Well today has been fun.

Today I had an appointment at the Stroke Prevention Clinic on the 8th floor of the Gordon and Leslie Diamond Building, across the street from VGH.

So Julian drove me there this morning, darling man that he is. The official parking structure was full, so Julian just dropped me off at the front entrance with the understanding that I would call him when I was done.

This becomes very important soon. Pay attention, there will be a quiz.

So the appointment went fine. My doctor’s name is Doctor Teal, which secretly delighted me. Makes him sound like a suspect in a particularly fancy game of Clue.

He did a bunch of the usual neuromuscular tests ^[1] plus whacked me various places with the modern version of the doctor’s reflex hammer, which has a round, heavy head that looks more like a very swank pizza cutter than any kind of hammer.

Still don’t know exactly what they are looking for. A certain kind of twitch, I guess.

He seemed satisfied. So I assumed I twitched properly.

Then came what I knew would come : a brain CT scan. When you are preventing stroke, there is really nothing better than a good look at the territory.

I was very tempted to say. “So what you’re saying, Doctor Teal, is that I ought to have my head examined. ”

But you can never tell whether a doctor has a sense of humour beforehand and if he had failed to laugh it would have bummed me out, so I kept it to myself until I could write it down here.

Which I have now done. Checkmark sound effect.

I will hear from Richmond General about my brain CAT scan soon.

I hope this time, the cat is a Persian. They’re so fluffy!

Sadly, then the appointment ended and the trouble began. I got the receptionist to call Julian and headed down to wait for him at the front of the building.

But I goofed, went out the wrong way, and ended up behind the building instead. No problem, I will just go back through the building.

Nope! The door locked behind me. It is literally impossible for me to go back through the building to where Julian is waiting for me.

No problem, I will just go around the building instead.

But no, that makes too much sense. And this is Downtown Vancouver, where the motto is “Hey, FUCK YOU for walking!”.

Or driving. Or biking. Or daring to be alive period.

So my attempt to “go around the building” ended up causing me to walk block after block along 10th in a vain search for the place where I could get back onto Laurel.

And getting increasingly lost. Eventually I had to sit down because my poor wimpy legs were about to give out.

Only when I tried to sit on this brick fence thing, I missed, and landed on my big fat butt on the sidewalk instead.

No harm done. I am well cushioned there. I sat on the sidewalk like a little kid, and contemplated my fate.

Then I tried to get up.

Unsurprisingly, I could not.

Not with my knees as fucked up as they are. To get up I would have had to rest my full weight on my knees and they would have gone POP and that would be bad.

So there I sat, helpless, unable to even stand up, and knowing poor Julian was probably going crazy with worry over me as he searched for me.

Luckily, a sweet lady with a French accent stopped and asked me if I “needed any ‘elp”. I said yes, very much so, and she recruited this talk blonde dude.

He was very sweet and called Julian and told him where I was, then he and a thickly built Asian dude hoisted me onto my feet.

Then Julian showed up, I thanked my rescuers profusely, and I got in the car.

THE END. Roll credits.

No lasting harm, as far as I know. My legs hate me right now but I will get over it. Once more life conspired to fuck me over and show me how helpless and pathetic I am. And one fundamental truth was made abundantly clear :

I really need to get a fucking cell phone,.

More after the break.

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Witness the aftermath

Wow, that first part was 755 words. Now I have to come up with 245 more.

Gee, I hope I can make it.

I seem to have bounced back from today’s circus of fuckery. ^[2] After some rest, my legs are not in nearly as much pain and I don’t ache all over like I did before.

And I’m not as tired either, of course. Which reminds me : my legs may have given out, but you know what didn’t?

My heart. It kept up the pace marvelously. Did not get a peep of complaint from it for the whole experience. My lungs bitched a little as did my feet but my heart did not.

Meaning those stents worked. Fuckin A.

My heart works reasonably well now. Which means there is one fewer reason for me to not be getting some much needed exercise.

If I could get my lungs working this well, I would probably exercise more. Nothing discourages healthy motion like pain.

Pain is nature’s way of saying, “Don’t do that!”. Even when “that” is something very good for your long term well-being.

Because nature is dumb.

I would also need decent shoes, ones that let me walk without pain. Ones that can withstand my elephantine weight without becoming flatter than a gluten free crepe.

Surely such things exist. Surely somewhere out there are fat people with arch support.

If I could get all that together, the last step would be to buy myself a good sturdy used bicycle in time for the weather to get better in the spring.

Richmond is extremely flat and therefore a joy to bike around, and riding a bicycle is a form of exercise I already know I like. Plus I would have more freedom.

Then again, I am not very durable any more. Maybe I would be better off confining my activities to whatever Peloton type machines I can get access to.

Part of me wants to get myself moving. I know that I would be much healthier and happier if I had a way to burn off excess energy and get my juices flowing. This extremely sedentary life is just plain no good.

But I am so scared. Scared of pain, scared of leaving my dark little hole, scared of having to be truly alive and fully awake when it makes reality so goddamned loud.

I need to be able to put reality on a dimmer switch so I can raise the brightness slowly.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,.