Tuesday, January 12, 2016

just for one day

On the day David Bowie died, I woke up with chest pains. 

I spent the better part of the morning chewing low dose aspirin and checking Web MD. There is no particularly good time for it, of course, but two days before you are set to head south of the border for a week likely ranks right up there for Worst Possible Timing for a Suspected Heart Attack. Especially after the icon you have always considered to be immortal has just died.

As the morning progressed and the pains didn't manifest any further, I stopped blaming the fact that I had unwisely polished off the last of the Christmas chocolates the night before. I had, it seems, merely pulled a muscle while sleeping. 

I have never been a good sleeper, and as the aches and pains and twitchy legs of encroaching old age start to pile up, I have become somewhat of a nocturnal thrasher. It was bound to happen, I guess, especially since the cat (aka The Immovable Object) has taken to lying on my left arm and chest while I read in bed. I sometimes drift off while reading and wake up to a dead left arm, thinking that a stroke has finally taken me.

But for now, I survive and am excited to be heading stateside tomorrow to celebrate the Spousal Unit's retirement. I shall put on my red shoes and dance the blues.   


Eugene K said...

I thrash about quite a bit in my sleep as well. The cats know this and position themselves in such as way that they can get some cuddling in while remaining safe from swinging legs. I'm glad you just have a pulled muscle and nothing more serious!

John Mutford said...

I'm glad when others share there neuroses. It makes me feel less lonely. Also makes me stress less that I've contracted a fatal case of hypochondria.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

Your cats are smart, Eugene. It must be wisdom that comes from living in a multi-animal household.
It's funny how the pains that I once dismissed as over-exertion become possible death knells as I age. Just getting ready for the big one!

I would be nothing without my neuroses, John! Web MDers are my people.

Erik Donald France said...

Glad no heart attack, Barbara!

Sigh on Bowie's immortality. Maybe he's tricked us, all tricked out in some space ship bound for who knows where . . .

I've been transcribing 150 year old letters, and they often speak of various aches and "neuralgia" and other types of pains. Mostly they seem very contemporary, down to the diction.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

I like the idea of David Bowie sitting back in a spaceship, watching us all as he drifts away through the stardust, Erik.
It's interesting (and a little comforting) to know that even 150 years ago people were surprised by the aches of aging and that it is not just a symbol of our pampered society. I guess we have always ached in the places where we used to play.