As it turned out, we didn't do the angiogram or the stent today. Just in-depth consultation, explaining what the heck is wrong, next steps and how we are going to approach it, and what the various options are. Then, two weeks hence, the angiogram. Plus Valium to make me receptive and limp.
And then, if necessary and useful, a stent.
Which is a great possibility.
And I should mention that today is Day Two of the additional medicine, and now, more than for the last several months, I truly feel full of piss and vinegar again. The next two weeks should be a cakewalk.
Today's lecture about the evils of smoking was incidental, and mild, rather than fiercely hectoring. The good doctor probably realizes that a pipe or two is more of a comfort at this point than would make the additional stress worthwhile. But he did mention that it was not good.
Because of the many hours at two hospitals being poked and prodded, food since Monday morning has been a bit of an afterthought. A few dimsummy items on Tuesday. Rice porridge and a dough stick Wednesday.
A bowl of rice with pork and egg today.
But there are cookies nearby.
And a cup of coffee.
Sometime this evening, after a nap, I'll head out for a last smoke of the day at the Tower. It's not raining, but cold enough that any anti-smokers should be home, warmly abed, clutching their tofu for comfort.
Nice, non-threatening, gluten-free tofu.
Such spiritual! Such blessing!
Karmic radiances!
All of my prescriptions say not to get pregnant while taking them. This paints a picture of American womanhood which is somewhat disconcerting. What on earth are you ladies up to while so young?
And still fecund.
[This blogger is male and middle-aged. I cannot get pregnant, no matter how many double bacon cheeseburgers I snarf. And I haven't snarfed them in years, btw. I am not a Clemson Tiger.]
Never mind. Don't answer that.
What. Ever.
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