Symphony of symptoms

Today my body recognizes its age. Course the 'roids and antibiotics do their part to remind me of every ache. The stomach chimes in now. Welcome to the choir. I hope you are not the mezzo-soprano.

Doc decided I needed more chemical help. He gave me samples of the abx and I already had the prednisone. The nurse drew blood to check liver enzymes (a monthly ritual because of a med I take for PH) and to check my BNP (a peptide in the blood, indicates the severity of heart failure). He also did not charge me for an office visit. I took in a scribbled note of things to ask. He checked the list before I left. I got the referral, or rather doc will get me one. Oh yes, and doc decided I need another right heart cath. He will confer with my heart doc and let me know. He mentioned other newer drugs are available since I was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension in 2005. And, of course, he could not let me leave without reminding me I need to exercise.

Someone told me the severity of symptoms played more of a role in health than numbers. I agree.

* * *

The WC, well, all sorts of unexpecteds. The ref robbed the USA. As with all sports, officials can do a great job or suck. Officiating should play a small part in a game, not the decider. You play on. Bad refs go along with shots off the post or own goals. Put the energy of anger to work for you, not against.

One expert and former player said Italy deceives. The side uses these first matches to kinda warm up. When the knockout round begins, the Italians will maul other teams. I am not so sure about that. Surprises so far, the smaller, lesser-known countries that do not have many EPL players. The team loaded with talent, England, exhibits lack of cohesion.

* * *

One of these days I will kick Pogo across the room. Before you shout cat abuse, let me explain. We employ a routine in the mornings, no matter what time I get up, generally about 3. After visiting the loo, one or all three of us, we head for the kitchen. I refill Satchmo's crunchy dish. I open a can for Pogo, put some in his dish, then start my coffee. You notice who wins this round? Can you say loudmeowfs? Coffee cup in hand, I prepare to leave the kitchen, but not before giving Pogo more food.

I check emails and Facebook. Pogo and Satchmo take off for short naps. I begin writing for the day. Then another shot of caffeine beckons. My foot touches the tile in the kitchen and instantly Pogo winds around my feet, runs ahead of me and then stops in my path. I guess he thinks I cannot see him, even though he tells me constantly he starves. This time I get my coffee before Pogo gets more food.

The point? The throwing on the brakes at the last minute. One of these days, half asleep, I will hurt Pogo, me, or both of us.

* * *

The slights by some people hurt deeply. I so wanted to help, too. Did I get what I wanted? Yes. So I should move on, right? I still cling to what I can. I guess I am afraid. Fear can be as lethal as a knife.

* * *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qgcy-V6YIuI

Dude, you know.

Later.