I went to bed on Monday evening worried about my heart. I woke up at 3:00 am worried about my nether regions. You know the story: a drowsy awareness of something unusual becomes an ever building pressure down below, and then the race to the toilet. I’m so happy I have one!
Not much sleep thereafter but five more visits to my very green bathroom. Four doses of Imodium didn’t seem to do anything and I started wondering if I should cancel my 7:15 am echo cardiogram in London. I sure didn’t want to be going with the flow on the highway.
I’m not a careful person. I’m usually spontaneous and don’t think much about the consequences of blurting out whatever comes into my brain. But yesterday morning was different. As I pulled on my coat, I decided to accessorize. Imodium in the right pocket … and underwear in the left.
I was biting my lip on the way in and I do believe tensing my glutes a mite. No problems. I walked into the clinic and told the receptionist about my condition, strategically avoiding the topic of pocket briefs. She smiled empathetically. Minutes later, however, out came a nurse to say that my diarrhea could mark the onset of flu and she didn’t want me to infect other patients. So we needed to reschedule.
Yes, I was disappointed but far bigger than that was a peace about it all. How strange and lovely. I smiled, said “Okay” and headed off for breakfast. Could it be that the setbacks of my day don’t touch me much anymore? Unless they’re absolutely huge, I guess. That would be marvelous.
And now back to my heart. After the tests are completed, I fully expect to be given a clean bill of health and a wish that I enjoy the Tour du Canada. It seems so logical now that my exhaustion on the elliptical was about loose stools rather than a lousy organ. I smile again.
On we go.