And even closer...

Days passing ... far less productively than I had hoped.  The time between now and when I shall be doing nothing more than merely existing is dwindling far more quickly than I had hoped.  What I have left to accomplish, I believe, is more than I can do.  At least I got a batch of roasted rutabaga and parsnips beer cheese soup made.

The last two times I have cooked with chipotle peppers, now, I have miscounted and ended up with extra spiciness.  Having been a person who never ate anything spicy, I certainly have learned to enjoy a bit of heat.  A bit.  I was surprised, however, that with 36 ounces of cheese and 32 ounces of milk, that the soup was a spicy as it was.

I have my trust paperwork all in order and available should it be needed.   I have the notes for Amos' care.  And I have made serious inroads on the organization of my computer, shifting from what I think makes sense to what is a tad bit more logical.  I have also worked on deleting whole swathes of my life.  Of that I am two minds ... but the Trash folder is already emptied.

The curtains have all been washed and rehung, with the windows cleaned whilst they were being cleaned.  The house is certainly brighter.  As is the silver.  Finally!

I have been trying to think of things needing doing before company comes the week of Christmas, such as the silver and the curtains (and windows) that I will not be able to do for a while after the pacemaker surgery.  I have also tried to think of things that need doing in case of emergency, such as updating the trust paperwork and getting it organized.  And I have tried to think of things that are important for being away from the house for two days, even though Becky will be here and two folk will be checking on Amos.  The later is why I finally addressed the deadbolt on the door to the garage.

When I paid to have it installed, I did not check the work.  These days, I have learned, you really have to check everything.  So, the contractor did not center the deadbolt in the hole of the striker plate so as to allow for movement in the wood as the seasons change.  That means that during cooler and cold weather, the deadbolt hits the bottom of the striker plate and cannot be locked.  I could not just move the striker plate because its screws were set too close to the hole.  The top screw would have nothing to grab onto in that case.  I looked for and found a striker plate with a larger hole and, thus, screws set further apart and installed it.

I am not skilled in drilling holes.
Even with plenty of tools.
It was laughable.

But the door locks and the garage, therefore, is once more secure.  One more thing not to worry about.  Only.  Only worrying about all these little things is helping me to keep from worrying about the big thing.  About the pacemaker.  And my heart.

I really like to tell myself, after that really bad day, that the palpitations were better.  I do have whole days in which I am not worried about what is going on with my heart.  But the reason I first called has continued to be a problem.  I have minutes and even hours were the flip-flopping and fluttering is non-stop.  And most everything I do leaves me short of breath.  I dislike that.  I dislike it greatly with asthma attacks, but without it being from asthma, I dislike it even more.  The other night, I spent the entire night trying to catch my breath.  It was exhausting and terrifying.  Thank goodness I had silver that needed polishing to dwell upon.  No more, though.  All is shiny here.

I need to do laundry, change the bedding, bathe Amos, and fetch prescriptions at the very least before Wednesday.  I would like to vacuum.  My dust bunnies' dust bunnies now have dust bunnies themselves.  A true scientific marvel at just where all these dust bunnies are coming from.  A distressing scientific marvel.  I am not sure I will be able to vacuum.

I would also like to lay a fire, since carrying wood after the surgery will be difficult.  I will miss my fires and thought the possibility of one in the first few days might cheer me up. Even if I do feel better much sooner than I think, the carrying restriction is for two months.  Filling a fire place one log at a time, making a gazillion trips between the firewood rack on the back porch and my fireplace does not seem all that doable.

I shall miss my fires.
I shall miss my fires.
I shall really, really, really miss my fires.

As for the impending visit, I had planned to cook my way through it, having a captive audience and as a way to keep busy with all the folk here.  I am beginning to wonder if I will be able to do so.  I wish I had an idea of just how bad the first few days will be, how long before I can at least putter about the house, and how long until I can pick up my beloved Fluffernutter once more.

Amos, the poor pup, has become increasingly agitated as I have practiced packing my bag for the hospital as my friend Mary suggest that I do.  It is a good suggestion for me, but not for Amos.  Today, he has insisted in being in my lap if I am sitting and being held if I am up.  If I were not so worried about being apart from him for the first time in nearly five years of constant companionship, I would find it a bit endearing.  Annoying, too, I should admit.  It is hard to get anything done with a clingy puppy dog.

An adorable clingy puppy dog.

I know there are bazillions of folk the world over with pacemakers, but I am terribly frightened about this, about getting through the procedure without any ... hiccups.  The closer I come to pulling up to the hospital, the worse my fear grows (as do my dreams).  I wish it were different.  I wish I were stronger.

SIGH.