Hearty

 Back in April, my FitBit -- which I've worn regularly since the days of The Plague -- announced to me that it had noticed a high heart rate at a time when I was inactive. 

Well, that's not right.

I wasn't particularly alarmed. Nevertheless, in view of the family history of aFib, it certainly warranted mentioning to a doctor. Fortunately, I had a follow-up appointment within a few days to get the results of my cardiac stress test (ah, manteca dreams), so the timing was fortuitous. 

Good news: the stress test was clear. Yay me!

It was decided to run a thirty-day heart monitor to see whether any other aberrations like the one identified by the FitBit appeared.  And so that was done. (I'll leave out some significantly annoying petty details, because they are all water under the bridge now; suffice it to say, some customer service people were helpful in accomplishing the monitor, and some were VERY MUCH not.) 

The technology was interesting, and all-in-all relatively easy to use/convenient-ish. Not too uncomfortable, though a tad sweaty, and poke-y on the cleavage. Hard to shower without worrying about damaging the adhesive. Oy.

Results showed nothing alarming. The monitor did not pick up any further spikes like the one found by the FitBit (even though the FitBit itself identified some spikes in the same time frame). It did show one moment of "bunny ears" (comical, given the number of rabbits in my house) where my heart apparently tried to go into a right bundle branch block, but that appears to be an incidental finding and not of concern. 

In short: nothing to see here, citizens. Move along.

My FitBit has anxiety, maybe? Who knows.

So, moving forward: I opted to get a different FitBit; switch it to my other arm; and not be concerned. I can do either depression or anxiety, and depression has chosen me, so no time for anxiety. We'll see whether the new FitBit provides any interesting data -- it may be completely different data, because the FitBit platform has also changed significantly just recently, incorporating new AI technology (AI: it's everywhere). 

I think my heart might just need a little bit more love. 

Lippy

Because we wouldn't want too long to lapse between the times that I need to visit the dermatologist, I had yet another biopsy of a suspicious spot back in March. Everything turned out fine (in that the spot was pre-cancerous, not cancerous), and the shave biopsy removed the entire area of concern, so ta-daaa, all set. 

The biopsy site took what seemed like an eternity to heal, even though it was no doubt just an ordinary amount of time. Perhaps that was because it is in such an obvious place -- just a few millimeters above my lip, on the right -- or perhaps it was due to its size. There's nothing quite like watching a wee open wound on your face slowly grow smaller and very sloooooowly grow less red, to make you sad about no longer being young and cute and scar-free.

There are now five easily visible scars due to skin cancer/pre-cancer: right temple, two nose, one upper lip, one high on chest. All thinks considered, they are small, well healed (though the chest scar is a bit hypertrophic), not alarming. They might not even be particularly noticeable, depending on the degree of interest that an onlooker takes in my appearance. 

It could be so much worse. I am grateful that it is not. 

I do not enjoy dermatological difficulties. But what else can one do? On we go.  

Evolve

 Herself speaks. 

A bit after my lovely Daddy died, I cut my hair short and dyed it more red. (I used to occasionally joke that I was in my "poison dart frog" era.)  I'm sure that Freud would have a field day dissecting the innermost reasons for the change. 

There was, to be sure, an amount of Heat Miser rage embodied in the short red hair. That year -- 2023 -- was a year of So Much Terrible, of Heartache unimagined and unimaginable, that the only possible action was a complete change of appearance, a metamorphosis, an outward indicator of the difficult state within. 

The Terrible continued into 2024, to the point that I asked for pharmaceutical help in order to further process and move through all of the Things. It has been a very, very, very long road. 

Time has passed, and the Terrible has attenuated. Grief has softened somewhat, although it periodically still has very sharp edges. I have done my best to let go of what I cannot change, and to move forward in new ways. It has not been easy.

The temptation has been to harden my heart, yet that thought yields a complex feeling which fans the embers of anger: why must I be made of stone? Must my joy in being open, kind, and warm also be stolen from me, along with everything else I have lost?  

Such a delicate balancing act -- remaining guarded, yet remaining true to my inner self. And with my Offspring, my siblings, my Cherished Friend all being far away, and with Beloved Husband being so busy and so often unavailable, there are very few opportunities to safely be who I am.

I refuse to give up, though. I may have built internal walls, but I have kept a window. And I have deliberately chosen to remain soft on the inside. You'd have to look really hard to find that softness, but it is there. 

My hair reflects my choice. I've let it grow out, and have returned to a more natural brown color. I like it. It's not as angry. It's kinder. It is hair to put in a ponytail while taking care of Stuff, hair to run fingers through. 

Freud would probably have a field day about this hair choice as well. 

I'll keep it this way for a while. 

Opening Doors

 We've been in this house for, oh, twenty-plus years. All this time the refrigerator in the kitchen has been not-quite-right: it has had single doors, with the handles all the way to one side. When we opened the (previous) refrigerator door all the way, the door would hit the kitchen island. BONK. Be careful! And we could not really use the right-hand vegetable drawer, because we couldn't open it all the way. 

That's just the way it was. For over two decades.

As part of the house refurbishing (such a nightmare, slowly receding into memory, although there are still lingering boxes that have not been unpacked), we purchased a new refrigerator. The kind which has double doors, opening in the middle outwards. For the first time ever, I can open the doors fully, use all the drawers, and not hit the island. 

It's DELIGHTFUL.

Why did I tolerate a mediocre refrigerator forever? There's no reason why this purchase couldn't have been done sooner. Surely at some point, I deserved a nice fridge. Or at least one that I could use properly. It never occurred to me to take charge and get one. Or to ask someone else to do it. Why? I do not know.

Anyway, I am certainly enjoying the new refrigerator. It's the little things in life. And it is OK to want the niceties that make one's life a teeny bit better. 

I need to identify more of these little things, and incorporate them accordingly. 

Nice.

The Big Six-Oh

 As I mentioned, Beloved Husband celebrated a Big Birthday in March - Sixty! It seems impossible -- he is, as always, eternally youthful and young-at-heart: cheerful, fun-loving, humorous. The Ernie to my Bert. He makes me laugh. 

He works very hard at Work and at his Volunteer Projects. He plays hard, too -- trying to find time for his motorcycle, for off-roading, for spending time with his lovely Mom and brother and sister, for enjoying his work-outs at the gym. He crams as much life into Life as possible, making the most of every moment. 

I wish for you, Beloved Husband, many, many more years to do All The Things that you would like to do. And all the joy that can be found in this strange, complex world that we live in. 

Seventeen

Seventeen years ago, I arrived.

We've had a spectacularly difficult few years, haven't we?  Perhaps there's some truth to the saying that teenage years are full of growing pains. 

Nevertheless, she persisted. 

Onwards and upwards, gentle readers. We shall see what the future holds. With a bit of luck, there will be new adventures, sparks of happiness, and moments of contentment and peace and love in abundance. 

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I am grateful. 

March Meme

Further to yesterday's reminiscences about Offspring the Second's visit home, this meme turned up in one of my Social Media feeds during March. It encapsulates something I think about often.

I did the best I could while the Offspring were growing up.  I am not sure it was ever Enough.  I was not the best I could be, and I was spread thin, and I did not know how (or who) to ask for help when I was overwhelmed. I wish I could have been more patient, more attentive, more... better.

I am sorry, my lovely Offspring, for the times I failed you. You have always deserved the very best. I hope that as you move through life, you find exactly what you need and what you are looking for. I think of each of you with love, always.