Flashbacks and Déjà vu

…

I have left the stage of nervousness behind a long time ago. I am now a calm mess. No fidgeting, just a quiet stage of waiting to hear the verdict. It’s going to be good because the bad already happened. It can’t happen again.

“It’s going to be alright,” his favorite assurance always gets me. Truth to be told, I need to hear it, and my husband knows it.

Another stress test today, six years after his quadruple bypass. His cardiologist ordered one because I asked him why none had been done in the past. My husband is a cardio patient for the rest of his life. A bypass is just that, a man-made U-turn, to bypass a blockage—four major blockages, so the blood can flow the way it’s supposed to.

A couple of days ago, as every year, my husband went to get his DOT physical (the permission to drive commercial vehicles), because being able to drive a truck is part of his job but this time the doctor didn’t issue it. A young doctor, she is new at the location, and she is going strictly by the rules, and I am grateful. Cardio patients need clearance from their cardiologists, which includes (or should include) the result of a stress test. Why hasn’t it been done in the last five years? Beats me.

My cardio patient. My spouse. My partner. He is misbehaving regularly—cardio-wise. The recommended diet flew out of the window. Not all at once, but it slowly disappeared into thin air. “I am using Miracle Whip instead of Mayonnaise!” Sigh, like this would make a difference.

I have been slagging too. Why? Because I don’t want him to be unhappy all the time, and eating a strict cardio diet didn’t work for him. I am the cook. I prepare healthier meals for both of us—as healthy as it gets.

At a certain age, there comes the ultimate question. No, not the one about life and death, but the one about the quality of life. Shouldn’t we just enjoy the remaining time on this planet together to the fullest—with a few not-so-painful restrictions? How long do we have anyway? And who will leave first?

See, there is no rule. There is no logic. Just uncertainty, hopes, and wishes.

An air fryer has replaced the frying pan. Chips have left the building. Healthy oils and healthy fats rule our kitchen. White flour has left the building as well, but it slips back into our lives in the muffins I make for him. Oh, the logic.

Are we healthy? No, but we have it under control. Knocking on my wooden desk six times. Three for him, three for me.

This week, at a doctor’s office, we sat side by side, leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, and our heads touched. My favorite moment of the day. The quitness, the love, the silent assurance that we are there for each other, no matter what.

Six years ago, my husband’s heart failed the stress test, had was sent straight to the hospital, and had open heart surgery five days later. It rattled our world. It came out of nowhere. But, and yes, I always see the silver lining. He was spared a major heart attack. He got lucky. We got lucky.

In two hours, I will know more. The stress test will be fine. No more surprises, please.

It will be alright.