It would appear that almost to the day of a significant birthday (mind your own business but a clue; biblical), the symptoms have arrived and my body has decided to take the hint and begin to fall to pieces.
To great surprise and annoyance I have developed what was first described (by yours truly) as…’panic attacks’. I have to say in all honesty I was kinda hoping that, that was indeed what it was. Panic Attack. Easily explained and fitting nicely into the mess that I call my life.
…it goes like this…after a minute or two of going about what I loosely call my business, I develop a tightness in my throat, a shortness in my breath and a strong desire to sit down. A couple of long breaths later I find I can continue until it happens again. Eventually it passes.
My first thought, was it was all brought on by my life-leaning towards anxiety. Unfortunately, I am always worried. I worry about being worried and worry when I am not worried if that makes sense. If there was an Olympic competition for ‘worrying’, I would take all three medals. I do have pills for the condition and without them there is no doubt I would be really worried.
Anyway, my Doctor, who I have great confidence in (not the least because he wears shorts) tried out Beta-Blockers thinking that it would reduce my ‘excitement levels’ and therefore my Adrenalin. Unfortunately, there was no noticeable effect. I took the pills, went on holiday with the memsahib and ‘suffered’ daily on my return from the beach from the same symptoms, which led to a rethink…rather than anxiety, perhaps exertion was the key.
To cut a long story short and upon further consultation with my doctor it’s looking like it might be Angina. Which is a pain. Except it isn’t. I have no pain in the chest just the symptoms I have described. Whatever it is, it would seem dear reader that age is catching up with me. So much so that I have been booked in for tests on a treadmill to further investigate the problem.
And therein lies my greatest fear…
Whatever is the cause of my slow demise, my biggest fear is that it will disrupt MY COOL.
I really don’t want to be carrying an oxygen tank like Lloyd Bridges (Google it) for the rest of my life. Nor do I want to have to ride around on one of those one-man golf trolley things that look like they’re going to fall over at any moment. That would be so UN-COOL. At a time when I have finally got my hair in the style that I have always wanted and feel OK in the clothes I choose to wear, I do not want a walking stick or any sort of aid. I would rather take to my bed.
What I wouldn’t mind is a small silver pill-box that I could flick open with a flourish every time the symptoms strike. To take a pill whilst carrying on the conversation without any sign of delay or pause would suit me fine. It would be COOL and just like it happens in the movies.
And that my friends…that I could live with.
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