No, I haven't given up on the bike. Never. But, the cursed gods of cycling keep tormenting me in such a way that lesser men would throw in the towel. Lymes disease. Broken ribs. Diabetes.Kidney failure. Weird weight gain. Loss of motivation. No energy.
At long last the cause of the last three has reared it's ugly head. Atrial Fibrillation. Afib, for short. It took an ambulance ride from Urgent Care to discover it. Medication got it somewhat under control. An appointment with a cardiologist spelled out the facts. My heart has been working at approximately twenty eight percent efficiency. No wonder the wheels have come off the proverbial wagon. It's been like riding in wet cement. A two thousand calorie diet has resulted in weight gain due to the plethora of drugs I'm taking to stay kind of healthy.
The doc's plan of attack: This Thursday, I take a chemically induced stress test. Three hours of what may a well be water boarding type of torture. But the fun doesn't stop there, no way. July 1st, I get a TEE procedure. What is that, you say? Well, under a Micheal Jackson sized dose of Propofol, a echocardiogram devise is fed down to one's esophagus to get a better look at the heart. So far, so good. If all looks good, as in no blood clots, the said (my) heart will be stopped and then jump started, hopefully in the proper rhythm. Routine, according to the cardiac doctor. She claims 11 years without a problem. Has she seen my track record.
Funny thing is, all of this started the day after my consult with the bariatric surgeon who will eventually perform the gastric sleeve procedure on me. This event was supposed to occur July 9th, but is now scheduled for Sept 29, providing my heart cooperates and I don't expire by then. I haven't checked if Vegas has a line on that happening yet, but I'm sure they will. But I digress. You see, the gastric sleeve was supposed to help me drop 100 lbs., reverse the diabetes and it's associated complexities, get rid of the high blood pressure, and put the brakes on the sleep apnea. A side effect would be me going up hills at a decent rate of speed of my bike of choice, cut down on the food bills, let me buy a wardrobe from the normal size section, and generally let me fucking live again.
I that too much to ask, Cycling Gods? What did I do to make you treat me like Job these last few years? I vow you won't stop me this time, it's my turn to win!!