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1:07 p.m. - 2007-04-06 You know, it's hard to be objective when it comes to one's own health, life, and destiny. For example, yesterday, as I was having my little stroke (technically a TIA, because there was no lasting damage, or paralysis,) I wasn't seeing myself in an objective way, like (say) some doctor or nurse would have. I was praying to God for another day of life, as though God might weigh my request with all the consideration with which it was made. I was fully expecting God's diligent deliberation. After all, it was His decision whether or not I was to die yesterday, or live on, and thinking to give Him a reason to let me live, I heard myself promise to give Him more of the time He would give me. *Sigh* It wasn't until late last night, shortly after I'd made the journal entry, in fact, that I'd begun my nightly ritual of eating the pile of prescribed meds I've had to deal with since my heart attack and the first stroke, last year. I picked up my semi-transparent green plastic pill organizer, with its seven compartments, two of them still full to the tops with the different sized and shaped pills.
Something about it struck me immediately; something that had been stuck in the back of my mind for several days, that was only now taking shape in my thoughts. The overall color of the pills was wrong, and all week long, this had been vaguely bothering me. Then it hit me. The blood thinner, Aggrenox, the red and yellow one, was missing from the last two daily doses.
Then, in July, my kitty got sick. She crawled into a secluded spot in the basement, and at 10 AM on the 27th, she died. I found her there about an hour later when I went down to switch the laundry from washer to dryer. I'd been there a few minutes before ten, and I knew she was dying, but she'd move away whenever I approached to touch her. So, I stood at the folding table and sang to her, a song she'd always liked to hear, "My Girl." It wasn't easy to sing it while trying not to cry, but I got through it okay. When I walked out of that room, I knew I wouldn't see the expression of love in her eyes again, so I went upstairs and cried. She was fifteen years old, and her illness had not been unexpected, but losing her still hit me pretty hard. Four days later, on the 31st (my Dad's birthday) I had the first stroke. It happened in the same way that yesterday's episode occurred, just as I lay my head down on the bed pillow. The doctor had told me at that time that the MRI showed earlier strokes, several of them, and that I must have a "clotting issue," so he'd insisted I continue on the blood thinners, and that I never again stop taking them. He gave me a different brand, however, prescribing Aggrenox instead of Plavix. I managed to get used to the Aggrenox, and by December, the dental bleeding had abated. The Aggrenox still made me dizzy and weak, as the Plavix had. It also gave me a new challenge. Migraine headaches, for which I received a prescription for Midrin, a phenobarbital compound, according to the doctor. The Midrin helps, but it doesn't prevent the onset of headaches, nor does it completely relieve the pain. But, all this week, I'd been feeling just fine, really great, in fact, and better each day. No headaches, no dizziness, plenty of energy and ambition. Now, I understand why; it's because I must have not taken the Aggrenox since Sunday night, when I last filled my pill organizer. Was feeling good for a week worth it? Guess I'd have to say, no. And, now I wonder what God thought of all my prayerful bargaining.
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