As careful as I wanna be

I am often accused of not being careful. I have good reasons, though, for being risky.

I do not turn off my chair when putting on my coat all the time because I don't like waiting for my chair to power back up. Same thing at my desk. Nine times out of 10 I am fine, and I'll take those odds.

I think to be disabled in the world of "accessible" apartments that are up steps, doors that aren't automatic, bathroom lights that inexplicable go out and similar things mandates risk. Unless you never get out of bed.

Of course, even at my most death-defying, I come nowhere near the young man in a video I saw recently. It was on Facebook and I can't embed it. But this guy is clinging a steep, long set of metal stairs in a manual chair. We holds on with one hand a rocks his chair up a step, then switches hands and does it again. If he lost his grip, he'd die.

Most of my issues would just break  bone or require stitches.

Me, too, Bruce; me, too

In introducing The River at concert in 1985, Bruce Springsteen told a story about how he and  some other guys got the order to take a physical for the draft. He said, "We were all so scared."

I have been thinking about that story a lot recently, not because I face a draft physical, just because I too also scared.

My heart started beating uncontrollably again Wednesday night. My sister came and sat with me as I took another pill. It worked, and the doctors don't seem at all worried about these incidents. It is common until the medicine builds up enough, they say.

Their nonchalance helps, but this is my heart, my body that is again failing.

I will survive??

I haven't posted in a while because, you see, I was afraid. I was petrified. Still am, intact. And unlike Gloria Gaynor, I am not at all sure I will survive.

I went to the ER last Friday because my heart was beating rapidly and would not slow down. It didn't slow at the ER really either. It did when they gave me medication but as soon as they stopped, it went right back into A-fib.

So, for the first time since I was born, I was admitted to the hospital. Come to think of it, babies probably aren't admitted because technically the mother is admitted and the baby is in the mom .

Anyway, on Saturday they gave me a drug that has pages of side effects. The doctors hastened to assure us (me, Mom and my sister) that the drug is safe short term and is about the only option for those of us with low blood pressure.

They were going to release me Saturday, but my heart kept fluttering, threatening to go back into A-fib, so they kept me overnight.

I came home Sunday and was OK, but my heart messed up again Monday. We controlled that with an extra does of the medicine.  My primary care doc thought everything was OK on Tuesday, but the dumb snow today wiped out my cardio appointment.

The plan is to do something called an ablation, which starts in a very uncomfortable way and sounds like heart surgery.

And my will isn't done. If I die before leaving my niece all my comics, I will be pissed.

Surviving a temple blow

When I was younger, I thought a blow to the temple would kill you.

Today, I learned this was not true.

Sadly, I lessened this first-hand.

I was sitting on the toilet, and my arm was on the grab-bar for stability. The lights stayed on, but my arm didn't. It fell off the bar, and my head -- temple first -- flew into the metal box that holds toilet paper. Fortunately, the corners are rounded.

I checked for blood -- none -- picked up my hearing aid and went about my business.

But this wasn't even the worst injury of the day.

I rammed my left leg into my desk. I debated barfing -- it hurt so bad --but decided to just go about my day.

I survived, although when I got home and changed pants, there was blood and a swollen patella.

A bad day.

Good uncle. Brother? Eh.

The lawyer at the estate planning meeting yesterday informed me that the point of it was to make life easier for my people after I kick it.

This explanation came in response to my comment that my sister, my sole beneficiary, would probably share my estate, but honestly I didn't care because I'd be dead.

He actually made me think about what I wanted.

I decided to divide it all between my nieces and nephews. That sort of screws over the one brother with no kids, I realize.

Mom and I were having a bit of an argument about the cost. It was more than I anticipated. I said I better die quickly so this pays off. She said the opposite: I need to live a long time to pay it off.

I guess whenever I die will work then. As long as it's not before I sign everything.