Today was a half day at work. I had an appointment with my cardiologist (the Ken doll look-alike) this afternoon. Uh, remember my telling you that he wore this amazing toupee that I couldn't stop staring at, which almost got me into trouble? Time to eat humble pie, my loyal readers. That absolutely astounding, unbelievable, preternatural head of hair is real. Not a toupee, not plugs, not a weave. Real. He sat at his desk writing up some notes on me, resting his hand on his forehead. When he was done, he looked up and brushed his hair back for a second. It was a real hairline. He's even got a bit of a widow's peak under that coiffure of his. That beautiful, just slightly salt-and-pepper, slightly curly, thicker than hobbit-head hair is genuine.
So yes, I was staring again, at least when I was pretty sure he wasn't looking. He doesn't want to see me for two months, and is keeping me on the same dose of verapamil because the higher dose seems to be keeping my blood pressure in line. We talked about the missed beats I'm still experiencing, and I talked him into waiting for a couple more months before we try the halter heart monitor. I had to agree that if the problem became more persistent I'd call him immediately. I honestly don't believe that it's a genuine health concern at this point, and I'm not sure I can wear a monitor into some of the areas I need to go at work. I can't afford to take time off so I can wear the monitor for a few days right now. The EKG strips looked good, the echocardiogram looked good, so he's willing to wait and see a bit more before doing anything further.
I stopped on at the Starbucks that just went up a couple blocks from my apartment on my way home from the hospital. (If The Socialist is reading this, he's probably shaking his head in disbelief.) I like the cafe mochas there, and they make a crumb cake that reminds me of my grandmother's. (I wish I had her recipe.) I'd been hoping to get the cushy chairs in the corner to sit and sip and read my book, but there were perhaps half a dozen older teens there. I took my goodies to the other end of Starbucks, and surreptitiously watched them from behind my book as I drank my coffee and nibbled at the crumb cake. The girls were dressed casually, laughing one moment and intensely serious the next. I tried to imagine their conversations. Boys? Schoolwork? Gossip? Parents? Movies? I was too far away to eavesdrop. It made me a little wistful. I remember that age, when the world and I were testing each other. I've sworn many times that you couldn't pay me enough to go back and relive that age of agony and depression over again, but watching them reminded me of the flip side.
I have an appointment to see Dr. Liver tomorrow. Afterwards, the Elder Sister is having dinner at her place. Old friends of my parents will be coming, whom I haven't seen for several years. The Younger Sister will be coming too. I'll have to pack for my big New Year's Eve adventure after I get home from that. I still need to get myself good directions to the hotel as well. I can find Scranton easily enough, but I've never been good at navigating that city.
My digital camera is on the fritz - the battery is refusing to hold a charge. I'm hoping I can get just a few shots New Year's Eve. I have a long, simple black velvet dress, a maroon cape, a pearl necklace my mother gave me, and my Nana's pearl and white gold ring. Maybe I have a "radio face", but damn, I clean-up real nice.