The Channel of Distance, 43rd Day of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Electra): War. War never changes. In Ukraine, the war grinds on, with Russian attacks severely limiting Ukrainian grain exports in the Black Sea. Two Bulgarian ships were also struck by Russian drones in the Black Sea last week, and Ukraine blew up a Russian oil tanker near the Black Sea resort of Sochi. Germany has promised Ukraine another €1B+ for weapons, while the U.S. is apparently limiting intelligence sharing with the Ukraine military, much to the benefit of Russia. 

Meanwhile, Russian incursion into the Donbas region continues, albeit at a slower rate. The progress has slowed considerably, down from 11.69 sq km/day in 2025 to an average rate of 1.73 sq km/day this year. Analysts have calculated that dead, wounded, missing, or captured Russian troops amount to 627 casualties for each square kilometer of land captured this year. Putin is obviously willing to keep feeding Russian lives into the meat grinder of his war to further his geopolitical goals and avoid losing face in the conflict. 

The Stable Genius claims that Zelensky has missed multiple opportunities to "made a deal" and end the war, implying that the war's continuation is the fault of stubborn Ukrainian leadership, not Russian aggression. For Ukraine, "making a deal" to end the war means surrendering to an armed invasion and giving up sovereign territory. The Stable Genius has also claimed that high fuel prices in the U.S. are the fault of Ukraine for striking Russian oil refineries, even though Russian fuel sales were already embargoed and therefore not affecting prices, and the actual reason for the spike in fuel prices is the Stable Genius's war in Iran and the closing of the Strait of Hormuz.   

War. Lithuania is trying to change its constitution to allow NATO nuclear weapons to be stationed in the country. Finland decided to do likewise a few years ago. The breakdown of global arms-control agreements, the expiration of the New START Treaty, and rising tensions among nuclear-armed states have led the Bulletin of Concerned Scientists' to reset the Doomsday Clock to 85 seconds before midnight, the closest it has ever been to global-catastrophe midnight in its history. 

The clock keepers are also concerned about insufficient global action on climate change, increasing greenhouse-gas emissions, and policies reversing renewable energy progress. They're worried about the unguided expansion of artificial intelligence, including the potential for its integration into military command-and-control systems, biological threats, and disinformation ("information armageddon").

Earlier this year, February or mid-March, I took my car in to the dealership for a laundry list of much-needed maintenance. Among other things, they told be that the tire-pressure indicator needed to be replaced, but due to the time it would take to do that we decided to let it slide, although that meant the indicator light on my dashboard would continually be on. 

"Just keep an eye on your tires and put in some air if they ever look slack," they advised me. Which is what I did, driving to Knoxville, Tennessee and back with the low-tire-pressure light on. I added air to the tires a couple of times this year, but the warning light still stayed on all through Midsommar and the Dog Days and into these cooler early Autumn days. 

Today, a front tire was noticeably low (hell, it was practically flat), so I went to a gas station and topped off the pressure. While I was at it and just to be safe, I made sure every other tire was also up to the recommended 35 psi. Pulling out of the station, the warning light turned off for the first time in almost a year. The indicator was working after all. Was the dealer wrong or did it miraculously spring back to life? If the warning lights back up, would that mean my tire pressure was low or that the indicator had died again? And how would I know?

Questions, questions, questions flooding into the mind of the concerned Retired Old Man.

 

Day of the Legendary Duress, 42nd of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Deneb): I missed posting to this blog yesterday for the first  time in over three years. Odd. Not odd that I missed a day, but odd that I managed to go over three years, well over 1,000 days, posting something every single day.

For the record, I slept in late, and then spent way more time writing on the sports blog about the Georgia-Alabama game than I expected. My daughter had invited me over to her house for dinner last night, and it was past midnight by the time I got home. It was, by then, too late to post, and beside I realized I had nothing to say.   

Happy Indigenous Peoples' Day! Since the holiday falls on the second Monday of October in the traditional Gregorian calendar, and therefore on different numbered days of the month each year, it doesn't translate to my New Revised Universal Solar Calendar. This year it falls on the Day of the Legendary Duress, but last year it fell on Channel of the Distance. Next year it falls on Conflict of the Hosts. Madness.

Regardless of whatever calendar you follow, we're 22 days away from the midterm elections. I have dire premonitions we're mere weeks away from a tidal wave of civil unrest and paramilitary suppression the likes of which this country hasn't seen since the Civil War. A collapse of the American experiment in democracy.  

All indications are we're heading for a Blue Wave takeover of Congress, the Senate, and many state governments. That's a good thing. But all indications show our megalomaniacal, narcissistic, and deluded President psychologically can't and won't accept losing control of the House and Senate to the opposition party. He will not allow himself to become reportable and have to answer to an equal branch of government. He previously tried to overturn the results of the 2020 election by dirty political tricks (fake electors, etc.), litigation, and finally by brute mob force. 

Now he has his own private, well-armed militia (ICE), and his black-out drunk Secretary of Defense has purged the Armed Forces of anyone without total and unquestioning loyalty to the Stable Genius' administration or who even possibly be inclined to resist an illegal order. When (not if) the election results favor the Democratic Party, the Stable Genius will declare the results a fraud - "fixed," "rigged" (by who?), and "fake news." He'll have armed forces seize ballot boxes and election results, declare the losers of races to be the actual winners, and refuse to let the actual election results be released to the public. 

People of course will protest and the government will respond with brute force the way they did in 2020 to the Georgia Floyd protests in Minneapolis, D.C. and elsewhere. But this crackdown will be national in scale, the protests will be larger and more violent, and the suppression even more brutal. In short, there will be blood on the streets. People will die.         

It may finally come down to whether or not the Democratic Governors of blue states can mobilize state guards to protect the ballots from the federal troops - in other words, literal civil war, pitting state militia against federal militia. Most governors probably can't or won't mobilize troops, and those few that do will likely face the full force of the U.S. military in opposition to their actions. While the constitution forbids the domestic use of the U.S. Military against American citizens, the Stable Genius has already said he's "allowed" to do it and besides, he believes he can do whatever he wants. Meanwhile, I doubt his Secretary of Defense can even spell the word "constitution."

I sincerely hope I'm wrong, but I can't see this country beyond the next three weeks in anything other than a state of violent conflict. I'm a pacifist and besides too old and too weak to take to the streets and fight, so therefore I'll probably be amongst the first wave of those killed. 

If my failing heart doesn't take me out first. Impermanence is swift.

 

Summer Drum, 40th Day of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Betelgeuse): One change I'm going to have to make in the next version of the New Revised Universal Solar Calendar (New Revised USC 2.0?), is move "Summer Drum" out of the Autumn season. The title clearly belongs in Midsommar or the Dog Days. For some reason, old Angus MacLise had it near the end of Autumn in his five-season USC. I need to find a day-name in one of the two summer seasons in the New Revised USC that sounds evocative or at least appropriate for the fall, and swap it with Autumn's Summer Drum.

Or do I? There's poetry in MacLise's day-names, and "Summer Drum" in mid-Autumn could be intended to evoke nostalgia for the warmer days behind us as the post-equinox days get shorter and the air grows colder. Beating the Summer Drum could mean something like taping the fallen leaves back on the trees in a futile attempt to avoid the inevitable arrival of winter, of the cold, of death and the cold, cold ground.

Impermanence.   

There I go again. 

Hurricane Isaias behaved itself and followed the NWS' predicted path to the millimeter. It ran dead center straight up the middle of Alabama like a Georgia linebacker breaking through the o-line and charging for the end zone. There were a couple of deaths in Florida near where the storm made landfall, and hundreds of thousands of people left without power, but its impact was pretty minimal here in Atlanta. It rained like hell here for some 16 or so hours but the wind was manageable. No trees fell on my property or in my neighborhood and I didn't lose power. Earlier this year, I bought a pair of rechargeable battery-powered lamps and they've worked like a charm - ever since I bought them, I haven't lost power once.

Twelve more days until my cardiology exam.

New reports are emerging in the news about shootings by federal ICE agents. The US government is continuing its unlawful program of extrajudicial murders of offshore boaters, claiming they're smuggling drugs. Maybe they are, maybe they aren't, but there's no due process to support the killings and no transparency on how the government arrived at its conclusion.

It is written, "Things that bring about suffering are called evil, things which invite joy are called good" (Shobogenzo Zuimonki, 4-11). I don't think that many people can honestly claim that ICE's actions  invite joy, or that murdering random fishermen is a joyful act. Both cause suffering, and both therefore are evil. Those who direct, instigate, and perpetuate these acts are also evil, and it is evil to support these things. The Stable Genius, by this definition, is evil. So it is written.

 

Day of the Invisible Facade, 39th of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Aldebaran): Forecasts for Hurricane Isaias are all over the map. Literally. While the NWS and the NHC are fairly consistent with forecasting the track of the storm through the State of Alabama and avoiding Atlanta, other weather sites and online  meteorologists of unknown authority are posting different courses on social media. 

Storm's going to do what the storm's going to do. Either way, whether it slams into Georgia or sidesteps the state completely, we're in for quite the wild ride for the next 24 to 36 hours. Wind and rain, trees and power lines down, and flooding galore. 

My doctor was quite insistent that I not do anything strenuous or get my heart beating rapidly for prolonged periods until I can get to the cardiologist on the 22nd. Even avoid walking.  The stress from Hurricane Isaias, and my residual PTSD from the tree that fall on my house during Hurricane Zeta (2020) will put those admonitions to the test.

Our life is like a dream. Time passes swiftly. Our dewlike life easily disappears. Since time waits for no one, try to do good for others as long as you are alive.       

 

Theft of the Stages, 38th Day of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Helios): One hurricane all year and damned if the motherfucker isn't heading straight toward Atlanta! 

Some may want to challenge that trajectory and say the weather models have it running not toward Atlanta but north through the state of Alabama. But that line on the National Hurricane Center maps is of the eye of the storm, and hurricanes are much, much wider than the trajectory lines or those cones on the maps. 

Also, hurricanes are unpredictable - two years ago, based on all of the models and available data, Helene was supposed to track to the west of here but actually passed to the east of here. Ironically, I fled that storm by booking a hotel to the east of here, and wound up spending the night directly in the storm's path, although thankfully unharmed.  

Even if the eyewall doesn't pass through Georgia, there's still a not-insignificant risk on the periphery of the storm, including that of spin-up tornados. Falling trees. Flash flooding. Power outages. No Grub Hub delivery.

The center of Hurricane Isaias is forecast to pass over Tuscaloosa, Alabama right at the scheduled kick-off time for the Georgia Bulldogs-Alabama Crimson Tide football game. Alabama, never ones to concede pride to science, say they're still planning on hosting the game as planned. That decision puts thousands of fans in danger, not only during the game itself, but driving to and from the event as they pass through floodplains and over rain-swollen rivers. 

But there's an upside: the Stable Genius said he is going to attend the game, and although thousands of other innocent lives will be tragically lost, I can hope that the entire stadium fills with water from Isaias and drowns them all, including the Stable Genius. Or Air Force One or Marine One of whichever One he's flying goes down in the hurricane force winds and the bodies never recovered, finally ending our long national nightmare.

A boy can dream.

 

Fifth Day of the World Course, 37th of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Electra): Tropical Depression Nine is now Tropical Storm Isaias. It's forecast to become a hurricane by tomorrow morning and make landfall on the coast the day after. A life-threatening storm surge may accompany landfall along with damaging winds. Isaias will bring heavy rainfall to much of the southeast U.S. over the weekend, along with flash floods, urban floods, and isolated river flooding. 

It's forecast trajectory has it going straight into the heat of Alabama this weekend, which is ironic because the much anticipated Georgia-Alabama college football game is scheduled for Saturday in Tuscaloosa. It's also appropriate, because the Stable Genius had threatened to attend the game, and as we all know, everything he touches turns to shit, including the probability of this game occurring as planned. Despite the distraction, as a Georgia Bulldogs fan I was actually glad he would be attending, as hos presence at sporting events has generally jinxed the home team. But this one might get rained out, if not altogether washed away.

It's "ironic" that Isaias is coincident with the football game, and "appropriate" that the Stable Genius plans to attend given his propensity for disaster. A friend of mine once hypothesized that in literary criticism, everything is either appropriate or else ironic. If something's obvious in a book, no matter how banal or heavy-handed, critics say it's "appropriate." On the other hand, no matter how unlikely, unrealistic, or far-fetched something is, it's never "inappropriate" or even "fucking stupid," it's always "ironic." As in, "It's appropriate that the villain died from the gunshot wound, but it's ironic that the bullet then ricocheted off the metal valve implanted in his heart and hit the hero right between the eyes." 

"Get in the habit of using those two words," he advised me, "and you're guaranteed a job as a book or movie reviewer."

Anyway, best wishes and safe-keeping to the good people along the Gulf Coast. Be careful out there. 

Good news! I got my cardiology appointment moved up from November 4 (Fourth Day of Hagwinter) to October 22 (52nd Day of Autumn). Last week, my personal-care physician, alarmed at my test results, insisted that I see the cardiologist "within two weeks," so I was disappointed that the earliest I could get an appointment was five weeks out. The new date is three weeks (two weeks from today), which makes me feel better, at least psychologically, than waiting five. It's "ironic" that I had been initially scheduled for five weeks away, but it's "appropriate" to now wait only three.

 

Fourth Day of the World Course, 36th of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Deneb): The sun came out today, the first time in, I don't know, four or five days. That trough of low pressure in the Gulf is now Tropical Depression Nine and is expected to develop into a hurricane, the first of the season, in the next two or three days. It's forecast to eventually turn north toward the Gulf Coast, although its precise route and timing cannot yet be predicted. However, the storm's strength will likely peak before making landfall, although it is still expected to be a dangerous hurricane when it does eventually hit the coast. 

We were this close to making it through a season without a single Atlantic Hurricane, much less landfall, and then T.S. Nine comes along and spoils everything.

As I noted yesterday, impermanence, suffering, and non-self are the three marks of existence according to the Buddha, although I maintain that the three distinguishing aspects of reality, of things as they are, are impermanence, emptiness and interdependence. All things are impermanent, that is, nothing lasts forever and all things eventually pass. All things are impermanent because they are also interdependent upon all other things in the universe - every atom in your body was forged in the fusion reactor that is a star; your memories, personality, and preferences were all influenced to some degree or another by other people and things; and you're the beneficiary of the languages, ideas, philosophies, religions, and inventions of countless people before you. And because all things are interdependent, they are empty of individual existence. And because all things are empty of individual existence and reliant upon external and ever changing conditions, they are impermanent, and the logic cycles around and around, again and again.

All of that is pretty fucking philosophical and abstract and is part of the reason that although I don't disagree with a word of it, I no longer consider myself a Buddhist. I consider myself a contemplative stoic. Contemplative stoicism basically takes the fundamental teachings of the Stoics but filters them though a Buddhist understanding, omitting the bullshit parts about Logos, and uses meditation practice to directly experience and realize those teachings. 

Just like any tool, a philosophy or a religious practice is worthless unless it can do something useful. Their value is precisely the usefulness of what that can do. Faced as I am with the irrefutable evidence - my ischemic heart - of my own mortality, I could fall into despair and hopelessness. But I always knew that I was going to eventually die, and every passing year it was becoming more and more obvious. 

I have to admit that the symptomatic angina has been, at least so far, extremely mild, so I'm not "suffering" the pain of heart disease. Any suffering that I do experience at this stage is simply my own mind protesting against the inevitability of my eventual demise, my not accepting that impermanence applies to myself just as much as it applied to Dolly Parton. 

As solace, a Buddhist will point to that circular logic above (impermanence > interdependence > emptiness) and maintain that impermanence is one of the Buddha's three marks of existence. Where Buddhism and stoicism align are the first three of the four noble truths: the existence of suffering, that suffering is caused by craving and clinging, that if we let go of craving and clinging, the suffering ceases or at least abates.

In short, I have to accept I'm not going to live forever (I'm not Bryan Johnson). But while I am alive, I can control a large amount of the suffering I experience. I don't have to layer psychological states of outrage and anger and regret and nonacceptance on top of what ever physical pain and discomfort eventually comes my way. 

All the world's a stage, and the script for my role in the great play is approaching the line reading "Exit Shokai, stage right." I can choose to walk of that stage with a smile on my face - or at least a dignified air of acceptance - happy that I at least got a chance to grace that great stage, or I can choose to leave screaming and crying and protesting that it's all somehow the stage's fault. 

The first option sounds preferrable to me. 

 

Third Day of the World Course, 35th of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Castor): It's a moody, overcast day here in Georgia today, cool, but a clammy kind of cool with heavily overcast skies. We got 0.65 inches of rain yesterday, and it felt like it all fell within one hour in the early afternoon, and while it's not raining now, it looked and felt like rain all day.

Meanwhile, somewhere over the southwestern Gulf of Mexico, a trough of low pressure is expected to develop into a tropical depression by the middle of this week. The system is drifting eastward and is expected to eventually turn north toward the Gulf Coast.

The three marks of existence in classic Buddhism are impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and non-self (anattā). Impermanence is swift, as I've been saying, and it's also pervasive. My sister in Massachusetts, who had surgery for oral cancer around this time last year and then spent months in chemo-, immuno-, and radiation therapy, had an appointment with her oncologist today. The cancer's back, despite the surgery and all the torturous treatment, and is manifesting itself through a swollen face and tongue and debilitating headaches. A PET scan last month revealed "hot spots," but the doctors still can't pinpoint the exact sites, or determine whether or not they're malignant. Bottom line: they can't determine a treatment without a better understanding of exactly where and what it all is. 

Meanwhile, she can't swallow and therefore can't eat, and is still on a feeding tube directly to her stomach that was inserted following her surgery last November. She's taking Oxycontin to help manage the pain and suffering. A brutal lesson in dukkha.

My ischemic heart has me reflecting on my own impermanence but I'm not getting clobbered by suffering the way that she is. I can't even describe my angina as "pain" - it's more of a sensation that frankly doesn't even rise to the level of discomfort. 

However bad I may have things, she's suffering a thousand times more, putting my complaints into perspective. And that's a powerful lesson.

 

Second Day of the World Course, 34th of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Betelgeuse): I finally broke the news about my heart condition to my daughter, the first person I revealed my situation to except of course you, dear reader. You, and the entire internet. My Google stats say my recent posts have averaged 3,000 views each, but I think the vast majority of those are bots and scammers scrapping the web looking for vulnerabilities (e.g., passwords or financial data) and not actual readers. 

My daughter, of course, was sympathetic and supportive, but what can she do? I felt better, though, for unburdening myself to her and sharing the load of my awareness of impermanence. 

Today was finally my first fully medicated day. Crestor at night and a beta-blocker and aspirin in the morning for my heart, losartan for my blood pressure, Cialis for my grapefruit-sized prostate, and a B-12 supplement for my vitamin deficiency. What happens after the collapse and the end of free trade and the supply chain? Do I just curl up somewhere and die, or do I take to the ramparts and battle the ICE troopers and MAGA mobs unmedicated until my heart explodes? If I think about it, I'd probably make a great candidate for a suicide-bomber mission in that situation, since I'm not going to live long after the collapse of the supply chain anyway.

I'm still some 30 days or so from my first cardiologist appointment. The day after election day. I've been instructed to not take my alternating- day walks, which throws me off my intervening-day sitting schedule and leaves my time open and uncomfortably formless. 

So far this weekend, I've passed my time watching sports (football and hockey), television (the Firefly series), and video games (Ghost Recon Wildlands), but daytime sports will be over after the weekend, at least until next weekend, and the other activities aren't a sustainable way to spend the entirety of one's days. I've been reading (Song of Solomon, The Left Hand of Darkness, and most recently World's End by T. Coraghessan Boyle) and that helps.

Impermanence may be swift, but it can also be incredibly banal and boring.

 

Day of the World Course, 33rd of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Aldebaran): Each of the six seasons in the New Revised Universal Calendar has a five-day stretch of sequentially named days, e.g., "Day of the x," "Second Day of the x," and so on to the Fifth Day. Autumn has the five Days of the World Course, and today is the first.

I finally scored my drugs, the pharmaceuticals my doctor prescribed for my breaking heart. The pharmacy texted me around 6:30 last night, an hour or so after the previous post here, that they were had finally arrived. To be fair, the script wasn't placed until mid Thursday morning, and although the pharmacy was out of stock when the order arrived, they had them to me by early Friday evening.

For years, I prided myself on not being on any prescription drugs, which from talking to friends and family is highly unusual for an American of my age. But now my medicine cabinet is crowded with four different prescriptions, plus daily over-the-counter aspirin and a B-12 supplement my doctor advised before the issues with my heart came up. I have to gobble down four pills in the morning plus an eyedropper full of the B-12, which almost constitutes a breakfast in and of itself. I have to take the sixth med, Crestor, in the evening, so I keep it right next to my toothbrush to remind me to take my final med as I brush my teeth at night. My mnemonic mantra is "Crest and Crestor."

Funny thing about the aspirin - I didn't have to wait until my medicines arrived at the pharmacy to start with a daily aspirin, as I've long had a handy bottle at home for those unexpected headaches and other aches and pains, But I got to wondering just exactly how long it was that I had that handy bottle and checked the expiration date. Sure enough, the date had expired . . . in 2013. Thirteen-year-old aspirin, which had surely decomposed to acetic and salicylic acid by now.

That's part of the problem with getting old. In addition to failing organs and forgetfulness, which is just another symptom of another organ failing, time rushes by faster and faster until you lose all track of it. Then, before you know it, the aspirin that you suspect might be "kind of old" turns out to have expired during the first year of Obama's second term.

Impermanence is swift.

 

Release from Dawn, 32nd Day of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Helios): The pharmacy still hasn't managed to cop my drugs, and the cardiologist still hasn't found any breathing room in his busy schedule to see me this month. It's Friday afternoon, and I don't expect either situation to change until after the weekend.

