I read her the symptoms as if I was in a poetry slam.
None of those sound to good, she says.
My research suggests that there is a period of adjustment where the heart adjusts and adapts to its new self, I reply, trying to keep her from saying what she is about to say.
Maybe you should come in and let us take a look.
The phone goes dead.
I have notoriously bad service here.
I get up, walk downstairs and go sit in the sun waiting for her to recall in an area of better coverage.
I think about what I will say. Something like; I can deal with this, if I can only find a way to sleep, it will be OK tomorrow. Lies like that.
I am starting to feel better as the phone rings.
It is Dad asking how I feel.
We laugh through a short conversation, sharing stories, as he had the same procedure a couple of years ago. Said it kicked his ass too.
I remember a picture he gave me yesterday as I hung some bookshelves for him. It was me in transition of the Pacific Crest Triathlon about to start the run. I looked at it for several seconds. Muscle tone, power, strength, speed. Youth. It was only five years ago.
Might as well of been in the days of black, white & sepia.
Enjoy every ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment