Feeling a Little Down on my Birthday

Rasputin is chewing on a bone, and I'm putting off some editing that I've been putting off for weeks now. After completing this post, I have to get at it. That's how I'm spending this Friday night, which happens to be my birthday.

I am grateful to those friends who remembered the day, calling me with well wishes, posting Facebook comments, or sending a card. And dear Georgette, the Floridian pixie, Photoshopped me as a flirtatous faerie, which is now dangling from my living-room ceiling fan.

Despite the kindness of these friends, I'm feeling a little down, not much, just a little. I no longer stay down, as I did when I was a child or as I did until about six years ago when a lot of things shifted for me. And my downs are not so deep as they once were. Sometimes I feel down for only a few minutes now. Today it's been a few minutes here and there.

Birthdays, like holidays, help us mark the year. They're a time for us to reflect on what we've experienced during the past 12 months and on those things that seem ever-elusive. New Year's Eve, for example, has often been a down time for me, not just because I don't have a date (the first and last time that happened was 1976 with Rod at the Milwaukee Performing Arts Center), but that I think, "Another year and still no love to share it with."

I wonder when I will be with a love who will remember my birthday, go to sleep beside me, wake up next to me, kiss the back of my neck, and rub whatever he can of my taped-up belly. I wonder when I'll go on B&B weekends with a lover, when I'll be invited to parties at which everyone else is in a couple and I will be too, when I'll have someone to give me a ride home from the mechanic, when I'll find a man who actually wants to have sex and is capable of doing something in bed.

I was referred by the Renal Support Network to an article about a PD patient who was very reluctant to begin dialysis but received a transplant a few years back and is now having a wonderful life with her husband. This article is meant to inspire and encourage, but it has not done that for me. All the craziness I have been going through to get on the damn transplant wait list, and the craziness continues. Where will it end, and will it end with me on the wait list or simply having gone through all this drama just to be denied? And the loving, supportive husband--where is he? Whenever you read of someone who has faced tremendous health challenges and has overcome them, there is always a loving, supportive spouse. When do I get mine?

As I wrote these words, little Rasputin came up to me and climbed onto my lap. I am very grateful that he has been sent from heaven to remind me that I am richly deserving of the very best love.

Wait List Update

Thanks to everyone who has been praying on my behalf. Things are at a crossroads. It's far more complicated than this, but basically UCLA wants me to undergo another angiogram and possibly stent surgery before approving me for the wait list; however, the dye used for the angiogram can damage the kidneys, and I don't currently have any cardiac symptoms, so I feel the surgery is unnecessary.

Also, having the surgery does not guarantee I'll be placed on the list. So, my nephrologist is talking to the director of the transplant team to try to get him pinned down: What does he need to see with my heart to get me on the list? If the surgery is just as a preventative, I'm not interested in taking the risk to my kidneys. But if it would ensure my placement on the list, I'd be more agreeable.

So, at the moment, that's where things stand. Thanks so much for your continued support and affirmation. I am affirming that, if the angiogram is done, it will show that I have a completely new and healthy heart, as I have been telling my doctors for months. That it is better than it's ever been. I ask for you to see the same. Thanks so much.

That Delicious Feeling of a Steel Band Being Pulled Tight Across my Chest

Every once in a great while, I meet a man who excites me. In the past almost 10 years--since my last encounter with Mike--only seven men have given me that delicious feeling of a steel band being pulled tight across my chest, that crazy pain in my groin, that electricity shooting through my body.

One was a one-time massage client, my very last client of the day on my last day at a chiropractor's office back in 2000. An instant attraction. We met later for a long, fancy dinner. He was such a Southern gentleman, giving me compliments at every turn. Such sexual tension, but alas, he was married and lived in Atlanta. We almost kissed, but knew that if we did that, we'd do everything. I never saw or heard from him again.

Then there was the 21-year-old surfer. We had three fantastic bouts of kisses, one on a boat. One of the most erotic times I've ever had with anyone was fully clothed with him at an art museum. We took on other personalities. I was Svetlana, complete with a Russian accent, a cynical attitude, and black back-seamed nylons. He was a fish affecienado who was confused about his sexuality. Our favorite game outside the museum was me giving him verbal instructions as to how he was to adjust the passenger-side mirror on my van. That's the best: When there's the thinnest veil of propriety, when an outside observer might think that what we're doing and saying is completely on the up and up, perfectly normal, above board. And yet, to us, it's charged with sex. I told him he should relax about the age difference, think of me as a priestess in ancient Greece who would invite young men to the temple to be schooled in the ways of love. Though he told his parents of his feelings for me, when he found out I was 44 and not the late 30s he had suspected, that was too much for him.

