Wasted days and wasted nights

I asked the doctor for a copy of the report on my right heart cath. I get a piece of paper that details the cath in four sentences. Three of those sentences say the reason for the cath, the explanation of risks, I was prepped and the doc had trouble placing the catheter and had help. He offers one number, the right ventricular systolic pressure, which was 80. This, the doc says, is severe PH.

My main heart doc did not do the cath. A new younger guy did. At least he called for help. The main hd said my cath and echo numbers were almost identical. So maybe I should ask for a copy of the last echo I had.

No matter what my numbers are, I need new meds. My SOB has worsened and I can do less and less.

No yelling at me for not taking my own advice, OK?

* * *

Amid the purple weeds, an arrant shingle or two, some Styrofoam cups and patches of grass, a hidden beauty struggles. Creeping through the fence, indigo morning glories stretch their reach almost to the gate. Closer to the fence, wine red flowers join their brethren, their leaves bushlike against the fence. Reigning above all, a coral rose, its velvet beauty unmatched.

The elm tree the owner cut down last summer stands well above the fence line. A buddy joins it this year.

I need to have the jungle mowed, but that would mean sacrificing beauty on the altar of common sense. Beauty nourishes the soul.

* * *

In my head, I work hard again. So much to do. Sometimes I get 'whelmed by the list. Then nothing gets done. I lie on the couch and fret.

* * *

What do you think about it all?

Later.