The Bloody Doors Off

I was filling Marlo’s and my CPAP tanks and I was running a mental inventory of what was happening on Wednesday, when my brain turned to what I’d put in The Boy’s^TM lunch in the morning.

That’s nothing new. And it led me on a windy (‘wh-eye-ndy‘) train of thought. Remembering that Woodsworth middle school (grades 7 and 8) did have a cafeteria and now that I think about it, I remember buying the cream puff donuts that came in a clear wrapper and a white cardboard back.

Before that, I used to go home for lunch. For the first few grades I would go to Doug’s house (he lived across the street; we were the best of friends right up through high school, and at one time may have duo-hosted a little television program called “The Doug and Paul Show” (it had a theme song.)

I remember Kraft individually packaged cheese slices pressed between two pieces of Wonder bread. Mayonnaise may have been involved. Oh, and tuna sandwiches. Cut into triangles.

Wait. That’s when my mum hosted the monthly bridge club with the ladies on Painted Post. Little wedge sandwiches and tea and I’m sure there was alcohol involved but I can’t prove it because my mum has been gone over 5 years and last night we lost Auggie and. Just for a minute.

Just for a minute.

I was in a very happy childhood memory.

I wasn’t reminded.

And it passes.

I can expect more of these, I imagine.

Christ, I’m gonna be off my head if anything happened.

We don’t even have wills.

Marlo’s prodding me to fill out a questionnaire and get the ball rolling.

Writing a will means you’ve contemplated your own mortality and don’t want to fuck over your loved ones when you’ve gone.

Why would I ever want to think of that? That hurts.

On a scale of 1 to 10, that was a 6.5.

The elephant on my chest felt like an 8. And now I get an updated appointment letter from my cardiologist changing my in-person stress test at the end of May to a “phone reassessment”.

Are they going to take back their diagnosis?

It’s barely been 2 weeks (no, less, 10 days maybe) and I’ve been living with this thought of “okay, I had a teeny heart attack, but I’m good and I just need to take better care of myself and holy hell what if it had been worse and I was still in hospital and Marlo and The Boy^TM had to … with Auggie … and.

And my phone beeps.

I return to the present.

But first, one last thought of the sandwiches. And my mother’s laugh as they do Bridge-y things on the first Tuesday of each month.