With the third man I had a few amazing times, but the last was ho-hum. He is someone with so many commitments, personal and career, that he never had more than a few hours every six months or so to give me.

Charlie I've written about previously. We had some wonderful kisses in Flagstaff on one October afternoon in 2004, but he, too, was married, and I never saw him again.

When I danced with a stranger at a supper club late last year, I felt that sweet, agonizing pain in my groin. We exchanged numbers and were supposed to get together the following weekend, but he flaked. My friend Bev said he must have been married too.

The email-and-phone trysts with a craigslist guy nearly drove me insane with desire last summer. We never met in the flesh.

And lately I've had a crush on someone. The sexual tension goes both ways but most likely will never be voiced or acted upon because the societal roles we play make manifestation problematic. As with the young surfer, there is that intriguing and delicious duality of propriety and legitimate business vs. sexual undertones. But as long as nothing physical occurs, it's a feeling I can take out from time to time, as I would a book from a shelf. No harm in that.

Sure would be wonderful to have this feeling for someone who is available and who feels the same for me. Wouldn't that be something! But that seems like a fairyland, a world I heard about some time long ago in a dream. All the things I have been imagining! All the things I've been storing up since my days with Mike! WOW, I am so ready to let all that loose!

But it's possible that, like good health, I will have to wait until my next lifetime to actualize all the passion, love, intimacy, wonder, and craziness I've been stockpiling all these many years because letting it out with someone who doesn't thrill me would be so not happening, so dead. I have friends who tell me they don't aspire to feel the steel band being pulled tightly across their chests. That someone who is nice and they get along with is good enough. Well, that's not good enough for me. I'm too much of a romantic. I'm not interested in settling.

Rasputin, the Healer

Though Rasputin the historical figure is often given a bad rap, he had a healing effect on Alexis, the only son of Czar Nicholas and Czarina Alexandra of Russia. After the birth of four daughters, the royal couple was elated when Alexis, the long-awaited heir to the throne, was born. Tragically, he was also a hemophiliac. Rasputin, however, was able to still Alexis's episodes of bleeding. How he did this is not known. Some figure he was a hypnotist, but there is little to support this theory. Rasputin was decidedly a mystic, and I'm going to leave it at that.

Like his namesake, my little Rasputin has definitely had a healing effect on me. Approximately 10 years ago, my heart was literally and figuratively broken. It is then that Mike, the big love of my life, discarded me, and it is then that I developed cardiac symptoms.



I have done my damnest to find a new boyfriend. I take care of my looks, I dress nicely, I talk with guys, I go out on every first date I'm offered, I suggest coffee for those who may be too shy to ask me, I have belonged to at least a half dozen dating sites. And yet, love has eluded me. For this past decade I have slept alone every night.

And then just this past week, Rasputin became the first creature to fall asleep with me. I was sitting in the recliner, and he rested his little head against my chest and his little body against my tummy, and we both fell asleep. So sweet. How I wish I could experience that sweet feeling with a man, that sweetness of falling asleep with someone I love.

Other times Rasputin has sat on my lap with his head over my heart, and his back legs have twitched. This made me think of how, during a massage, I will sometimes flush out the pain or the psychic junk in a client by running my hand very quickly over the troubled area, unruffling the obstruction, clearing it from the body. I feel Rasputin has been doing this for me, clearing my body, and most especially my heart, of any obstructions that have been weighing it down.

Ever since Rasputin has come to live with us, I have had no chest pain. Though the chest pain and pressure had substantially decreased since I started dialysis, they were still there, primarily when I would walk any more than a short distance. Since Rasputin, I have had no pain upon walking or exercising in any other way. In fact, my heart does not keep me from doing anything I would like to do.

What's more, for the first time in 10 years, I am able to sleep on my side. I had always been a side sleeper, but upon the onset of chest pain, I was unable to do so because this put too much weight on my heart. I had to train myself to sleep on my back. Every once in a while I would attempt to lie on my side, but I could only do this for a minute or less before the constriction became unbearable. Now I can spend the whole night on my side if I want.

My friend Araia had always told me that a dog that really loves a human can serve as a conduit for healing the human's ailments. I know this is happening. My little Rasputin is healing my heart.

