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Still recovering or holding steady

Went to the ER again, this time in Kalamazoo. CT shows that both pulmonary embolisms have not grown, though they’ve not shrunk yet. I am having tachycardia (high heart rate), even if I walk across the room- so I am bedridden a lot, which is not cool.

I used to have to run or workout hard to get to 140 beats per minute- now I can do that walking down two flights of stairs to my kitchen. My resting heart rate is around 81 right now, which is INSANE for me.

I was pretty fit right up til 20 min before my clots (for someone with my genetic and age related crap). I ran, I walked, I was a fitbit freak. I don’t do drugs, I don’t smoke, I rarely drink- but when I do, it is with friends and family- I stopped eating carbs until my surgery. I felt amazing til the hysterectomy… ok, well, I AM a little reclusive by nature. I like just being with my kid and doing stuff quietly. I can’t even do that now.

I was right about the robot trepidation, I guess. They suspect that surgery caused this shite.

I am getting referred to a cardiologist to be put on a Holter monitor- and see a blood specialist about my genetic clotting disorder this week.

I am too stubborn to die. I refuse to leave my little girl. I’ve advocated for patients in the past- it is more difficult to advocate for yourself when you are infirm.

This morning I dreamed of my childhood bestie, Roger. He died about 6 yrs ago, suddenly. Had the same thing the actor John Ritter died from, just fell down and died at not even 40. He’d broken up with his boyfriend some time earlier, but had his room mate living with him at the time, who called the paramedics when he heard it happening.

I dreamed I was in Roger’s old bedroom from when we were teens on Red Arrow Highway in Watervliet. It was empty except for a waterbed and a little dog was hiding under the covers, and I pet it- it was a white small dog, not like the ones he owned that I remember. I had to go in his old closet to get a checkbook and get some of his bills paid- and his old closet was far deeper and larger than it had been. He was nowhere to be found, but I talked to the air and told him his bills were paid, then I saw another old friend (not Rog- and I presume still alive) whom I haven’t seen in over 2 decades- but none of my friends in the house could see him and asked me who the hell I was talking to…

The most comforting thing was seeing my other friend, who I believe is still alive, but lives abroad. It was so real. I put on a brave face to most people and really don’t get into the emotional aspects or fears associated with this crap, but it does scare the shit out of me.

People EXPECT me to be the tough bird, the crutch for them… except for this blog or my other writing outlets, I tend to not let people in. I suspect a lot of folks are like me, IDK.

Life, for me, is stop whining and get the fuck on with it, usually.

I almost died this month, suddenly, from bilateral pulmonary embolisms. I don’t want to die. I REFUSE.

Rog, I love you, but I don’t want to see you anytime soon. Maybe in 40 yrs. XO

My other friend/s. I love you all, too- even the ones I haven’t seen or neglected to reach out to for a million years. Thank you for reading this and I am sorry I have not been updating very often.