Now what?

Not sure if my sweet, eclectic, intelligent, conscientious group of readers is aware of this, but stress is NOT good in doses too large.  Even sometimes if you are doing many things to try to help yourself.  Yesterday, I woke up early and came downstairs to do a workout.  I chose a new one from Exercise TV.  It was hard, but not too bad.  Shower, breakfast, and then pouring a cup of coffee I started having chest pains.  Bad enough I had to sit down.  John immediately got concerned and suggested calling 911.  I blew him off.  waited for it to subside.  It took about 10 minutes.  Didn't go away, but whatever, right?  Drove to school- only got nervous because of the pain once.  Stopped by the nurse to check my BP- high for me, but not bad.  We talked about how it might be muscular.  I take a muscle relaxant and an anti-inflammatory for my fibro already, but she thought that taking some ibuprofen might help if it was a muscle thing.   By the time we got to my classroom is was more persistent.  I got some ibuprofen from a friend, and it still wouldn't go away, and in fact started to get worse.  So I took advantage of the benefit we have for our "nurseline"- they are sort of like a morphed version of a doctor who makes house calls, and your mom.  They also suggested I call 911.  So that's what I did.

The good news was that all the tests they did- EKG's and blood work- showed that it was not a heart attack.  Some of the bad news is that it took 2.5 hours for the pain to stop.  Also, it was stress induced, which means even though I thought I was doing lots of good things to help myself manage stress, yeah.  It's not enough.  Erg.  When you just can't stop, I guess sometimes no matter what you do, it's too much.  Or not enough, depending what direction you look at it from.

I sort of feel embarrassed and a little stupid, writing about how my chest hurt, and I wasted a day in the e.r. and it turned out to be nothing.  Of course, that isn't really accurate.

We are trying to find people to help with the kids for the next 6 weeks because John, while healing, is not supposed to lift Neil for that long.  Or do much of anything- you know the list: walk the dog, carrying groceries, take the trash out... that sort of thing.  And now on to the important things: figure out a way to stop arguing with John, and manage to not have a real heart attack.  Sigh.  No prob.  Maybe it'll help a little if I pet on the kitties more...