I got a call from my dad yesterday afternoon. My mom had decided to sign up for a diabetes testing program and as part of the screening, they gave her an EKG and as a result of those numbers, they sent her pronto to the emergency room of the local hospital. Dad called as they were on the way.
I thought, "Oh my god, I'm not ready to lose my mother. It's not time yet for even that sort of thing to be a possibility."
It turned out that everything is fine and the people at the diabetes clinic massively misread the EKG result.
It's left me with this sense of disquiet. I feel all unsettled and wish I could go over and visit. Wouldn't that be lovely, if it were possible? Let's say I lived one or two towns over, in another sleepy little NH hamlet, in an old creaky house with a slightly over grown garden. It would have faucets that dripped a little, leaving a hard water mark on the enamel sink. Still, let's say it was charming and we planned to restore it, bit by bit.
Then I could just get into my little Honda and drive right over. I could do that anytime I wanted. I would be up on all the gossip and ways of knowing that can only come from lives being entwined in one place.
I feel plum exhausted from all the emotional ups and downs I've been experiencing these seven days of clomid. I could choose not to blog about it, but I would still be feeling it. I feel the emotional equivalent of having rounded Cape Horn.