Definitely a Friendly Neighborhood

On Saturday evening, I was out walking with Rasputin and friend Armando. I was wearing a fitted, hot-pink skirt, a white blouse, and pink flats and was carrying a matching pink purse. I always get plenty of attention when I wear this skirt, and Saturday evening was no exception.

A few blocks from the ocean, we came across a BBQ. About a dozen adults and a few small children were spilling out of an apartment onto the front steps and the sidewalk. The adults held beers, and one guy was grilling on a Webber set up in the grassy strip betweeen the sidewalk and the street. Because this party had no front yard, as the steps to the front door of the apartment came right down to the sidewalk, we had to pass through them to get to the ocean.

One woman called out to us as we passed, "I love your skirt!"

On the way back, we stopped to talk. The same woman came up to me, bottle in hand, with two small children clamoring about her knees. She had long, black hair and really gorgeous tatoos of flowers and birds up both arms. She wore a low-cut sun dress that showed off her ample breasts. She had definitely had a bit to drink.

She cooed, "Oh, I love your skirt. Hot pink. Where did you get it?" Goodwill, I told her. Then she moved closer. "Can I touch your butt?" she asked. Sure, go for it. She rubbed my butt with her open palm. As this is a silk-lined skirt, this felt very nice.

"Oh, what an ass!" she declared. "You should all feel this ass!"

The men looked at me, then at Armando. As he said later, if he had not been there, they probably would have taken turns.

More friends of the birthday girl--you guessed it, the brunette with the tatoos--arrived, and she went to greet them, leaving my butt behind.

I just laughed and smiled about her all the way home. What a friendly neighborhood we live in!

The next day, my son and I passed the party apartment on our evening walk with Rasputin. Two hungover men were sitting on the steps. "How late did the party go?" I asked, reminding them that I was the gal with the nice ass. "It's still going on for some," one said, "and it'll be going on until Tuesday."

Wow, four days of partying! If they do that for all of the adults' birthdays, that's 48 days of partying a year just there. Then add all the holidays, and you begin to wonder how these folks make their drinking money.

Rasputin and I Are Proud of Our Pee

Rasputin and I are proud of our pee. There's no getting around the fact. Unlike most people, who are just happy to relieve themselves once in a while, relieving himself is not Rasputin's aim. Rather, he marks trees, fenceposts, and sign poles with his urine, constantly amazing me by always having some to spare for the next landmark. He is not into blowing his stash in one place. No sir, it's far too precious!

I, too, am proud of my pee, but for a different reason. Each time I pee, I say a big thank you, as peeing means that my kidneys are still doing something. They haven't completely shut down.

Granted, I don't pee nearly as much as I used to, since most of my fluids are expelled during dialysis. But the mere fact that I do pee is always cause for a little celebration, even though it's just me who's celebrating.

Anyone who's reading this, take note. The next time you pee, say a little thank you. Your kidneys are working! This is a great gift.

By Any Chance, Are Your Relatives From Minnesota?

Though my new apartment is a truly happy and sunny place, and though I really like it a whole bunch, it does not have an on-site washer and dryer. So, I'm back to the laundromat.

Yesterday I stepped foot in one that's a few blocks from home. Shortly after I arrived, a man approached me. "By any chance, are your relatives from Minnesota?" he asked. I smiled widely and replied, "Well, as a matter of fact, they are."

My mother was born on a farm in southern Minnesota, and most of my cousins and their kids are still living in the state.

This man, who was named Ray, thought I looked Swedish, and as a Swedish woman he'd met years ago--maybe decades ago--had been from Minnesota, he figured I might be too.

Ray wondered if I were familiar with Rush, Illinois, a town about two and a half hours from Chicago. I believe he had kept Rush in his consciousness for decades because of another gal who had hailed from there. Sad to say, I had never heard of Rush.

Ray was quite a character. Probably 85 if he was a day, wearing a sea captain's hat and pants that were way too big for him.

Turns out, Ray wss into maps. When I told my son this, he quipped, "Oh, good, so now that makes two of you."

At first Ray and I drew maps in the air for each other. I was sure that Iowa is west of the Mississippi, but Ray needed some convincing. He also needed a little help with the positions of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Illinois. Finally, he came around.

He said if I liked maps, he had something to show me. He pulled a Lyndon LaRouche magazine from the rack on the wall, then paused before opening it. "This publication is so right wing," he said, "I thought I might be going insane reading it." That's always been my experience of LaRouche materials and his fanatical followers.

Amidst all the political hoopla and prophesies of doom was an article on the the great train adventures of the world. Ray pointed to a map of Europe and confessed that he would like to take the Trans-Siberian Railroad some day. Wow, good for him to keep the dreams coming!

