And as usual, I am immobilized parts of each day after taking Clonodine for high blood pressure. Always feel like I'd taken a double shot of Benedryl. Then after a few hours, I am feel like myself again, just in time for another Clonodine and the cycle repeats.
And what a day this Monday has been and it's only 2:55 p.m. This morning after breakfast, my heart began to feel odd, as if it was trying to steady itself or was failing to steady itself. Sadness permeated all of me. Then it began. Full atrial fib for almost two hours. I lay in bed, taking my pulse, feeling the every-so-often slight irregularity. Placed a call to my cardiologist, spoke with her nurse who said she had clinic today and so would be in touch with me.
At last, near noon, that bit of pressure in my chest and the ache in my left arm retreated. My heart was beating normally. I felt light again, OK.
The phone just rang and it was Anne Doughterty, asking me questions, opting for a different high blood pressure medicine, inquiring about my sleep, telling me that interrupted sleep is not helping, but best of all, she said that having atrial fib a few times after an ablation is a hiccup. I can live with that.
I feel relief, sorrow, melancholy? I am so happy that she called, instead of her nurse. Sure allayed my fears. I so want to be in the 85% for whom the procedure is successful.
Time in the studio has been easier than that task of giving order to all I've written in the last 12 months. A week ago, I began to cut and paste a few pages together and realized I must give a lot more thought to what I am trying to say. Right now, all those pages are like a broken string of beads. Impossible or very hard to find the pattern, the order. Need that sudden shot of inspiration that comes out of nowhere so I can create a 'whole.'
It's raining now. Great for the gardens. That discomfiting bout of atrial fib is over and I know I can live with a few hiccups on the way to joining that 85%.