It’s rainy and cool; the world looks green and slick from my back porch. It smells like autumn and mildew out here.
Tuesday I went to the cardiologist – finally. I was so worn out that I was scared to do the stress test, but it turned out I didn’t even get that far. The first nurse took my blood pressure: 190/140. Then another nurse: 180/150. Then another: 214/160. So at least part of that was the anxiety of having new people come in to take my pressure. It happens all the time, but it still makes me feel like a freak. You know, people react like, “Oh my God! I mean, oh, no big deal. Let me just run out the door and find somebody to witness this…Um, you’re not going to die before I get back, are you?”
Quickly, the doctor came in and must have gotten a similar reading. She immediately put me in the critical care unit and on IV medicine. I couldn’t tell you what all they tried on me.
She and a kidney doctor were working to regulate my pressure over four days, and now I have to take 12 pills. That’s better than having a stroke, but God, this medicine makes me so slow and tired, and I get awful headaches as my blood pressure rollercoasters. I sleep too much. The Lovaca makes me throw up. It’s fish oil. I have to be really careful about taking it and haven’t been able to take it all every day.
The plan was to have the cardiologist find out why the medicine isn’t working anymore, fix it and have a baby. The doctors learned that and both were against pregnancy but willing to work with us. There’s a one in three chance what happened with Casey will happen again. Not the greatest of odds, and I’m not even sure it’s fair to try with odds like that. Not fair to the baby, Robert or me.
The good news is I don’t have the suspected adrenal gland cancer or any serious blockages in my kidneys, which left the doctors stumped. Hearing my family history and observing me, they concluded it’s genetic. I keep thinking how my grandma had crazy numbers during her 20s-70s and lived to be 94. Maybe it’s just the way I’m made. Bryan, too, has numbers around 160/115.
Oh, and I’m prediabetic.
So I didn’t smoke for five days, two yesterday, one today. Being sick to my stomach helps me not smoke, for sure. I need to lose weight too: 15-20 pounds, the doctor said. But she’s being kind. I know I should lose more than that. The problem is I’m so worn out or lazy or something. I drag myself around all day and can’t stand for very long.
We’ve been eating much better, fruits and veggies, plain popcorn.
Robert’s been really good about everything, but I know he resents doing all the housework. I just can’t give a shit about housework right now. It’s not fair to him, I know, but I have so little energy. I have to do more to get more energy.
