John Twohig/Flickr

My typical day should be:

  1. I rise
  2. I groom
  3. I read
  4. I eat
  5. I call my kids
  6. I sell and earn

But not this day. This day I attended meeting after meeting, sacrificing my earnings to contribute to the strengthening of my “community”: the District, the United States, Earth. After which I visit three spots and make $2 for two papers sold to tourists from Los Angeles, California. All the while I’m feeling chest pains and hoping it’s only indigestion from the dietetic blunder earlier. I really shouldn’t have corned beef hash. But it is St. Patrick’s Day, after all. I digress. Throwing in the towel, I “decide” to eat away my troubles. Had the “fried” fish fillet — fish — that’s healthier than meat.

I ride to Pentagon City to purchase a tool for another task that will recoup some of my losses. I take the escalator instead of the usual elevator ride because it’s nearer my destination. Of course, Metro being Metro, it’s not running! So now, I climb. Half way up I feel a clutching, seizing pain that radiates down my left arm. I have difficulty breathing. Unable to turn back, I continue to climb, hoping that this is not my fourth heart attack. Making it to the top by God’s grace, I start through CVS, heading to the benches to rest. The pain intensified and I turned back. Much to my chagrin, consternation, and aggravation, I find the #%@/$!! escalator now works! Heading to the hospital, I call my 17-year-old telling him that I love him and since he is my next of kin (and this could be number four), I give him final directions. Atypically, he disobeys. I send a message to my 12-year old who never calls. Of course atypically, she calls!

I’m in the emergency room and get an EKG, then wait for three hours. My phone has now died, and no one has checked on me. Now I’m supposed to wait longer and risk another discharge, or leave while the train still operates, and I get my phone charged and reach the “safety” level. I opt to leave without seeing a doctor. I am still in pain and quite frustrated. Unable to call my kids to let them know I’m safe. I have pain, empty pockets, and a feeling of counterproductivity. An atypical day.