What the hell is a farc, and why the hell did it happen to ME?!?!?
“Infarction” doesn’t even seem like a real word, but in medical terms, I suppose it doesn’t sound like Latin, either, which is what I would have expected.
I’m really (and by really, I mean, “really, REALLY”) trying not to post about the sliding scale “okay-ness” of the severity scale of measuring heart attacks, but if I could, I’d assure people that mine was, in fact, “mild.” (I thought my asthma was just being a little fuckernackled)
*Unlike the physician, who’d indicated otherwise with that finger-waggle and eyebrow raise. Dude, *I* do the eyebrow raise. Well, me and Mr. Spock. Now I digress……
So, it would appear that the pericarditis (inflammation of the lining around the heart) coupled with a possible infection (story of my life) had a shindig with my extreme stress (calling 911 on my son, and now it’s two days before Christmas and I don’t even know where he is…) and got jiggy with it.
And by “it”, I mean, my heart muscle.
I also got a scolding for STILL not having gone and had my bloodwork done for my A1C number and glucose (because, frankly, I’m fucking bored shit-less having to do this all…of…the…time) because he’d wanted to know if my diabetes was also a contributing factor.
Fucking diabetes. Here I have the mother of all Lupus with organ involvement …but everyone focuses on the damn diabetes?!?!
Anyhoooooooooo…I get to spend the holiday season anticipating calls from nurses and doctors and heart-health teams, OH, MY!!
I am trying desperately to remain calm, to think logically (stoically, if you will). I even called the Crisis Hotline last week. Why? Because it was available to help me manage vicious emotions I dare not direct to anyone in particular.
I don’t want to do this any more. *shrug*
But I do, and I will…because:
1. There’s no one who will think hard enough to clip the children’s finger and toenails; and
2. I need to be on the other side of rock bottom for when my oldest gets it figured out and needs my guidance…and love.
To put it frankly, no one can manage this shit like I can.
Except…this is where I have to concede that…well…maybe I’m not managing it as hot-shit as I should.
I share this with you not for the “Holy shit!” factor. Not for the “Oh, honey….” factor. Most assuredly NOT for the “I’m so sorry….” factor.
Not only are the holidays hard enough…the pressures of “standards” and “expectations”…of holly and jolly… and of wanting to punch people in the junk…
have to choose to persevere for the sheer delight of my other four children. My second son arrives tomorrow! (Is it seriously Christmas Eve day …. tomorrow?!?!) There are stockings to hang and gifts to give and firelogs to light because I’m too lazy to put real wood in the damn fireplace. There is chocolate protein to eat and aspirin to take and I swear I’m slipping in a rum and eggnog in there somewhere for the sake of humanity…
Doctor, there’s a crack in my essence…please help.