I recall reading in a book (it was probably Dale Carnegie’s How to Stop Worrying and Start Living) about a man who listed six things that he was afraid were going to happen, and that were absolutely killing him with worry. All six were terrible things, any one of which could ruin his life, and they were all affecting different parts of his life. Some were about his career, some were about his family, some were about his health. He wrote detailed descriptions of all six possible disasters on a piece of paper. Which he then promptly lost.
A year later, he was cleaning out his desk drawers when he came across that piece of paper. As he reread it, he noticed that not one of the six things had actually come to pass. He had spent all that worry for nothing.
Yesterday I went to see my cardiologist and my electrophysiologist. I discovered that since my last visit to them three months ago, I have had no tachycardia of any kind – not even mild ones. My pacemaker/defibrillator has had absolutely nothing to do.
Now, this isn’t a clean bill of health, but it’s probably as close to one as I’m going to get given my medical history. If I keep up my exercise and keep taking my medication, odds are very good that I’ll never have another tachycardia.
David is out of school now, which by itself is a relief (no more endless meetings about what we’re going to do about him, nor phone calls in the middle of the morning telling us to come get him). His behavior at home has improved, and we’re actually having a behavioral specialist come in and work with him here in our home – and he’s responding amazingly well to her. She’s even been able to do the one thing his teachers never could: get him to calm down when he starts going off the rails.
Of course, the job situation is still completely dire, but now I can at least focus more on finding a job and working on Inaria iPhone.
(Having said that, if you hear about a programming job – any programming job – in the Austin area, send it to me. No, don’t take it for yourself or give it to your friend of seventeen years. Send it to me. Me. Me, me, ME! Me, dammit, me!)