Nine in twelve...

I had nine medical appointments in twelve days. 

I've been primarily sleeping since I arrived back home from Friday's testing.  Today is Monday, although it has barely begun.  For me, it is still Sunday.  As Monday, it is my last day of being radioactive from the nuclear scans I had before and after the stress test.  It is really hard not to worry about the radioactive liquid being injected into your vein when it is brought into the room inside a lead container by a tech wearing a radioactive alarm badge and ring, because even spills are dangerous! But, you know, I'm not to worry about it at all!

I tanked the stress test.  I was so very surprised at that.  Just a few minutes into it, my heart rate began to plummet, as did my blood pressure, until the latter was unreadable.  A chair was put on the treadmill and lots of worried folk surrounded me.  I wanted to try again, but I was overruled.  It was the chemical version for me.

Two weeks ago, during my last appointment with my GP, we both had been thinking the same thing: despite my ongoing fatigue, what if I started back on the treadmill?  She thought I should and suggested I start at 5 minutes.  I laughed at her number.  I did check with my cardiologist, who was in full agreement that I should start trying to regularly exercise and that is what I could do before my long illness, before my life consisted of falling asleep all the time.  But my GP wanted me to get through Friday's testing first.

Everything was normal.
No answer as to why I am having chest pain.
No answer as to why my pacemaker is giving me tachycardia at rest and whilst I am sleeping.

Despite doing little besides sleeping, taking Amos out, feeding him, and eating myself on Saturday, I did try the treadmill.  My body started tanking at 4 minutes! My treadmill was not on an incline and I was walking much slower.  I pushed through to 5 minutes anyway, but it was a close call to remaining vertical.

Today (Sunday) was much the same as to activities, with my endurance on the treadmill lasting only 3:31 before my body tanked.  I still pushed until that 5 minute mark.  I am stubborn that way.

I might also be stupid.

I am deeply frustrate at what my long illness has done to me.  In many ways, I feel like my doctors are not hearing me about how weak I still am.  It is not like I have been super lazy.  I mean, I live alone.  So, I have to keep my own household, which includes a dog.  Yes, cleaning is mostly on the back burner, but I do have to keep up with laundry and food and trash/recycling and ten million medical appointments.  My home is effectively three floors, so I do have to walk up and down stairs.  And the Rat Bastard requires me to go outside with him and be with him as he tends to his business, actually walking around with him if it is his major business.  I even have to go accompany him each time he drinks water because Mr. Prima Donna will only drink water he sees freshly poured (otherwise he goes to the "fresh water" in the toilet).  So, it is not like I am sedentary in between all my napping.

A while ago, I launched the Take Back My Life Campaign, so I am doing small tasks around the house every day to catch up on months and months and months of illness and then surgery.  Even today, with the help of Leslie's pop-by visit, I emptied my dishwasher, so I could empty the dirty dishes in the sink.  I also folded a load of laundry in between naps that I washed in between naps yesterday. And eventually the exhaustion of spending seven hours going to the hospital for all that testing and then the lab for blood work after a week with four other appointments will be wiped away with all my extra napping and I will be back to my normal crushing fatigue and can accomplish a larger task, such as organize my bathroom cabinet, which has been wanting for months now.

But I've got four appointments again this week. So, I imagine I will be sleeping much of the day for the rest of this week and weekend and maybe into next week.