The conversation drifted to my former home of Point Arena in Mendocino County. Ray had lived in Los Angeles for 33 years, but he often went on road trips on the weekends and during his vacations. He was very familiar with Hwy 1 north of San Francisco. He nodded and took in a deep breath, remembering the beauty he had apprehended there.

All about us, solitary people went about their business, loading washers and dryers with coins and folding clothes, while Ray and I swapped stories and had a few laughs. So interesting how often this happens to me at laundramats, something I had forgotten until yesterday. So often over the years people have approached me in laundromats and told me their stories, like the woman who related the very complicated case of her run-in with city authorities or the young traveling salesman who had lived in 26 states as an adult and as many foster homes as a child.

This is why, once again, I am reminded of the truth: "There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Many would say it's too bad that I don't have use of a washer and dryer in the building where I live or that I don't own a washer and dryer in my own home. But these are probably the same people who wouldn't have given Ray the time of day. Look how much I have gained from what many would label a loss.

Affirmation of Blessed Relationship

When I was going through some papers, I happened upon a folder I had opened March 26, 1998. I remember the day very clearly. I was hanging out at a McDonald's, reading and writing the day away as I waited for my van to be fixed. I had called my boyfriend Mike in Northern California, and he had said something cruel.

This is how Mike often operated: He and I would have a beautiful, intimate time together, a time in which you wouldn't think two people could possibly be any closer, and he would follow up by saying something dismissive, insensitive, and cruel. Years later this behavior was explained to me: Mike had low self-worth and was intimidated by me. In one sense, he wanted very much to be with me, and in another sense, it terrified him. Plus, he was an alcoholic, though he only drank twice in the four years I was with him. He nonetheless exhibited alcoholic behavior, i.e. destroying everything good in his life and fluctuating between delusions of grandeur and self-deprecation. Mike wanted the emotional and physical intimacy I offered, but he felt unworthy of it, so he made himself unworthy.

I can't remember what he said, only that it hurt me very deeply. I decided to sit right down at McDonald's and write down exactly what I wanted in a relationship. I wrote several versions that day, revising criteria, adding and modifying and recasting, until I finally hit upon a final draft. Then for more than two years, until April 13, 2000, I rewrote the affirmation, each time reaffirming what I wanted. In the folder were more than 100 handwritten and typed copies of the affirmation.

Looking at it almost a decade later, I would say that this is still what I want. Here goes, one last time, then I'm tossing the foler, releasing it completely to God's hands:


Affirmation of Blessed Relationship

Formulated 3/26/98

I am richly deserving of holy relationship with a God/dess-centered, honest, moral, loving, generous, sensitive, passionate, romantic, tantric-adept, supportive, understanding, responsible, mature, financially secure, unpretentious, emotionally healthy, physically independent, life-affirming, optimistic, fun-loving, playful, adventuresome, attractive, intelligent, humorous,. compassionate, faithful, “present,” heterosexual, “available” man of compatible age, education, income, interests, outlook and locale.

Holding to the truth that God/dess deeply loves me, wants me to be happy and fulfilled, and gently guides my path, I will attract this man into my life. I will immediately recognize him as the treasure I have already joined with in my soul. He will immediately recognize me as the treasure who has come into his life through prayer, since he has been awaiting my arrival too. He will know me, since I will embody those traits I seek in him, my soulmate, my beloved—traits he has been seeking in his soulmate, his beloved, the woman he will come to know as Heidi, the outer manifestation of his inner quest.

We will enter into lifelong commitment, bonds of strange and sacred intimacy, a shared vision of holy purpose, with joyfulness, courage and whole-hearted openness, celebrating each night and day the great and blessed gift God/dess has granted us through and with this love.

All this will come to pass, beautifully, magically, effortlessly, and very soon.

Amen!

Something Good is Going to Happen to Me Today

Isis (see yesterday's entry) recommended that I attend a healing meeting at the Long Beach Convention Center last Saturday. When Aaron and I arrived, there were approximately 800 people in the auditorium. We could only stay for an hour and a half, but that was powerful enough. I was near tears and was especially touched when the minister asked each of us to turn to our neighbor and tell him or her that something good was going to happen to him or her today and to receive the same blessing in return. This "expectancy of good" has stuck with me.

