Update

A return to bone chilling cold this morning. But it’s been mild lately. Rainy. Nearly all the snow has disappeared leaving small, scattered mounds of filthy crust under what seems like an eternally leaden sky. It’s depressing, actually. Colleen is home this week. She takes the dogs for their morning walk. That’s always the hardest one for me. My body seems uncooperative first thing in the morning, creaky and partially seized. Picture the Tin Man. Believe me, I will miss Colleen when she starts her new job. It all begins on Monday.

No further news to report about Larry’s vague plan to sell our home. He simply announced he was considering it, and/or raising the rent. No date was given. No time line. No opportunity for discussion. That’s the way he does things. He makes announcements and the world accepts. When Colleen met her mum for breakfast on Friday, Patricia gave Colleen a piece of paper with some numbers scrawled on it – Larry’s plan, I guess for the future of his property. But again, this is Larry’s way. Rather than invite us to an information session where we might be afforded the opportunity to ask questions, or, heaven forbid, express opposition, he just casually hands his wife a slip of paper with some meaningless arithmetic, and orders it delivered to Colleen. Oh well. I guess I’ll continue to deliver $500 to him every other Thursday just as I have for the past ten years. I will not mention his sudden, unexpected and disturbing phone call or his cryptic note. When he decides what he wants from us, he’ll let us know. Meanwhile, we are proceeding with plans to investigate a mortgage. First, though, we’ll meet with our financial advisor to let him know about Colleen’s new income and ask his advice on (among other financial matters) buying versus renting a home. We’re to meet him on February 1^st at 6:15 pm.

My lung doctor ordered an echocardiogram when I saw him last, and yesterday was the appointment date. 10:15 at Toronto General Hospital. We drove downtown and parked underground at the hospital. $4.50 for each 30 minutes. I don't know how these people can sleep at night. Thankfully, the procedure was done on time. We were only parked for 90 minutes. The echocardiogram is simply an ultrasound device designed to examine the heart. It's not the same as an ECG (or EKG). The doctor will use the data collected to assess my heart health and help determine my eligibility for a lung transplant. And since everyone asks, no I am not on the list. Not yet. I guess I'm not sick enough yet. 

As I sit here at the keyboard, hunting and pecking as have always done, I will tell you I am not sick. I am totally fine, thank you. The trouble comes when I exert myself. I feel weak sometimes when I walk the dogs. My steps are shorter than they used to be. And slower. Colleen walks too fast now. She never used to. Oh sure. I could walk faster, I guess, but I don't want to. I don't feel like it. It would be exhausting. Literally. And when I shower, I feel a shortness of breath. When I dry myself, I am deliberate in my pace. Whenever I move about, lately, there's a certain awareness that comes to me. I'm not necessarily "out of breath", but I notice my breathing. I feel it when I brush my teeth, when I climb the stairs, when I carry a basket of laundry. Even, or perhaps especially, as I climb back into bed after a night time trip to the toilet. I am aware then of my breathing, quickened by my minimal exertion, and audible in the dark silence. Does Colleen hear it too? 

My next appointment is on February 9th. I'm to have a CT scan first, then the familiar pulmonary function test followed by the six-minute walk. We'll see Dr. Moric after that. It was suggested that we might also meet with the transplant team on that day, but it's becoming quite a chore to confirm such a thing. I'm sure it's difficult to coordinate schedules and arrange a meeting with half a dozen or more busy professionals. It would be good to know WHEN this is arranged, however, as early as possible. It's equally difficult to arrange for our support people (thank God for friends) to accompany us to the hospital to attend this intensive, informative, and emotionally overwhelming meeting.

As always, we wait.

I'll let you know how it all shakes out.

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