A more restful day.

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Yes, I took it a bit easier today. I had to push pretty hard to stay up, and then worked hard Sunday evening. Yesterday I was still feeling the push. I was able to redirect it to less strenuous activities. Today I tried to do less and do things in more of a controlled manner. If nothing else, if I am not careful and show constraint, besides risking health, this whole event may just be called mania. While in some ways it is, who isn't a bit naturally manic after having been stripped of mobility, breath, and even clear thought, and finally gets those things back? Only a fool wouldn't be greatly relieved, excited, elated at the returned senses of freedom. But this is not mania, of the psychiatric notion. Perhaps that exists for some, perhaps all of psychiatry is a false notion no more true than tea-leaf reading or astrology.

The bike was not in, I had misread. I did pick up what was in. I called my friend, who I had wanted to check in any case. He is in pretty rough shape. The doctors think they may have to amputate more, not just more of his foot, but up above his ankle. While there is no serious infection, it is merely a matter of time. His foot has open sores but is getting no real blood flow by which to heal. Only his diligent tending has probably saved him. At this point, if he thinks that will work, I think he would be glad to see it gone. He is suffering terribly. They gave him two units of blood, with iron, again today. He has been in greater and greater pain for over a year now, dealing with his foot.

I suspected he would be both tired and hungry so I brought food. He paid for his, of course. He doesn't like just receiving stuff. I also let him know if he needs me to pick stuff up or grocery shop for him, that I will gladly do that. He doesn't like people doing things for him, but right now his choices are slim. He knows he needs to eat more, and he has things for caring for his foot that are a long way away while his mobility is weak and painful and it is getting so very hot. I know the bit of not liking help myself. Well, he has my number and I will be stopping in a bit more often. He doesn't really think that when I was down and he called and got me out that he was helping. It was and it did. This isn't payback, but if it helps his mind to think it is, that works too.

I keep running into problems when telling people about my heart. By all accounts, I really am on death's door. I really haven't seen a good prognosis, but then I don't fit with the rest of what is supposed to be happening. I look and sound like a very healthy, robust if sporting a minor paunch, middle aged man. I have a mild to booming voice (when I get excited, hear a good funny, or get a bit peeved). My hand shake, it is easy to see, could mash a lesser man's hand and handle all but a rude strongman's grip. But I am failing, hard, fast, and I am deep into it. Friends and family ask a bunch of questions. Even doctors... wonder, ask, doubt. Could the tests be wrong? I'm not sure what to tell them. I am not sure what to think. I just don't know. Their fear sort of rubs off. I can't promise a thing, I don't know. It is so odd to be so bad and finally feel so good (if by good I just mean not ill, breathing easily, able to act on thoughts and natural impulses, not confused, not perpetually tired).

Ah, the bad feelings. Right. I think the word that sums it up is... cavalier. I have, and to some extent remain, way too cavalier about way too many things. Well, that was the bigger part of it. A new ability at insight, empathy, sympathy, and some other things causes me to question what I have done, said, and written. It's a big hit to my ego. Yes, listen and read a lot more, speak and write much less. But honestly, I am not sure I can truly overcome that flaw. I will find out.

Good night.