Last night while walking Rasputin, the thought that something good is going to happen to me filled my consciousness. I also remembered my friend Tim Howard's words about how blessings are going to rush over me like a river, not a little trickle here or there, he said, but a mighty river. These thoughts filled me with joy as I walked along, taking in the beauty of the trees, flowers, birdsong, and the slanted sunlight on adobe walls.

The next thing I knew a woman was calling out to me by name. It was Yolanda, with whom I had worked at an ad agency two summers ago. Yolanda is the closest I've ever come to having a full-on crush on a woman. But that's completely understandable, as everyone had a crush on Yolanda. She dressed in '40s and '50s attire, complete with Bakelite jewelry (see image), period handbags, and that classic '40s bob (see image). Men half her age would quite literally sit at her feet. She was smart and sassy and had the greatest expressions, like "Ain't no hill for a high-stepper." She would say things to completely disarm and at the same time charm her co-workers. For example, once when a young intern bumped into her from behind, she turned to him and said, "Aw, now you're stalking me, aren't you? How precious!"

Despite Yolanda's playfulness, she was one hell of a proofreader. She would find the tiniest problems in consistency. She was an absolute terror when it came to copy.

So, in short, when my assignment with the ad agency ended, I always hoped I would run into Yolanda sometime in Long Beach, as she had told me she and her husband owned a craftsman-style house in the Rose Park historic district. Well, ask and you shall receive, but just in God's sweet time.

I had heard that the agency where we'd worked had closed because it lost the Verizon and Walmart accounts. She said she was unemployed for a while, but is now working at a pharmaceutical company. She says most people would find this really boring, but she loves it. It's very detailed, and she has to be much more alert than she was at her previous job. She really loves proofing the schematics of the chemical structures. Wow, more power to her!

What a brightness Yolanda is! So happy to run into her and know that she lives only a few blocks away.

She dearly loved Rasputin and even gave him a kiss on his snout. She said her cats would be so jealous, but that she couldn't help herself. She said there's no question that this Rasputin could also single-handedly take down czarist Russsia, if he had a mind to.

If Rasputin Were a Man

If Rasputin were a man, I would have told him about an hour into the relationship to go to work, get a life, stop thinking I'm his be all and end all. If a man followed me around the apartment, was fascinated by everything--and I mean everything--that I did, constantly stared at me, and whined with separation anxiety when I took out the garbage, I'd be over him so quickly. But as it's a dog that's doing this, it's a whole different story.

Right now he's lying in the recliner about four inches away from the desk. He used to lie on the floor behind the recliner and look up at me as I typed. Just now he discovered that he could jump into the recliner and be that much closer to his beloved.

He's dropping into a snooze. No doubt he's dreaming about the next time Heidi will rub his belly or scratch his head or give him a whole bunch of love. The little guy is absolutely obsessed.

Meet Rasputin!

Aaron and I have been visiting the pound ever since I found our new apartment. I was taking one of my evening walks in early June when I spied the For Rent sign on which appeared the words "pet friendly." I'd found a place that accepts dogs, and I jumped on it. We moved in at the end of June, and getting a dog has been on our minds since then.

Last week Aaron spied the dog that I would name Rasputin. An 11-pound chihuahua mix with chocolate-lab fur and white feet and chest. He is three years old and quite calm. Not a jumper or a barker. He has big, expressive eyes. He's a love bucket.(The photos posted here don't do him justice. These were shot in low light, and he has his moon collar on to prevent him from licking his stitches.)




He had to be neutered before we could take him home, so we picked him up from the animal hospital yesterday morning. He's really taken to me, following me wherever I go, staring at me, content to be constantly petted and rubbed and massaged by me, but not a beggar for affection if I leave him alone. He has toys, but he prefers to just look at me.

Aaron has had a more difficult time with Rasputin. He took him for a walk yesterday afternoon, and Rasputin broke his collar and ran away. Aaron ran after him for blocks, and Rasputin almost got hit when he dashed across Fourth Street. Eventually, Aaron and a passing motorist who stopped to help cornered the little guy. Later, when Aaron tried to put him in the cage he is to be in when we're not home, Rasputin bit him. Though yesterday and most of today Rasputin backed away from Aaron or made himself scarce when he was in the room, he is eventually warming up to him, allowing him to pet and feed him.

Aaron has said several times that he really missed not having a real pet throughout his entire childhood and young adulthood--gerbile and suicidal goldfish not included. Aaron really wants to form a bond with Rasputin, and I'm sure that Rasputin will grow more comfortable with him and loving toward him in time. Perhaps he associates Aaron with his traumatic attempt at escape and his brush with death on Fourth Street. (When I walked Rasputin this morning, he refused to walk on the street side of Fourth. Instead he walked as far away from the traffic as possible.)



