That Which Just Doesn't Feel Right

I ought to be napping, I do every afternoon for a few hours around this time. Instead I'm keenly aware of my racing heart and how it's keeping me awake. My strategy is keep busy until I'm just tired enough to ignore the odd feeling in my chest. Let's hope that the length of this post correlates with how soon I feel that I can get some rest. For your sake and mine!

Today was pacemaker clinic day, an appointment in which the technician downloads the data, tests my device and then my electrophysiologist reviews the results with me. I'll admit to being nervous today, my last download in April shook me up and set off a chain of numerous diagnostic tests to see what had brought about the unsettling recorded cardiac events.

When I visit my numerous doctors, I usually start off with an answer to the question of "how have you been feeling Sandy?" with "not too bad" "hanging in there" or some variation thereof. Today, blunt honesty. "Awful".

It was decided to adjust the settings on my pacemaker to a higher rate per minute to try to give me some relief. I was warned that this would mean that I might feel uncomfortable for awhile; if it was too much for me to handle I could easily come back anytime to have it readjusted. It also means that I'll use up the remaining battery on my device that much more quickly as it'll likely be running almost non-stop. As much as I don't want to go through the surgery sooner than I had mentally prepared myself for, I need to feel better and pray that this adjustment helps a small bit.

Yes, it's uncomfortable right now. Not nearly enough to plead for someone to drive me into Toronto first thing in the morning, but enough that my body feels like it doesn't belong to me. That it's going to take some getting used to.

It's a feeling that overwhelms me lately, the feeling of not belonging. Anywhere really, but especially in my apartment. My daughter and I spent over three months without a home, and now I find myself alone (she's back at school) in a place that couldn't feel less like a home to me. Although I've spent almost every hour of the last month in my apartment, it doesn't yet come close to feeling like a place I want to be.

I find myself apologizing to visitors. Please overlook the ratty carpet, don't mind the entrance foyer and the halls. Excuse the boxes, there's just not enough storage room for what we would like to have kept but obviously can't. Nothing really matches, it's an accumulation of a small amount of furniture that was spread throughout a much larger house. So please don't assume this is my sense of taste if you'd not seen my last home.

My friends know of the numerous challenges that this building keeps throwing at me. I've realized that not only do I dislike being here - I'm coming to hate being trapped between these walls. For the friends and social services workers who help me escape once or twice a week, forgive the over the top enthusiasm in giving me a break from being here.

It's especially hard knowing that I came from a house and home I loved, one that I was proud of. Where I'd felt loved for many years surrounded by my family, and enjoyed being until the life I knew came crashing down around me. With lots of lovely neighbours (as for my new building, on the rare occasion I see a fellow tenant when I get the mail - would it kill them to reply nicely when I say good morning with a smile on my face?)

This all sounds to me like a recipe for becoming an old cat lady. We'll have to see how the old part works out...and of course the cat.

Nope, still not sleepy. Just tired of thinking about more things I need to get used to.