- down to one liter of oxygen per hour
- walking around the cardiac telemetry floor 3-4 times a day
- talking about rehab and resuming exercise
- texting nonstop with Precious Firstborn
- planning low-fat, low-sodium menus.
All of this makes me very happy. Giddy, even.
Except. That it makes me very afraid. I know that I'm driving him crazy, but I can't stop looking at him and asking things like "Are you feeling dizzy?" "Any chest pain?" "Are you out of breath?" I want him to rest, to recover. He wants to push. That will be the story, I imagine, for the next 6 months. I hope we can meet in the middle somewhere.
And I've found that I have a new sympathy for folks in ambulances. I've been walking about 30 minutes a day in the park across the street from the hospital, and occasionally an ambulance will come by, with or without lights and sirens. When that happens, I shake my head, sigh, and mutter "I'm so sorry" to the folks inside and the ones hurrying to meet them at the hospital. I know it's not my fault -- that's not the issue. It's just that I have a new sympathy for people who are suffering from medical emergencies and for their family members. What a hardship that is. And how lightly I've taken our good health up to now.