Heart Attack
By
George S Geisinger

There comes a time when the only thing I can think to do is write. My thoughts are random, like my writer friend's thoughts are random. I aspire to the the ultimate random set of thoughts. I no longer expect myself to be coherent. To blazes with coherency. I went to a doctor, a cardiologist, and she did everything except blatantly predict I'd have a heart attack, in so many words.
One of my adrenaline glands is overly pumping in the vicinity of my heart.
I get the old fight or flight reaction around my heart, whether I need it or not. It won't quit. I don't know when the heart attack is coming. I just know it's on the way. I think maybe I shouldn't have anymore caffeine, because of my heart, but I'm enjoying the little bit of caffeine I get. I only have one cup of coffee a week, what do they want from me?
I'm going to have to have some chocolate tomorrow, if I can just get to the Country Market in time to get it. With this late night vigil, I'm likely to be sleeping all the live-long day tomorrow. My idea of having a good time is getting a little bit of a harmless buzz off something innocuous, like a dose of caffeine. I don't smoke, drink or have a girlfriend. Leave me alone about one cup of real coffee.
I don't really care all that much whether I die or I don't, just so long as I don't kill myself with deliberation and forethought. God wouldn't like that. There's no one to mourn me all that much anyway. My brother would get all my money, and he'd probably tell me, after I'm already in my grave, that he can't afford to send his son to nursing school, when he would have plenty to help with his son's schooling. It seems to me that he should support is son's ambitions.
The man has no concept of his overall worth.
We were poor people when we were growing up, and I was poor when I was a drug addict/alcoholic in my cups, on the streets of Baltimore City. I might have had a heart attack a couple of times, but the doctors couldn't find enough evidence to convince themselves. I enjoy writing late at night, when my mind is finally clear enough to be coherent, in spite of my overall incoherency.
I think I'm leaning on that word too hard.
There was a long time that I starved on the streets of Baltimore, and only managed to keep up a little hovel of a flop house for myself. All my money went to the dope man, and it wasn't all that much money in the first place. It was just that the dope man was better at taking my little bit of money away from me, than I was at getting myself the things that I needed to live – like food, for instance.
I was in the ER once, and told them I felt a horizontal pressure on my chest when I was sitting up on the gurney. I told them I took a whole bunch of useless books out to the street for the trash men to pick up, and couldn't catch my breath when I tried to go back inside the house. It was the wrong thing to do, to carry out all those books right after a heart catheterization.
It messed up my EKG, big time.
When I was just a kid, I took two robin eggs and stoked a fire all night in the woods. I ended up collapsing next to my fire the next day. I used to pass out all the time, from all the recreational chemistry I was playing with when I was a college kid. It was bad enough I was passing out when I was a high school kid. I had to do it for a whole forty years thereafter.
No wonder I broke my hip. I was a hip fracture begging to happen, from the time I was seventeen. I would provoke all sorts of medical tests when I was young. I think it was just because I had mother's major medical insurance, and the doctors saw an opportunity to make themselves a little bit of money off me. Why not? I was passing out, and apparently having seizures.
I finally got to the point where I was falling accidentally, and couldn't help it. By that time, it was only a matter of time before I seriously hurt myself. My first injury was a sprained hand, with the bones sticking out of my fingers. The thing that I needed was a little bit of action in this very dull life of mine, and all that pain from breaking my hip took care of that.
One time I had a dream I was the first human being who figured out how to fly without the use of an aircraft. Actually, it was only a dream, since I'm well aware of the occult flying experiences by the shaman who practiced all sorts of levitation. The day came when my fall ruined my driving hip, and I think I'll never drive a motor vehicle again in my lifetime.
I was walking down the hallway at assisted living at the time. The next thing I knew I was about half way to the floor, falling rapidly and violently. I was always falling down, my whole life. This time it was my right hip that was hurt. I broke it. I treated all the onlookers to a lot of noise, while a struggled to deal with all the pain.
It was by far the worst pain I ever experienced. I couldn't stop screaming for the longest time. I made a spectacle of myself that day. I finally had to stop making so much noise, because everyone at the ER already knew I was in a lot of pain. There was nothing else to tell them. My entire body hurt that day, and I had no idea where the major injury was located in my body, yet.
It took me a night's sleep in my own bed to figure that one out.
That scene was almost three years ago now.
I had a heart echo a little while ago, and that's how I know about my hyperactive adrenaline gland near my heart. They found the over active gland in the heart echo test. My family has a lot of heart pathological history. My brother wears a pace maker. The thing about my heart that's so much fun, is that I can be very cavalier with the ladies.
Yet I have managed to stay single my entire adult life.
You're in trouble, because I'm a rambler, a gambler, and a sweet talking lady's man.
It's a lot of fun being single. I've even gotten to the point where I realize I'm too old for most of the girls I find charming, and don't want to come off like a dirty old man anymore. It's one of my goals to avoid behaving like a dirty old man around the cute young women. They tell you, when they advertise Viagra on the TV, to ask your doctor whether your heart is strong enough for sex.
I'm pretty certain the answer to that question is No.
Besides, I've been there, done that. I don't need to do another woman.
I've been going to see doctors, and going to live in mental hospitals all my life. It was my method to avoid dying of malnutrition on the streets of the city. Starving to death was a viable possibility that I found awfully likely until I got sober and stayed sober.
The thing about living in assisted living is that this place is just enough of an institution for my druthers. I don't feel the least bit put out when I go walking around this enormous assisted living home with my ever-present rollator. The food's not too good here, and the amount of babage is very limited in this warehouse for little old ladies.
I give this kitchen a good, solid C rating.
The one thing I miss seeing are the twenty year old women walking by. They are really exciting to have around, and there are so very few of them to watch around this warehouse for little old ladies. I've made myself a reputation for not putting up with any of the cougars around this God forsaken place. Now, people mostly leave me alone.
I've finally found the institution of my dreams. I'm not the slightest bit inspired to run away from this place. I've been a runaway my whole life, and the idea of running away from senior living just doesn't make any sense to me, whatsoever. I like the way reading some of my writer friend's novel has lubricated my writing acumen.
I've talked to my confidant most of the evening, and it happens to be getting late. I've decided I don't care what time it is. I don't have any caffeine in my suite, and there are a couple more days till I can see my therapist and get my weekly dosage of the sacred elixir. I've gotten so I crave the adrenaline rush that's going to be my downfall one day.
The worst part of my upper and lower GI turned out to be inconsequential, and I'm expecting to get a lot of pain in my chest one day, and pain down my left arm. I think it's likely to be the end of me, like it was the end of my dad. He died at seventy, and I'm sixty one. It's gotten hard to say what the Holy One might have say about all this, because He's been significantly quiet for quite sometime now.
I've heard a lot from God over recent years, and I think He's being quiet around me is because I'm really succeeding at living my life well these days. His silence I consider to be a vote of confidence in my overall well-being. God has a lot on his mind, with all the duties He has to take care of, which I really know nothing about.
I'm just grateful to have this time to write to my heart's content.
There is a question whether I can have my gall bladder out, to relieve some of the discomfort in my middle. I'm not at all certain whether the surgeon will be inclined to do the surgery when I have this heart problem, but maybe it wouldn't be all that tough for me to go through. Or, maybe she's going to decline to do the surgery in the first place.
Who knows?

 


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