About a week and a half ago, I found that I was very short of breath. When I was toying around in meditating, I couldn't get those deep, lung-expanding breaths that the guru on the podcast intoned. At the time, I attributed the inability to inhale from the gut as the result of a lifetime of holding my stomach in. Then, I went to work out and found myself disturbingly short of breath for three days in a row. Actually, the shortness of breath itself only frustrated me because my inability to inhale enough oxygen made those mile painfully difficult and meant that I could only go 6 or 8 miles at best, and very slowly. I nearly quit after three on one day because I was sure that I would faint. Combined with a preexisting pain in my right arm -- probably the result of a hurt nerve from overly heavy bags -- and the frustration became disturbing because the medical databases suggested that I was suffering from a heart problem.
Shit. My grandmother died of a heart attack when she was barely sixty.
Of course, if you leave out the arm pain, which, as I said, is most likely the result of a hurt nerve in my shoulder, shortness of breath can also mean anxiety. Now, I am a generally anxious person. Usually I am the tweaking ferret, and I worry so constantly about every damn little thing (thank you, dad, for the propensity) that I know anxiety inside an out. I've even had one or two full-blown anxiety attacks that are a sight to behold, even from the inside of my head. "This ain't that," I told myself.
Yes, actually, this was that, except this time the this that was that did not involve an attack so much as a constant pulse of uncertainty sitting just at the surface of my consciousness.
How did I discover this? Well, I got some news this week. Potentially good news. The news isn't my news, really. The news is good news for the Gentleman Caller. Fantastic news, in fact. This news, however, affects me and my future, but requires several steps that rely upon other people and other sequences of events. If all goes well, my life will become quite topsy-turvy over the next few months and up through the next two years. I'm rather stunned since I didn't actually do anything myself and am rather the passive beneficiary of someone else's good fortune.
The minute I found out the big piece of good news, and then when the first event in the other sequences of events occurred with much better results than we could realistically imagine, I could breath. I had enough oxygen. I ran ten miles with little danger of passing out on the treadmill. My arm still hurts, but maybe I should see the doctor about that.
I'll tell more details as I can, but I'm bursting with the need to shout all of this out, and I fear jinxing it all if I do.
Not that I'm superstitious or anything.