So the immediate serious problems with health issues seem to be minor or fixable, though stress has evidently taken a toll. I hopped up on a treadmill–the cardiologist had to show me how to walk on it–but not before I’ve been swabbed and sandpapered and stuck with ten contact squares to be hooked up to a machine while I’m on it. Then I walk at a quick pace for six minutes or so while the doc plays with buttons and slows me up or down according to whim. Well, I’m not used to walking or exercise of that sort. Hard labor occasionally to the point of physical exertion, but not walking. They told me to wear comfortable walking shoes and wouldn’t let me wear my clogs which to me, are the most comfortable–and familiar–shoes of any type for me. So I’m clunking along in Plan B sensible shoes and figured my feet would give out before my heart did.
End result is that it’s not what I feared, but I’m on three meds that I really don’t want and they wouldn’t give me the happy drugs I really wanted. And, I’ve got to give up sm..ing, wean off caffeine, and exercise more, and of course, can’t crunch on the crispy chicken wings or skin anymore. Gotta get rid of ten pounds I picked up somewhere–according to their scales–that brought me up mysteriously to 110.
Tough getting old. Mainly because I don’t like following rules.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology