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.