Here we are as promised…only later, mainly because I tackled another wall in our house yesterday so I was mightily distracted.

I bought the yarn for these socks in Georgia, loving the bright reds, yellows, and oranges. Unfortunately, sometime between then and now I lost the information on what kind of yarn this is, so I can’t share it with you. This is a modification of the yarn harlot’s basic sock pattern:

I like my socks’ cuffs shorter than the normal knitting pattern calls for, so most of my socks have cuffs somewhere between an inch above the top of my foot and four inches. It’s hard to motivate myself to knit socks when I’m in crocs and flip flops all the time nowadays.

As for the doctor’s appointments, all the fun starts tomorrow morning. Jason is on a new work schedule, dragging him out of bed at 6:30 am. He is grumpily complying, but only because he’s allowed to leave at 4:30 now instead of 7 pm. Tomorrow I get to drive him into work so I can have the car to go to every woman’s favorite yearly appointment. I have been instructed by one of my cardiologists to change my birth control as the hormones in the ones my insurance has provided began interfering with my heart rhythms last November.

This interference has brought on an entire slew of changes in my heart medication and necessary observation. I’ve been having episodes of dangerously slow pulse, random spasms of my ventricles which can lead to even more dangerous rhythms (or lack thereof, bringing on death), and wildly varying energy levels. Alongside this runs the corollary of panic attacks (the trigger for panic attacks is located in the same area of the brain as is responsible for heart development – heart defect usually means panic attacks at some point).

So on Thursday I have my first test of several to evaluate the health of my heart. A stress test, which is nothing big – people have them all the time for various reasons. They hook you up to a heart monitor and put you on a treadmill which increases in speed and incline at set times. For someone who has been forbidden to engage in organized sports since the sixth grade and PE classes since 9th, this isn’t as easy as it sounds. In September, I’m having another test, a bit more invasive, to test how likely my heart is to go into ventricular flutter/fibrillation and how likely it is to stay there long enough to kill me. This test determines whether I need stronger meds, or a pacemaker.

So for the first time in 14 years, something is unsettlingly wrong with my little ticker and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Six months ago my cardiologist and I were discussing my husband and I adopting a child and/or trying to get pregnant starting in August. Now we are watching another family member raise the child practically promised to us and talking about putting in pacemakers, major heart surgery and possible death. I feel like … well, nothing. I have hit the numbness stage and am trying to keep busy in an attempt to have a semblance of normality. I’ve had family members and well-meaning people telling me that all this is God’s plan, which I know and am okay with, but the same people are telling me I’m not allowed to be upset over what’s happening. And unfortunately, I already am…I guess.