It was so much fun a couple of weeks ago when all I had to trouble my pretty head with was whether I was writing, whether I was good at writing, whether I could make any money writing.
Then my husband started having an irregular heartbeat.
He'd actually had a nightlong episode a month before, which I was spared the knowledge of until after the fact because he'd been out of town on business. But he'd had an appointment scheduled with his cardiologist already, because he has a pacemaker, and has to have it checked periodically. The doctor gave him some medicine to take if it ever happened again. Which it didn't for a month.
Until it did. And my husband dutifully took a pill, and things seemed to get better. But then they got worse again, and the pills helped less and less until they weren't helping at all. And my husband was barely sleeping because of the whacked-out Zydeco beat in his chest, and I was barely sleeping because I didn't quite believe the doctors' assurances over the phone that this was all harmless.
Finally, on a Saturday night at 9:00 p.m., when my husband was getting short of breath just lying in bed, I decided we were going to find out where the ER was in this bumblefuck little town. We spent all night there, but the pacemaker technician came in and did some little tweaks to the pacemaker, and, lo and behold, the heartbeat was regular again. Just like that. We went home, rejoicing that the fix was that simple.
Of course it wasn't. Twelve hours later, just as I was relaxing into my husband's newfound rhythm enough to leave him and go to the grocery store, the funky beat started again. I came home from the store to find my daughter playing in the yard. She announced, rather nonchalantly, that Daddy wasn't feeling well again. And I tore inside.
Another sleepless night. A long day in the cardiologist's office, and the revelation that a pacemaker lead was likely damaged and would need to be replaced. The next day, it was, along with the pacemaker itself.
So far, the problem seems to be fixed. My husband even returned to work today, though I had to drive him (he'll see the surgeon Thursday and hopefully be cleared to drive again). He says he feels much better. But I went to some Very Bad Places while he was feeling worse, and I wonder what it's going to take to help me find my rhythm again.