All About The Numbers

As I was on a gurney riding in an ambulance the other day, I told the attendant that I expected to ride in a limo some day, in fact it is on my bucket list.  The ambulance hardly qualified.

  The other thing on my bucket list is to visit Italy next year, but the more rides in an ambulance seems to reduce my odds.  Especially since the day before I had ended up in a wheelchair pushed to the ER across from my doctor's office.  It really is all about numbers.

The trip to the ER via wheelchair seem to be related to the fact that my blood pressure reading was 80/40.  Small wonder my get up and go truly has departed lately.

The numbers dilemma came up the next day when, back at home, my pulse registered 176 on my fancy new wrist BP machine, and an earthquake was rumbling in my chest.  This time I was told to call 911.  Thus the ambulance ride, sirens blaring.

Once in the ER again qualifying for a cubicle pdq, , all kinds of things got shoved into me, blood taken out of me and the prominent number now was my DOB.  Ten-eleven-thirty-one, I said.  Over and over again.  It would more efficient if they wrote it on a piece of duct tape and taped it to my forehead.

About the numbers, I don't mind answering my date of birth but when an attendant calls across the hall what was my height I yelled the answer, 4 feet eleven, but I'll be darned if I yell my weight back.  I accepy the indignity of a gown tied at the top with my back side flapping in the breeze, but announcing my weight to  the world of the ER is beyond embarrassing.

In case you are wondering what caused these blips on the radar screen of my life, the answer is uncertain.  The plan is to cut in half  the strength of my blood pressure medication,  record the readings twice daily.  Also an aerotic aneurism in my abdomen shouldn't get past certain numbers either.

I see my doctor in another 3 days.  Checking on the numbers.

By the way, riding in the ambulance, I had the distinct feeling of Des with me.  I told him to relax and go visit his brothers until I get up there.  I am going to Italy first.

So says Sassy

Mind Trips...a Mine Field

One of my favorite books is The Christian Agnostic, by Leslie Weatherhead.  Lately, in my wondering and wandering through memories, I get bogged down in more questions than answers, and I puzzle over scriptual truths.

Along comes Leslie to tell me not to fuss over doubts and worries, he said to put them up on a shelf, and label it "Awaiting Further Light."   Easy for him to say, I think, struggling with my over loaded shelf.

I want to know if Des sees me through the clouds.  Does he hear my sniffles, listen to me talk to our cats?  Does he know I can't find his ashes, saved in a heart shaped  silver container by our bed. I keep searching.  It has to be here.  My mother always prayed to the patron saint of missing objects, St. Anthony.  I have Tony on speed dial.  No luck so far.

Another thing, has Des hooked up with his family who must have been excited to see him.  Or is excitement not a heavenly term?  I told him on the day he died, when he was still responding to my voice, to save a place for me up there.  I meant it.

He told me a few months ago that he would miss me when he was gone.  Is that possible?  All I know for sure is that he inhabits my thoughts a lot in supermarkets because I bypass his favorite treats, and I am undone in church sometimes when I look up at the stained glass picture and see him peering over the shoulder of Jesus. 

Gabriel, our grandson in New York set my heart at peace the other day on the phone, when I told him it hard been a tough week, at least in my thought patterns.

Gabe said, "I know one thing for sure, Gramps wants you to be happy."  Thank for the reminder, Gabe.

So says Sassy