'Heart break, heart break. . . What does it matter how my heart aches. . . '
Poor Fanglet. You are really getting quite fed up with doctors, etc. And you really dislike ECGs and ultrasounds, so much so, I think if you could have gotten any further away from the scanner, you'd have been climbing up my esophagus. It must be said, I've had my fill as well. And we won't talk about how heart-breaking it is to watch little children riddled with illness, their bodies weak and pallid, soldiering on without a care in the world or the agonized hope and love in their parents' eyes as they watch their kids being kids. Or how painful it is to watch your father sit there, taking this all in, terrified that you're going to be one of these children and he'll have to go on being so brave he might break.
It is also decidedly unhelpful to make comments like 'Well, the heart looks mostly normal but is missing a flappy bit that we would expect to see,' and then go on to say 'but that might be normal, so we'll just have you come back.' Nothing definite, just plodding cold-fished, medical speak that I am starting to think means 'We're bored! You're our new play thing until something more ABNORMAL comes along.' I am torn because I know they mean well and I know how lucky we are -- you and I -- to have access to this kind of care. But I do wish they'd get a clue.
Tonight is my office holiday party. I know Mama doesn't talk a lot about her work here. One should not blog about one's employer, so I won't. I will however say that Mama works with archives and records. Lots of them. They are sometimes quite old records but more recently they are things called 'born digital' and no, I don't think Andy Williams will be singing a sequel to 'Born Free' on to the Top 40 with that one. Mama also goes to school, although it is up for debate how often she is really 'at school' and is working on something she'll tell you all about later. Right now, I need to eat some more of that yogurt, pumpkin seeds and dried banana stuff. That was too good.