Scared To Death

At 3:30 this morning I bolted upright in the hotel bed. I was soaked with sweat and it reminded me of way back when I was neglecting my diabetes. But what drove me to being scared to death was I was unable to catch my breath and that was sending me to coughing fits.

“Better take me in,” I instructed my soul mate.

She froze in her footsteps.

She has probably asked if she needed to take me to Emergency at least five times before, and of course my Mexican macho bullshit refused although hindsight is clear I needed to be taken in every time.

So I am sitting hunched over in an emergency room chair fighting for air. They rushed me in and once again I find myself poked, prodded, and awaiting a cardiac restricted meal in yet another hospital.

And I am scared to death.

I secretly wonder if finally, my number is up. If you have followed me, you know I have cheated death on 2 occasions.

Third time’s the charm?

Hope not.

I will have a better idea of our next course of action after my angiogram tomorrow. Fingers (and toes—-both of them) crossed.

I’ll keep you posted.

Karen is freaking out.

I know I am supposed to be strong but it crushes my wife and I can’t bear to see her cry.

Ever.

I will be strong for my entire family, but I won’t lie.

Needless to say my open mic debut is postponed TBD, but it is still in the plans when I overcome this latest obstacle in my way.

There will be some changes, but if losing my left leg didn’t do it, a pesky thing like open heart surgery will just have to wait.

I have sunrises and sunsets yet to enjoy with Karen, Murphy, and Bruiser, and I still plan on taking some lead guitar lessons.

So don’t count the Satin Latin out just yet; I will ride again.

Send me some good karma vibes if you have any extra laying around.

Stay well.