I spent a good part of four hours calling doctors, waiting on hold, being transferred, and explaining myself today. The followup instructions on my discharge papers are very clear. Within 3 - 5 days, follow up with OPD Cardiology and the internist they assigned me because they didn't trust me to go out and find my own. Good call, that.
In these four hours I had the time to reflect on what happened on Monday, my interactions with more medical personnel than I'll ever remember, how I felt yesterday and today, and how my observations about the world had solidified. This solidity is very uncomfortable.
The sadness isn't new; this has been building for months, coming to a crescendo late last week.
I can't do anything about the rage in the world. There isn't any information I can convey, other than similar rage that can be heard. We are all naked emperors and pointing out the despair only makes it worse.
The hard truth is we are OK with the rapidly approaching half million dead mark, which will occur this month. We are OK with the number 26,472,800 (as of February 2). Someone pointed out a while back, way before we hit 16 million, that we were no longer able to comprehend numbers that size.
I don't even know what to do with that.
And we are OK with Marjorie Taylor Green. She is an exceptional representative for her constituents and she's crack for the rest of us. As long as we have Marjorie, we don't need to find new direction to vent the rage that seems to me far more violent than the mob that took the Capitol on January 6.
The self-righteousness isn't relevant anymore. Who we are, who we have become overrides everything else.
Pretty soon, as in yesterday, I need to call my property owner and ask for a temporary rent reduction. I understand that people do this all the time. It sure beats suddenly not being able to pay it. I don't really know how to do this; it's a thing so wrapped in despair that touching it ever so lightly burns. I tell myself I could easily do this for someone else, and this is the truth. I tell myself that no matter what underlying conversation I have about what I can and cannot have, it is not the truth.
I burst into tears today explaining to a woman why I had to see a particular doctor as soon as possible. As soon as possible can mean, two to three days and it can mean two to three months. She was in the portal, she could see what happened, and she wasn't fighting it in the least. I was.
I've been thinking about what happened to me on Monday. The first thing we all think, when it's not a heart attack is, it must be an anxiety attack. Nope. That came after and just made it worse.
I've been thinking about what could cause a thing like that to happen out of nowhere. As of today I can officially take shoveling snow off the list. All of the muscles that should have hurt, do not hurt, which means that while I may have been winded, I wasn't overexerting muscle mass and I surely was not overexerting my heart. The things that hurt are the muscles that contracted in my abdomen and chest. Those muscles hurt a lot. If I don't sit up straight, I get a nudge from my body, a wake up. I feel the echo of that constriction and I sit right up and take a full breath.
I've been thinking about what might cause a thing like that to happen and I wonder if it's possible to die of a broken heart and if so, is that what it feels like?
The Sound of Silence has been covered, and covered well by a number of people. It is a beautiful piece of music, our experience of the music driven by the tune. I heard David Draiman sing maybe two years ago. I didn't see the video until today.
Maybe it hurts to watch and listen to him because that's all I hear and see these days. It is beautiful, I'll tell you that.
And this one. It wasn't until the track hit 2:30 that I figured out how they'd manage to hold on to their core fan base. They did a good job. It hurts just as much as the other, but in a different way.