rate goes over a
hundred. Simple as that.
There are a lot of
“what if?” questions embedded there. What if they had returned the call
Thursday? The trip would probably be still scheduled. What if the general
practitioner has called the cardiologist? He’d have surely gotten a more rapid
response. As it is, I can’t change mental gears fast enough, and, to me, it is
what it is and what it was meant to be. I will be grateful to feel better and
to know there is not some terrible underlying physical cause. I am grateful to
know it wasn’t “all in my head” (we discussed that) nor because I’m not an easy
traveler). One of my many faults is that I’m so willing to blame myself that I
sometimes mask real illness as a weakness, a “just not feeling right,” and to
determine, as I did in part this time that I just need to gut up and give
myself a lecture.
A little corner of
me is proud that I kept insisting my symptoms matched those for digoxin
toxicity. Twi in one week I was right—about the fungus on the lawn and about my
own body. It may go to my head!
Still not sure we’re
giving up on Labor Day weekend in Chicago for the four Alters and their mom.
Meantime, I have this lovely gap of time to fill—what really, do I want to do
with my career? How do I really feel about turning eighty? All psychological
hobbledygobble is off the table, and I have a novel to promote, a cookbook to
proof, a life to live.
And a wonderful trip
to anticipate for next spring.
Now may I please
get off the merry-go-round? If you have questions or comments, please direct
them to me, not Jordan. She has enough to deal with given her job and the start
of school. Thanks, friends, I feel the love.
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