Post 136: AFib is tiresome without everything else.
When you’re running out of energy the last thing you want is your heart playing up.
———
I went to bed early — well, it was early for me, as it was only 9:30pm and still light outside. But I was so tired I couldn’t sit still any more.
The problem of my aching chest was exacerbated by having an AFib episode.
Both, on their own, are bad enough, but together? A match made in hell. All I needed to really make things worse was a cough — but luckily that didn’t happen.
I trudged off to bed in slow motion, especially up the stairs, and when confronted with the pillows I wondered just how best to lie without creating too much extra pain. In the end I felt too tired to be careful and plopped into bed on my left side, braced for the rib pain — which wasn’t so bad.
But the racing heart was uncomfortable, and lying on my heart made it worse, but I couldn’t move. If I did, it would only make things harder.
I was already in the 8th hour of the palpitations, so I guessed it would pass soon. The last few times — two or three weeks apart — were about 12 hours long, so I was happy to think about waking up without them.
I drifted off to sleep unhappily because of the arse I’d been to my Darling earlier today. I wasn’t feeling great, but nor was she, and I found a way of being a lazy nuisance that only made all her problems worse.
———
The day had started ok.
I was waiting for a call from the MacMillan team to advise me on my options about “benefits” — or, as it turned out, the lack of any benefits. But that’s just the way it is. As I got all my details spread in front of me I received an email that immediately raised my blood pressure and sank my heart to my boots (slippers, actually).
You might think I’m overreacting, but it’s a long story and not worth recounting. It’s safe to say that I’d been dodging a “smart meter” installation for years, and the email was untitled “ATTENTION REQUIRED” which caught me off guard and sent me into a spin. I thought to myself — again — I’ll deal with that later.
The guy from MacMillan rang and very effectively and efficiently guided me through the possibilities of any financial help after SSP ends.
The new-style ESA is a 13-week extension (£93 a week), and after that there’s another form and a bit more money. But if you’re sick enough to get a doctor’s certificate suggesting you’re less than a year from death, you can get PIP immediately, without question.
Well, at least I know. It’s no help at the moment, but I was grateful for the advice. I’m on SSP — £525 a month — not a whole lot, but then I’m not doing a whole lot, am I?
With that call concluded nicely, I turned my attention to the EDF email and my stomach churned.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m no novice when it comes to keeping my energy bills down. My net £63 a year debit (after all the bills and solar panel payments) is a triumph. I don’t need a smart meter to help me cut my bills. In fact, I had a letter from my power company last week to inform me that the £118 a month DDs are going to be reduced to £62 a month because of a surplus of over £300 in my account.
Proof enough, if it was needed.
But a smart meter is what the UK is switching over to, and I’m one of those people resisting the change.
I rang the number and waited while the jingles jangled and the occasional “apology for the wait” lady reared up over the dreadful tunes. Meanwhile, my Darling arrived in the kitchen (office) and put her hand on my shoulder, asking how the earlier call had been. “Ok,” I said, “but I’ll tell you later — I’m onto EDF about the meter again.”
I should also say that I’d reminded my Darling about having her car serviced asap. It was due September, but due to a whole load of problems — starting with the local garage where we bought the car closing down, then the next most local garage closing at the end of August (days away) — she had to figure out another way of getting this 2-year service done by a genuine garage. Leaving her in a nervous stupor about it.
“Hello, how can I help you today?” squeaked out of my mobile, breaking the tension.
“I hope you can,” was my reply, as I picked up the phone on speaker.
I started to politely explain how unnecessary this smart meter was, and how I would gladly have a meter but never a smart meter. She replied with: “We could turn the smart bit off the smart meter if you liked,” which is when I lost all composure.
I started to say that I was ill and stressed about everything — especially this smart meter I didn’t need — and reminded her that I’d already had a “do not disturb” notice put on my account because I’m overwhelmed by cancer issues, and it would be helpful if I wasn’t persistently badgered about this device and its virtues.
I collapsed into a self-centred gush of tears and snot I couldn’t stop, and my Darling’s arm around my shoulder made me worse.
The poor woman trying to deal with me made very polite remarks, promised to reapply the “do not disturb” note on my account, and wished me well.
Yes, I was a mess.
I didn’t mean to go overboard with emotion, but I just can’t hold it back lately.
That’s when the AFib started. Yep, could well have been because of the stress I try to avoid. Even the best-laid plans don’t work. All because of an email.
———
My Darling and I decided to go out in the car (the one that needed the service) and visit another garage that had just opened as a Mazda dealership. Lo and behold, we found the same people we had bought the car from in this brand new establishment. Great. So all is now booked, and my Darling is happy that we have an unexpected continuity that will calm her nervous mind for now and the future.
All’s well that ends well — but I mentioned I was a lazy nuisance earlier, and this is an apology to my Darling.
While I had technically forced her to drive to the new garage neither of us had been to before, I’d made sure she’d used the navigator to find the place. I felt peculiar because of the AFib and I’m a very bad passenger in a car — anyone’s car — so I was not myself. As we got nearer the destination my Darling was about to head off in the wrong direction on a roundabout when I screamed to “go the other way”. This created a real bad atmosphere. What neither of us realised was that the navigator had no voice. I tried to rectify this and got wound up because I couldn’t help her get the normal verbal advice back. In the end we were yards from the place and my poor Darling was in a state, I was in a state, and I just had to get some air and get out of the car. She said you can’t get out, she slowed, and I jumped out. I left her with a bit of advice about the garage we’d just passed being the one she needed, and pointed a few hundred yards back from where I’d jumped out.
She slowly turned the car, went back into the garage, and I was left breathing heavy, like I’d had a bit of a panic attack. I don’t know what it was. I was not myself.
We joined up in the salesroom, booked the service without much trouble, and left for home immediately after.
It was a quiet drive home.
I felt awful for my Darling. My behaviour was really bad — no excuses.
It was when I was going to bed I told her that I’d been suffering an AFib attack since two this afternoon. She said, “You should have told me.”
She has too much going on in her head for me to worry her any more stuff about me. I didn’t think it would be so bad if I kept quiet about it. I didn’t know I was going to be in such a tiz in the car.
I’m exhausted by everything lately.
I need answers from next week’s meeting.
I need a bit of clear water to drift on for a while. We both do.
My Darling, I’m so sorry.
Forgive me for my lack of communication and boundless, careless behaviour.
I want to forget today quickly.
Tomorrow will be better.
