Post 11: Cleaning up my act.
Vital statistics:
Temp: 35.7 am, too cool 36.1 pm 
BP: 109/72/59
Weight: Titus is leaving
Hair: All good! 
Anything else? Heart rate alarm
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I’m loving being untethered from the pill routine I’ve had for the past two and a half years. If there’s one thing I hated about those damn pills, it was the dull, uncomfortable regularity. No lie-ins—especially on Friday mornings thanks to the Alendronic acid—and staying up late at night even when I was shattered and wanted my bed, all just to keep that strict 12-hour spacing.
All that’s gone now. And it’s fabulous.
Is it just me, or does everyone feel this sort of freedom when they stop?
Now I can please myself.
I choose the rhythm.
And I like it.
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Aside from the tiredness—which is settling in as part of my new routine—I’m not thinking too much about the cancer. That might sound irrational, but it’s true. I find myself solving problems instead. Practical ones. Some big, some small. My Darling’s often asked me to clean up my act when it comes to hoarding, but I’ve always shrugged it off. Until now.
I know it’s early doors, but, now, I’m turning a new leaf. I want to lighten her future load—not leave a mess of things behind; especially my mess. It’s more in my head than in motion, but this morning I made a start.
A few bits and bobs to recycling, a small bag for the charity shop, and the odd item in the bin that I’d usually stash “somewhere safe”—well away from My Darling’s radar.
So here I go again.
Another journey: clean up your act, Mr U.
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Back in early 2020, just before lockdown, I popped into the GP surgery because my heart was racing—but oddly, it was the slowness I was really worried about at that time. One morning, while my chest thumped slowly, I counted my pulse at just 35 beats per minute. I googled “normal heart rate,” and promptly scared myself silly.
I’m not super fit, not an athlete. Slim-ish, yes, but not worthy of such a slow ticker.
So, off to the doctor I went. But my heart was racing, it was unexpected and draining so I headed off to the GP.
One hour, an ECG and a mild panic later, I emerged with a lifelong prescription: beta-blockers and anticoagulants.
The diagnosis? Atrial Fibrillation.
I now think of it like a wart on the bum: insignificant.
It’s there, it’s annoying, but it doesn’t ruin my day.
I take the lowest dose of Bisoprolol—any more and my blood pressure takes a nosedive (which I learned the hard way during lockdown). So I stay on a low dose of beta blockers.
Still, the heart rate’s worth watching as a sign of my overall health.
My smartwatch alarmed me twice this morning: 39 bpm. Not too worrying, but enough to give my OCD something to chew on.
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Following orders from my ever-watchful carer, I’ve had both breakfast and lunch. The photos I’ve sent her as proof—because it’s the first day she’s been away from me for more than a few hours; all this week. 
She worries.
I get it.
But I’m fine, honest.
And I can try to help her through this anxiety, through this first Tricycle.
It’s not all about me.
(BTW. I’ll spare you from any more images of my boring food)
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Yesterday brought a lovely surprise—a big Lindt white Easter egg from My Darling. I returned the gesture with a couple of packets of Flakes (other chocolates are available), they are her all-time favourite.
But my appetite hasn’t been playing ball.
With Titus gone for now, I should be celebrating with chocolate. But I feel a bit off—it’s like my mind hasn’t caught up with my belly yet.
That said, watching GPs: Behind Closed Doors (Channel 5—a long-time favourite of ours) taught me something new today. A lady with a similar issue to mine was advised to take up to four sachets of laxative a day. Four! I had no idea.
Crikey! I didn’t know that. I now think I’m being a bit of an plonker and should try harder for a smooth transition through this problem which I quickly need to get to the bottom of. Ha ha.
(Sorry, I know, I really shouldn’t have; but I’m my own worst enemy sometimes and need a push)
I’ll stop now 
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As for Mr Vicious (our sometimes-angelic, always-vindictive, mouse assassin).
He popped in for a friendly cuddle. I wisely resisted. Even though my tetanus jabs are up to date, I don’t need another reason to be on antibiotics.
(See photo: contains fur and attitude.)
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Tricycle One is looping comfortably.
I’m not hopping off.
