The thing that I like best about me is the fact that I can defeat depression by looking at a rose. Today's picture is of the roses that Karen got for me when I was in the hospital.

I got a good night's sleep, and got to work on time, and I was driving the console, but today just wore me plumb out. Just like yesterday.

Now I don't have a really physically challanging job. Just walking around (albeit rather rapidly) talking to people, solving problems, occasionally physically moving a patient onto the table or back onto a cart or into a wheelchair.

And physically, I'm really having problems doing that now.

A month ago, I wasn't.

And I'm really thinking about going for disablilty, dammit.

In spite of my earlier pollyanna statement, which I will stand by, I hate to think of living my life being this tired.

And not doing the things that I really want to do.

Not that I know what those thing are, mind you.

I really love my work, I've stated that many times.

But things change, and we must move on, move on.

So, given that I do get disability, what do I do?

Damnfino.

Enjoy Karen, travel if that's possible, spend time with people that I love. I envision a cross-country trip visiting the people that I've met on the web. for one thing. That would be a blast, it would.

I've got to make up a list, I do.

I would really like to be able to write. There are a lot of things that I want to say, and I have never had the time to think about how to say them, I just have the need to say them. And that takes time.

And I'm running out of time.

And energy.

The 30% ejection fraction that I've mentioned? 25% is just barely enough to sustain life. here's a simple test for ya.

So, the question is not what do I do, but rather, how do I feel about it.

And how I feel is pretty helpless.

And what can I do about it?

Nothing.

So what *will* I do?

The best that I can.

Maintain hope, mostly.

Right now, most of the time, I feel OK. Not good, but OK. I really can't remember the last time that I really felt good, I'd have to check the archives to know that, heh. But I reckon it was twenty years ago or so.

The first signs that I had ( that I was *way* too dumb to recognize) that something was wrong was in 1980. I was 36 then, I guess. I remember running up the stairs at the Grattan house and having chest pain. I laid down and it went away, and I ignored it. Later that summer, I had some blood tests, and the lab tech said that he'd done some additional test on me, and that my cardiac enzymes indicated that I'd had a heart attack. I said no, I must have bruised myself or something, and never thought any more about it. well, until 1989, when I had my first documented coronary. That summer, 1980, was a hot, hot bitch, and I suffered a heat stroke that year. No AC, and I sat out on my front porch drinking beer to keep cool, got my electrolytes *way* screwed up.

And here we are, 2004, I've had four (or five, or six) coronaries. 58 years old, just barely.

I'm getting a Medtronic Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator.

And the implantation kinda worries me. I don't really like any surgical procedure, just like anyone else. I don't really know why I'm worried, I just am.

After it's done, though, I should have a lot less to worry about.

Pollyanna, pollyanna, pollyanna, dammit.

I might not be able to convince myself, but I might convince you, heh.