Tired

So tired.

My medicine keeps my blood pressure and heart rate low, which makes me so tired.

But rest is good, right? It helps the body heal. That's what I tell myself as I'm taking my old-lady naps.

Crossing a bridge?

Normally I hate the treadmill. I hate walking because it causes me pain. Pain sucks.

But part of my cardiac rehab is walking on the treadmill. Every day I dread it. I'm supposed to be doing 15 minutes now, but I have to break it up into halves because I usually can't make it past seven or eight minutes before my lower back locks up and my hipbones feel like hey are made of glass shards. I have to stop and let my back relax, and then I can go on.

But this morning, something changed. I got up to seven minutes, where I usually stop, and the pain was there but not the worst it has been. So I thought I'd just go to eight minutes. At eight minutes, the pain hadn't really changed, so I figured I could make nine. At nine, the pain was getting somewhat worse, but not unbearable, so I went to 10.

That seems like nothing to most people, but for me, it's a very big deal because for years now, I have not been able to walk more than a block without pain -- sometimes even half a block.

I can't wait to try again tomorrow.

Back to work today

It's been two weeks since I got out of the hospital, and it's time to go back to work. Part of me would like to stay home longer, but not because I feel poorly, just because it's kind of nice having a life of leisure. Nice, but also a little boring.

The only thing is, I'm going to miss Vivian when I'm gone all day!

She's definitely getting bigger, and it seems like her hair is getting longer, too.

She's quite a little huntress -- of feet. Ouch.

Cardiac rehab

So I learned a couple things this morning, my third visit to cardiac rehab.

First, I am a solo work-out person. I don't want to be watched, and I certainly don't want people monitoring me, at least people who are not health professionals.

Cardiac rehab is full of, of course, older people. I know they mean well, but this man on the treadmill next to me and a woman on a recumbent bike behind me almost worked themselves into second heart attacks and equipment accidents this morning because they were so busy paying attention to me.

My back is still bad, and walking is painful. So the treadmill is a special kind of torture that, I've decided, will not break me. If I am going to enjoy Italy next year, I have to be able to walk with less pain. But for now, I have to stop every few minutes and let my back relax.

So I'm on the treadmill, and I stop and lean over to stretch my back, and the woman behind me starts screaming "Turn off the machine! Turn off the belt!" And the man next to me hops off his treadmill. I look over and they are looking at me and the nurse comes running over to see if everyone's OK.

Yes, I say, I am fine. Just letting my back relax so I can keep going. The man is worried because he saw me bending over and thought I was too out of breath. The woman was upset because she saw the man losing his footing.

Later, she tells me "you really got my adrenaline going. Don't do that."

OK, I said, but I was thinking much meaner thoughts.

The second thing I learned is that I can like this exercise thing. It actually feels good, other than the back pain. Maybe I can do it not because I have to, but because I want to.

Hmmm.

As long as I can do it alone.

Kitty pix

Look at the belly:


And the Flying Paws of Fury:

In love with this tiny cat

I know everyone thinks their pet is the cutest, but mine really is. She's smaller than my TV remote control. She likes to lie belly up on the couch and jam her paws in her mouth. Her back legs are too-big jackrabbit legs, and she hops around the room right after she eats and geta a burst of energy. She has a tiny chirp of uncertaintly when she's exploring and gets herself into a place she wasn't expecting. Sometimes she comes up to my face and licks my nose and when she sleeps, I can't leave her alone because she's so darn cute.

Meet Vivian

This is Vivian, my new kitten. She's about six weeks old and was being turned in at the animal shelter, so I took her home. Very sweet to look at, but she's actually a finger-eating cat-demon who likes to hide in the couch cushions and stalk me. HELP!

Shark alert!

Whenever I turn on the TV and see that "Jaws" is on, I always say hi to my dad, because he knew it is my favorite movie, and whenever it was on, he'd make sure I knew it.

Didn't matter if I was already in bed. He'd knock softly on my door and wake me up to tell me "Honey, 'Jaws' is on."

He didn't distinguish between the various sequels and the original, though, so sometimes I'd get up hoping to catch my very favorite part (where Robert Shaw tells the story of the USS Indianapolis), only to see the leathery Denis Quaid in the extra-crappy 3-D version, or even worse, Michael Caine in the craptacular "Jaws 4," with the famous roaring great white shark.

It's always a surprise when I flip on HBO or TNT and there's "Jaws," but it's never a surprise when I hear my dad's voice right away. "Honey, 'Jaws' is on."

Hi daddy. Wanna watch it with me?

Six days, no revelations

Just catching up on movies I wanted to see and didn't actually go to the cinema for, resting, relaxing and thinking about what's next. Seems like something's telling me change is imminent, yes? No? Maybe so?

Tomorrow I'm going to the knitting shop because I need something to do with my hands, and going to increase my walking because I need to get my little black heart into shape.

I wonder what it looks like right now. Is it bruised like the rest of me? Seriously. Parts of me look like I was beaten with a bat. I mean black patches, like that guy Beck Weathers who lost parts after getting frostbite on Everest.

And what is it doing in there? I don't trust it completely now. It could be up to just about anything and apparently, I wouldn't even know it.