Our plucky hero continues to carry out undetected crimes whilst recuperating
Oh God I’m So Bored!
I’ve illicitly hung out two loads of washing.
And had a long walk around the village.
I didn’t learn much, during the latter.
There’s a vacancy for a parish councillor, if you’re interested?
And the house that they knocked down and are now rebuilding is coming along.
I’m sure there was a perfectly good reason for knocking down a fine house, just to build another fine house in its place.
I think the #RescueKitties are actually talking to me.
Through their meow voices, not through the power of their minds.
Because that would be weird.
In health news, I’ve had a letter about an Echocardiogram appointment, but I think this is a different thing to the Cardiac Rehabilitation appointment that I’m expecting.
I’ll give it a few days, and if the Cardiac Rehab appointment hasn’t arrived I’ll call them.
In myself I’m continuing to feel good.
Bored, but good.
The funny thing about recovering from a cardiac event is, apparently, that one mustn’t push too hard.
Because pushing too hard will put stress on the recovering object (which, in this case, is one of the three arteries that feed my heart).
And stress on any artery with a tear, even though it now has a little metal tube inside it, to strengthen it, is not good.
But there is no hard and fast rule about what is (either) sufficient exercise, (or) too much/stressful exercise.
Or, for that matter, where the line between the two begins to get blurry.
And for someone such as me, used to a lot of cardio exercise, knowing where sufficient ends and too much begins is a meaningful piece of information.
I walked five slow miles yesterday, and six brisk miles today.
Never out of breath. Neither set my pulse racing.
The downside of all the walking is that I’m beginning to run out of unwalked routes; covering the same old routes is just dull.
If it wasn’t for having to continue safeguarding my wrist, I would be out riding right now; the weather is so good that it’s almost a crime being indoors.
Drinking (not alcohol, obv); one does a lot more drinking in hospital.
Those frequent visits from the tea trolley.
Whereas, by myself at home (because the #RescueKitties are rubbish at making hot drinks), I have to make an effort to stop whatever it is I’m doing, and get in to the kitchen for a brew.
And I miss work.
Because I love my job.
*goes in to the kitchen to make a brew*