My life is going down the toilet…

Sunday, June 18, 2017

I decided to take the week off after all that hard work last Sunday.  It was the most miles I’ve ever ridden and the second hottest ride I’ve ever encountered (see Purpose versus Suffering), so I wasn’t sure how my body would respond in the aftermath.

Not convinced quite yet, the kid and I went to the gym on Tuesday…where I thoroughly exhausted myself…again…Thankfully, I listened to the Little Voice this time and stayed home the rest of the week.

Today, having consumed way more calories than expended over the weekend, I headed to the gym with the kid once again. Feeling a little tired, I forced myself to push through the fatigue and kept insisting I could go further and push harder…until SVT told me it was time to stop (see Thank you Pearl and f**k you heart!). Climbing down from the ARC Trainer and finding a bench to sit on where I could bear down and gain some control, it didn’t resolve after a few minutes. I remembered reading an article about SVT that suggested plunging your face into ice water (and was actually confirmed by a cardiologist) would help and considered asking the employees…but how does one explain to an 18-year-old thumbhead what SVT is as you’re having an attack, let alone figure out where they can get ice…the water in the fountain isn’t even cold…

So I walked to my car and blasted the air conditioning while bearing down in an attempt to stop the frantic beating. At this point, my body was bouncing off the back of the seat – from experience, I knew my heart rate was well over 250bpms. I quickly texted the kid, who came to the car and asked me what to do. As luck would have it, there’s an urgent care next door to the gym (the same one I went to the week before the cancer ride).

Because Doherty’s don’t do sick, I insisted on driving to the end of the parking lot despite the kid’s argument that she should be the one driving (yes, I’m an idiot). I parked the car, walked across the back lawn with the kid in tow, entered the building, cut in front of several people straight to the reception desk, told the nurse I was having an SVT attack and demanded oxygen. I suddenly remembered the first time I had an attack that was this uncontrollable and caused me to go to the emergency room – I was seven months pregnant with the kid. At that time, the nurses thought I was having a panic attack and gave me oxygen, which immediately brought me out of the attack.

First came the medical assistant who took my vitals. Then came the nurse who suggested I bear down. Then came the doctor who told me he was calling 911 because my heart rate was so high he couldn’t, by law, treat me at their facility. I again insisted that oxygen would help, to which they surrendered. Within seconds my heart found its rhythm and within minutes the EMTs were in the room taking vitals and trying to convince me to go to the local emergency room. Of course, all I wanted to do was get in the car and drive myself home (right…because Doherty’s don’t do sick), so I tried to convince them that the kid could just drive me home, to which they conceived of any and every medical crisis that could occur in the car on the way home. Although not feeling the love at the time, thankfully my daughter bought each and every scenario, hook, line and sinker and refused to take me in the car. So I got to experience my very first ambulance ride…and I wept over my “weakness.”

As all this is happening, I kept telling the kid, “Don’t call daddy!” It was Father’s Day. All the hubby wanted was a peaceful day (i.e. no arguments), a nap and some barbecued burgers. As I was being admitted to the ER, I finally called him. I was crushed that the father of our daughter would be spending his day at the hospital – a place we’ve both grown to loathe. Without hesitation, the hubby was by my side, relieving the kid of her duties.

I hated being there. For me, hospital is where you go to die…slowly…surrounded by people who don’t love you or who seem to care about the end result. I know many doctors and nurses, so I know that’s not reality, but that’s how it feels when you’re there. I just wanted to leave before the toe tags were handed out…

The hubby didn’t get that nap, but at least there were no arguments and he ultimately got his burgers.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Fighting back the Little Voice, I reluctantly got back in the saddle, but not without reminding myself to move slow and steady, drink LOTS of water and stop when any signs of SVT suddenly appeared. Heading to my go-to place, I was comfortable with its familiarity and knew there would be a number of people who could help if something went wrong. Not in training and having nowhere else to be, I stopped whenever I saw something interesting, compelling myself to just enjoy the moment – what a relief.

And nothing happened…

Wrapping up crew season…

Forgotten stairs…

IMG_20170620_100218201

Ghostly visitors…

Part of the path that wasn’t muddy…

Passing this sign hundreds of times, I wondered who in the world was Maria Barnaby Greenwald and why did she have a park named after her. With a little research, I come to find that Mrs. Greenwald was the first woman Surrogate in Camden County and a former mayor of Cherry Hill who died in a car accident 22 years ago. She was only 54-years-old.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Feeling terrible about Father’s Day, I spent the week plotting a “Father’s Day Do-Over.” With the plan to buy a card on the way home from the gym last week (which obviously didn’t happen), I bought the hubby a card. Considering all the Father’s Day cards were already on the trash pile, I bought a blank one so that I could say whatever I wanted. One of my husband’s favorite sayings (of Polish origin) is “not my circus, not my monkeys” – basically, it’s not my problem. Over the past couple of years, this saying has been heard frequently in our house. And then I discovered there was a circus coming to town!

The plan was to make shakshuka while the hubby went to synagogue so that he had breakfast waiting upon his return. Then I would give him the card and tell him to hurry up and eat in order to make the 1:00pm show. Afterwards, we’d have whatever dinner he desired.

Mann Tracht, Un Gott Lacht  – Man Plans and God Laughs…

There is a toilet poltergeist that has attached itself to me and my husband since day one. We’ve had issues with clogged and overflowing toilets for over 25 years. I think it’s time to call in the exorcist…

Before leaving for synagogue, the hubby decided to wash a load of clothing, as I performed my morning rituals, which included cleaning the litter box in the room next to the laundry room. And then I heard the water – splashing loudly…gushing…the toilet had backed up AGAIN and was overflowing everywhere. In usual fashion, I freaked out and demanded every towel we owned to stopped the flow of water. As I cleaned up the raw sewage, the hubby called the water company…twice…and then we waited for the plumber…for three hours…and then I cried…several times. I think the hubby thought I was losing my mind – until I gave him the card and told him about my plans for the day.

Needless to say, the hubby didn’t get his shakshuka and we didn’t get to the circus, only to learn there were roots growing into our sewer pipes and would continue to clog the line until the day it doesn’t unclog, at which time we rip up the sidewalk, the yard and possibly the front porch and/or the entire downstairs looking for the location of said roots…In the end, we had fend-for-yourself dinner.

I’m not giving up…we will have a Sunday fun day…some day…

“I’ve been washed down the sink of your conscience
In the theater of your love I lost my part
And now you say you’ve got me out of your conscience
I’ve been flushed from the bathroom of your heart”

Flushed From the Bathroom of Your Heart – Johnny Cash

“I had run for 3 years, 2 months, 14 days, and 16 hours.” – Forrest Gump

 

 

 

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