Life-and-death is the great matter, Dogen always emphasized. Impermanence is swift. "This evening or tomorrow morning you may become sick or die," he wrote (Shobogenzo Zuimonki, 2-25). "Still you have no idea how your death may come or what kind of sickness you may contract. It is utterly foolish to pass the time you are alive meaninglessly lying down or sleeping."

"I respectfully urge you who study the mystery to not pass your days and nights in vain." - Shítóu Xīqiān (700–790)

I'm not afraid of dying and I don't believe in an afterlife. I won't know it when I'm gone, it will be just like before I was born. On the other hand, I'm terrified at the prospect of living a diminished life, in and out of 'hospital ORs and unable to feed and care for myself. I'd rather not be, than be that way.

But I'm not suicidal either and I enjoy, even cherish, these moments of life on Earth. I still have books left to read and movies to watch. There's music I still haven't listened to, and they're making new stuff all the time. I like hearing birds sing, especially owls, and there are lots of them in my neighborhood, whole parliaments. And as for this whole crazy, world situation, I really want to see what happens next, at least the first few pages of the next chapter of history.

I'll keep posting as long as I can, even if there's no one reading. Especially if there's no one reading.

 

Day of the Rusted Machines, 31st of Autumn, 526 M.E. (Electra): Now it appears that for what's left of my impermanent life, I'm going to be complaining here about the labyrinthine bureaucracy and lack of human compassion in the industrial-medicinal complex. At least I won't be whining about the weather or the Stable Genius, or at least not as much.

Let's start with the presentation of yesterday's test results. I got the word that I have myocardial ischemia, not from a face-to-face consultation or even a telephone call, but from a pdf found inside of my provider's app. It took me a while to even understand it and for the impact to slowly sink in, and then I noticed the test result's description of the patient (me): 6' 6" and 241 pounds. For the record, I'm far from either (more like 5' 11" and 175 pounds). 

What's more, the pdf said I had a history of atypical angina, diabetes, hyperlipidemia (whatever that is), congestive heart failure, and cardiomyopathy. None of that is true. It also said that I'd had a previous treadmill test and a cardiac catheterization, which also wasn't true. I think I would have remembered. 

There was no information on who to contact if I had any questions, so yesterday afternoon I emailed my primary care physician. He called me and agreed that the incorrect information was "odd," and that he'd reach out to the cardiologist to see if he could get to the bottom of things. But for the better part of some 16 hours, I was hanging on to an absurd and desperate hope that maybe the results I received were for some other patient (even though the report had my name, date of birth, and address at the top). Maybe I was fine after all, maybe it was all just some big mix-up.

No. There was a mix-up all right - everyone agreed that I wasn't 6" 6" and 241 pounds - but my PCP called today and said the cardiologist was sure that he reviewed the correct chart for my test. The nurse or some tech must have entered the wrong patient info and history into the report. Shit happens, and who has time to check things, anyway? Amirite? 

      

My doctor referred me to a interventional cardiologist, and said that if I can't get an appointment within the next two weeks to contact him to see what he could do to twist arms. I called the cardiologist, and the scheduler/receptionist said the earliest I could get an appointment was sometime in November. That's more than two weeks out and as it still hadn't sunk in to me yet that today was the first of October, November seemed all the more far away. 

As directed, I texted my doctor and said I couldn't get an appointment within the two-week window he prescribed. Later, the cardiologist's office emailed me saying that they got the referral from my PCP, but when I called they were still booked through November. I tried to convey the urgency my doctor was expressing to me, but to a scheduler/receptionist, time is but an appointment book and she had nothing until November. Nothing she can do about it . . . 

My doctor also prescribed me some meds to hold me over so that I don't have a heart attack between now and my eventual appointment. So of course, my pharmacy texted me and said they were out of stock on both meds, but they've placed a backorder and will let me know when they eventually come in. Meanwhile, I'm popping aspirins as a last-resort blood thinner.

So, if short, I'm supposed to see a cardiologist within two weeks and take a bunch of pharmaceuticals in the meantime to keep from popping my cork, but the best I can do is wait six weeks for the "next available appointment" and also wait until my pharmacy can score the drugs I'm supposed to be taking while I wait for my appointment. 

The doctor also advised me not to do anything strenuous until we get this all worked out, and specifically said to stop with my alternating-day walks. So no more six-mile Quincys or nine-mile Harrisons, at least for now. Maybe forever.

What a drag it is getting old.