The Bloody Doors Off

It’s been one week since you looked at me
Cocked your head to the side and said, “I’m angry”
Five days since you laughed at me
Saying, “Get that together, come back and see me”
Three days since the living room
I realized it’s all my fault, but couldn’t tell you
Yesterday, you’d forgiven me
But it’ll still be two days ’til I say I’m sorry

One Week, Barenaked Ladies

A couple of decades ago, I was freelancing for The Scott Mission. I remember being in the break room when someone there announced that a little known local band named Barenaked Ladies wanted to do a benefit concert for them.

The Mission politely turned them down, citing the name of the band. I don’t know who was the ultimate recipient of their generosity.

Funny how things like that stick in your memory.

It’s been seven days since the start of my Big Cardiac Adventure^TM and I’m not sure how I’m processing. I had a fucking heart attack, there’s no denying. Luckily it was ‘tiny’ (to use the doctor’s words) and I’m recovering decently (excluding Saturday night’s trip to the ER). Went to the dentist this morning for a filling, and goddamn my blood pressure was perfect. It’s never been that good. And I’m only taking half a beta blocker each day.

Nobody’s treating me with kid gloves, and they shouldn’t. There is some gentleness involved, but it’s more random acts of kindness than anything (a good friend checking up on me, a neighbour offering to take down the recycling).

I’m able to work, and the stuff coming in so far is definitely not stressful. Sleep hasn’t been the best but it’s better than when I was laying in a hospital bed, listening to the odd Code Grey (or other random colours that I had no idea the meaning of).

So. A week in. Physically, I’m fine.

Mentally? I’m working on it.