Today.

Whaaaaa! Whaaaaaaa to post?

Networking and internet are back! The guy did come back - they've been picking up big jobs lately - I suspect that their days of doing little house calls are coming to an end. Anyway, it appears to have been the router - it just died. Luckily we had another buried on the kitchen table and it is now hooked up and doing well. Yahoo.

Went to blood doc today who has also treated me throughout this mishap - I had to fight to get in - they wanted me to go to the primary doctor.

"NO thanks, the primary had a bit of a mixup with my readings for the last two weeks."

"Well, the doctor will not write a prescription for you because your primary has written one."

"I did not say I wanted a prescription, I just want the thickness of my blood tested because something is not right, I feel it." "My ankles and wrists look like 'the blob' and I have gained 8 pounds in 4 days." (I think Warfarin is made of a type of sodium.)

"No, I'm not premenstrual (you fool), I am 62 years old."

"I told you the doctor will not write a prescription for you because your Primary.......should be getting the tests and reading them for you."

"Ideally, yes, but Primary said NOT to get tested for a month, but something isn't right."

Now I'm hearing a huge irritated sigh.

"Sorry I bothered you, please send me to the appointment desk."

The appointment lady comes on and makes me an appointment. I hang up, again feeling like a very high on the scale "hypochondriac."

Within ten minutes the hematology nurse calls me and tells me to come in and get a finger pricked for the blood test and she found out I had a doc's appointment as well. ?????? Oooops, was that a crime?

I arrive at the appointed time, they prick my finger and tell me 3.9 - well, that is the consistency of potato soup when I am supposed to be running the consistency of, say, a beer. (Comparison purposes only).

Then she says, "Oh, you have a doctor's appointment." "I did not know."

I say nothing and dutifully trudge behind her into the doc's office.

He is very cordial. He tells me to forget meds for two nights, then resume. I ask him when I can get off of them.

"Maybe six weeks," he said. Maybe.

"So what are my chances of this (pulmonary embolism) happening again?"

"Twenty Percent."

He goes on to explain that if I have symptoms should "it" happen again, they will put me back on the medicine from hell forever or until I kick the bucket. Not medicating is risky, medicating is risky. On thinners, I had just better not get a bump on the head or my brain could bleed to death, which I wonder if it already has. He goes on and says if I have no symptoms with another event, I could die.

I burst into tears.

"Why are you crying?"

Is that a man statement or what? Yah, Yah, I'm supposed to reply, "I don't know."

"Well, I am kinda disappointed, I was hoping to live for a while longer - uh, a big long while longer."

He looks at me.

"Look at it this way," he says, "You have 80% chance of living."

He really was sweet with his big brown eyes gazing at me through his glasses. Here is a doctor who is not burnt out yet. I feel grateful.

As I leave his office, I see about 12 patients in recliners receiving their chemo treatments.

I've been crying all afternoon. I will come through this. I'm scared. I'm also appreciating each minute, each second.

Guess I've understood this thing was bad, but in a way been in a denial. What else could it have been when I got up out of a hospital bed and started a new job the next day? Duh, big denial.

On the way home I prayed and told God the earth was too pretty to leave without a lot more sightseeing of it. And I was reminded that heaven is even more beautiful. (And I'm convinced that heaven has the best Indian food feasts that never put weight on a person - don't ask where I got that in my head.) And I argue as I drive down the road, "My grandson needs me!" Then I realized that I was trying to be in control again as usual......perhaps it is my job to enjoy each day, each moment, and if I really truly believe what I preach....then God will only bring me "home" when everything is perfect for that to happen.

Ha, ha, "L," you thought you were going first, didn't you? What happened to our genes? Most of our ancestors made it at least to their mid nineties! Do you think, despite the dire pronouncements, we shall bamboozle them once again and live until we are 92? I can see myself doing a nude (wearing nothing but a hat and a rhinestone necklace and earrings)self-portrait at age 92. Yah!