A Strange Slow Morning

Dearest Rachel –

Well, it so happened that my concerns about the end of silence were a little bit premature. I’ve been slow-walking the day, since I’ve nowhere to go, and nothing to do until my doctor’s appointment just before noon. Daniel’s been asleep the whole time, despite my rattling about in the kitchen, polishing off random leftovers rather than any standard breakfast foods like cereal (no milk to go with it) or eggs (no bacon to go with them. You’d probably comment that it was a very Japanese style – your home stay experience suggested that leftovers were standard morning fare over there – except they’d probably have nothing to do with chicken and buffalo sauce broiled on a matzo as part of their morning repast, or as part of any meal whatsoever, for that matter.

Be that as it may, the house has been fairly quiet this morning – and, judging by Daniel’s lack of reaction to it, even my nattering about doesn’t create any appreciable disruption to it. And that’s fine; it’s not as if he needs to be up and doing anything this morning. As long as he’s willing to continue to take it, I’m sure the rest will do him good. But once I’m up, I don’t feel the need for rest; in fact, were I to settle down, I’d be worried about getting too comfortable, and missing my appointment, despite the fact that it’s hours from now.

Besides, there are things that need doing. The contractors are coming on Wednesday, as I’ve mentioned to you before (and no, I haven’t gotten any calls since that last time, so it hasn’t been moved back yet another day), so I’ve got to get things off the floor here and there that I’d not considered prior to Tim’s visit last week.

For example, while I’ve gotten everything off the floor in the front hall closet (since they will eventually be replacing these tiles with the same flooring as in the kitchen), there’s this shoe rack that I’m pretty sure your dad assembled for us that I need to take apart and bring downstairs for the duration. It occurs to me that the white bricks might actually be left over from when your parents built their house, but I can’t prove anything.

For all the trips I take downstairs with a single brick in each hand, I might well be getting as much exercise as when I take my stress test (although that might not be happening today – this will most likely be a standard physical that will allow my doctor to place the order for me to have the test, if I understand how hospital bureaucracy works). We’ll see how things go.

As with my emergency room visit, I’m given a mask to put on. It had momentarily crossed my mind to wear one on my way over here, but I think the professionals would recognize by now the ineffectiveness of cloth masks (to say nothing of the fact that I have no idea when I last washed it – probably just before the cruise, and I haven’t worn any of them since returning home from there), and wouldn’t consider it suitable, in any event. Fortunately, they do hand them out when you walk in; so, it isn’t as if I’m going to get turned out for my bare face.

I’m starting to wonder about the scale in the office. Last time I was here, barely a month or two before the accident, you’ll recall I tipped it at 280, only to drop below 250 within three months thereafter. Today, while I’m not all the way back to where it was late in 2020, it’s close enough to be a concern. I realize I’ve come to terms somewhat with your departure, and even been cruising (with all that entails), but you’d think I’d have been able to stay reasonably fit, with all the walking I’d been doing. Then again, that exercise regimen had tapered off by winter, so maybe this shouldn’t be all that surprising. I don’t know.

The doctor actually suggests that what I may have had was heartburn, as when describing its symptoms, he notes a sensation in the throat and esophagus that sound very much like what I experienced. He prescribes a heartburn medication for me to pick up (one that he himself uses, in fact, and endorses enthusiastically). However, he still recommends that I get that stress test, and places an order with the central hospital – I’m to call them up and schedule a time – and that I make another appointment with him in three weeks’ time, to check on the results, as well as undergo a complete physical. Ironically, that’s when I was originally scheduled to come in, before the events of this past week overtook me; even the nurse at the front desk agrees that I might as well just use the original mid-May time slot for this purpose. So, I’ll probably be scheduling all that within the next couple of days, when I can get on the hospital’s website.

And that’s pretty much the end of a rather unusual morning for me. How have you been, by contrast?

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

3 thoughts on “A Strange Slow Morning

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