Why "Rasputin"? Let me count the ways:
* From a young girl on, I have been fascinated by the historical figure.
* Our little dog has a bear face, which somehow makes me think of Russia.
* We lived next door to monks at our previous residence and now this one too. So why not live with a dog with a monk's name?
* It's unique. I've never heard of a dog named Rasputin.
* The name seems to fit him because, like his namesake, who single-handedly brought down czarist Russia by having sex with virtually every female member of the Russian court, our little Rasputin is a lady's man, preferring attention from women and a bit standoffish with men.

I am so in love with Rasputin. I am so happy to have this little love bucket around. He does wonders for my mood, and I'm sure he will have a positive effect on my health. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Rasputin, for coming into our lives!

Healing Scriptures

A wonderful woman and former student of mine, Isis Roberts, a woman who is blessed with beauty, intelligence, athletic ability, and a loving personality (pictured here on the right), has taken a personal interest in my healing. She recently sent me several pages of Scripture applicable to healing. All the passages were inspirational and life-affirming, but when I got to Mark 5, I wept. It struck me so deeply and so profoundly. Here it is:



Mark 5:25-34 And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, and had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse. When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes? And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague. (KJV)

Concentrated Prayer

More than a month ago, my cardiologist told me that the UCLA cardiologist, Dr. Van Herle, was poised to recommend me as a transplant candidate to the transplant team. After much delay and waivering, now things don't seem so certain. So I am asking all who read this blog to please engage in affirmational prayer on my behalf. Please see Dr. Van Herle giving her OK to the transplant team, which will in turn put me on the wait list for a kidney and a pancreas. Please see all of us--doctors, donor, support staff, family, friends, and me--surrounded in healing, loving light. Affirm this as if it has already occurred. Thanks so much. Prayer is powerful. I know it can move these doctors.

From Out of Nowhere, a Medical Emergency

On Wednesday evening, my son and I were taking a walk as we often do after dinner. At first my calves hurt, and then I felt a little constriction in my chest. About a mile into the walk, I became exremely dizzy. I couldn't walk straight. I felt as if I were drunk or on a boat in high seas.

I sat down on a bus-stop bench while Aaron bought some OJ at a liquor store. If my blood sugar were the problem, downing 8 oz. of orange juice should have stabilized me, but it didn't. Not only was I dizzy now, but I was also dizzy when I closed my eyes. What was worse: The world was heaving, spinning, and seesawing.

Aaron walked home while I awaited his return with the car. I needed his help to walk. Upon arriving home, I called the PD nurse at the after-hours number. She asked me to check my blood sugar and blood pressure. The former was 74, so it must have been a lot lower prior to the OJ. My BP was 189/104 and climbed to 205/130 by the time the paramedics arrived. (For the past two weeks, my BP had been around 110/60 every day, and I check it twice daily and keep the results in my patient log.)

I was so dizzy I couldn't stand, so they had to carry me to the gurney. Because the Long Beach paramedics don't drive to Kaiser Bellflower, I was taken to Memorial and treated there in the ER with nitrogylcerin and morphine. I asked for an anti-emetic (a drug to stop nausea)--a word I learned during my editing days for the Chinese medicine firm. I threw up dinner twice. Felt much better after that.

Because there were no empty beds at Kaiser Bellflower, I was transferred to Kaiser Harbor City about 5 a.m., where I stayed until 3 the next day.

No one can really say what happened. Perhaps I had low blood sugar, which triggered the dizziness, and then stress induced the high blood pressure. But the dizziness should have subsided upon raising my blood sugar, but it didn't for several hours. Perhaps it was sudden-onset vertigo. A doctor prescribed a med to carry with me in case I should ever have another episode.

Following my release, Aaron took me home. I felt tired and laid down without taking my blood sugar first. Aaron woke me up because some friends had walked over from their nearby apartment for a visit. At first I thought he was a paramedic. My sheets and clothing were drenched in sweat. He recognized this as a sure sign of low blood sugar--the adrenaline sweat. He took my blood sugar--39, a dangerously low level. He brought me OJ, but I had trouble swallowing, so he called the paramedics. One of them had also responded the night before.

By the time they arrived, I was still confused but more coherent and alert. No need to go to the ER.

Despite the drama, ridiculously painful IV, and crazy-making dizziness, two things I am very grateful for: Aaron's support and that it wasn't a heart attack. Amen!