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I've read a bucket load of books whose titles I've forgotten to track here. I wish the library had an "already read" view of my account.

Last night I finished The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. Loved it. Highly recommend it.

Before that I finished The Year of Living Biblically. It's probably not for everyone because it can be irreverent, but wow did I learn a lot. I'm definitely going to move on to some of the books he used to determine how to live for the year.

Yesterday my Aunt Patsy, mom's only sister, learned she is in Stage 3 Kidney Failure. She's two "points" away from Stage 4. Stage 5 is dialysis. Then one of two things happens. You get a kidney transplant or you die.

These past few weeks I've been told by different people, "Man, you're having a year." As in, not a good year. And I think, Really?

Thing is, I've had a "year" or two in my past. Painful, debilitating years. I know what a "not good year" can feel like and the moments that have made up this year have been nothing but a blip on the radar.

I hope I am not acting like I'm having a "year" because that's not how I feel inside. Do I talk about what's going on? Do I talk about the stresses and worries? Sure. If I didn't, I'd find myself back in bed. Unable to get out of it without a crane.

Do I dwell on it? I imagine some days I do. I particularly worry about my mom. That's just who I am. Is it controlling my life? Every thought in every moment? No.

Mom is doing ok right now. My heart is not going to explode in my chest. My friend seems to be handling chemo well. Neighbor is back at home and MRSA free.

Life is pretty damn good and I'm glad to be here. Regardless of the "year."

My niece has twice sent me an invite to join Upromise. I don't know why this offends me, but it does. Perhaps if it didn't seem like such a chore for her to answer an email. Or that she reached this way once in a while with something other than the monthly Target photo salon pictures (and I use "salon" loosely). Right now if there was anyone I'd want to help save for college, it would be my Godson. Someone I know and like (and he seems to like me back). 

The day I leave for Africa.

I went to see my old therapist yesterday. The one who helped me through to the other side of depression. I made the appointment at the suggestion of my primary doctor since she initially thought the heart stuff might be anxiety related. She'd since told me, "This is not in your brain, this is real," but I decided to keep the appointment anyway.

I'd not seen her for a couple years, so it was nice to sit down and chat. The timing was perfect since I got to tell her about my promotion -- she'd coached me through some dark days in my last department.

As we began to close the session, she concurred that I seem to be handling life's stresses well. That I am able to work through them and let them go. That bygones are bygones and I don't dwell on it.

So yesterday I had a friend make a comment that hurt my feelings. And I am so dwelling on it. She's a good friend so I know it was a totally innocuous statement on her part. But it felt like she'd smacked me. Just now I was lying in bed thinking about it. Willing myself to get over it and move on. Telling myself in my heart that she meant well and surely I've said things the wrong way and should just let it go. I finally decided maybe writing about it would help.

At work to a VP. These really are more decorative titles than anything else, but it did come with a little raise and I'll always take one of those!

To my mom when I talked about how many PVCs I was feeling. I told her I thought maybe six an hour. I knew that was low, but I also knew I couldn't keep count.

When I went to see my doctor today about a different beta blocker, I asked about the Holter. For that 24-hour period, I averaged 100 PVCs per hour.

When I asked why she went with a beta blocker instead of the med we originally discussed she said, "Because that was for anxiety, this is not in your head, this is real." Good to know.

As I mentioned here I was worried that it was just a sign that I wouldn't be able to cope with stressful life events. I am so glad it is not my mind. Crazy, I know, but I thought I was handling the life stressors pretty well. I was disappointed that there would always be some new level of freak out for me. And that's not to say that won't still happen, but at least I know I can control it with medication if I need to.

Speaking of which, I am going to try a new med for 10 days. If I still feel puny then, we agreed that I can try to learn to live with it.

Saturday, about 30 minutes into reading on the radio, I thought I was going to pass out. I just could not get enough air. I thought about telling my partner he wouldn need to finish on his own, but I just worked on my breathing. It got better, but it really wiped me out for a good part of the afternoon. I really don't want to give that up. It's something I like doing. It makes me feel like I might be making a difference in someone's life.

So the beta blocker stopped the PVCs within one or two days. Then it knocked me on my ass. I have been so tired. Like, lay my head down and I'm asleep tired. No, doesn't really matter if I am in a public place. Or work. Oh, and pardon me, but it's not your company that makes me yawn.

I have a follow-up scheduled for Monday. I decided to start cutting the tablets in half and weaning myself off them by then. Figured we could start over.

My retired ER nurse friend asked if I'd checked my blood pressure lately. Ah, lightbulb moment. I checked it yesterday and again this morning. 91 over 57. Der. My friend tells me to call the doctor today because if my BP was that low while walking around the grocery store (where the BP machine is), then what must it be at night when I sleep?

So I called. The doctor called back. "Cut them in half." I have already. "Oh, well, that's already an old lady dosage." I have an appointment with you on Monday. "OK, cut them in quarters. I'll have figured out something else by Monday."

Um, could it have caused my period to start? Because I am only on my second row of pills and it started again on Sunday. A real period. Not break-thru bleeding. I've never had a second period in the same month since I started the Pill about 18 years ago.

"Well, I don't think the two should be related. We might need to put you on a stronger Pill."

*sigh* I've been on the same pill and dosage for all of these 18 years. More side effects to work through. Happy, happy. Joy, joy.

When I talked about the period issue with my mom this morning she bought up the menopause thing again. I asked her when she had hers, but she doesn't remember. She swears it is written down somewhere. Tucked away in a safe place. Great.

Anyway, after I told her to shut up about the menopause comment she said something about it could start at my age and be really sporadic for years. So I made comment about the regularity of the Pill and reminded her that when she was my age she'd just had a baby.

"Oh, yeah," she giggled. Giggled.

One year ago today I took my last bite of a hamburger.

One year later I can say with conviction, I am a vegetarian.

Seafood was really the only thing I craved. Once my doctor encouraged me to eat fish for my heart, I jumped right in. Maybe a half-dozen times. But I just couldn't get past the this is an animal thought. It just felt wrong in my mouth. I'll have to discuss with my doctor other ways to get good oils for my heart.

I'm just as surprised as anyone that a year later I am still meatless. I was totally a "Real girls eat meat" kind of girl. Fajitas? Beef. Salad? Steak on top. Pizza? Pepperoni. I was definitely a carnivore.

It's been easier than I expected. I thought there would be many temptations. Many cravings to overcome. But that hasn't been the case. Occasionally I might smell something cooking and think that it smelled good, but there's never been a moment when I thought, maybe just a taste.

Now, if only I were a vegetarian who ate more veggies. ;-)