The Bloops

There's some valuable information on the way for people who possess uteruses. Uteri? <googlegooglegoogle> Uteri.

Dear Writer,

Wow, has it been three weeks? I’ve missed you! How’s it all going? I’d ask how the book is coming along, but we know that no writer would ever ask that of another writer unless they are a monster.

I am not a monster.

You’re welcome.

Oh, remember how I put my writing on hold until I found a therapist, because writing was giving me nightmares? Well, I have an appointment with a new therapist on Monday, so hopefully that will get me back into the groove, especially because I miss it hard.

Also… I’ve started posting regularly on TikTok in hopes that giving away all this free writing advice might sell some books or something, so one of my new work system goals has been achieved.

(On an unrelated note, I’ve noticed that pretty much every mood I have can be summed up with a Schitt’s Creek gif.)

OH!

Also.

I bought a treadmill.

I know.

I KNOW.

If I had to be buried with every piece of fitness equipment I’ve purchased and only used minimally and then sold in a miasma of defeat after years of only using it to hang old coats on they would need something the size of the Chrysler building to lay me to rest.

BUT SWEETHEART HERE IS THE THING.

The thing is this… maybe it’ll work this time. What is life if not the endless pursuit of impossible dreams in the hope that things might be different this time?

The bottom line is, I need to walk two miles a day or I’m going to die. The heat wave (it was a nice run this whole human existence thing wasn’t it see you on the other side) means I can no longer go out to the Red Rocks Amphitheater and trip in front of everyone.

At least not until September.

The Covid is high (I mean it good run glad I got to know you while we existed here together it was fun) so I don’t really want to go to the apartment complex gym.

So… I went to Facebook Marketplace and found a nice woman who bought a treadmill she never used and I bought it from her. But the thing is this… and herein is where the genius lies… it’s cheap, small, and compact, and I can read while I’m walking.

Remember how I’ve been wanting to read? Two things, one treadmill. BOOM. Here is me, making my goals a reality, for two days in a row now.

OH. And here’s the other thing.

I almost died.

Okay, if you’re thinking that’s a bit dramatic, here’s the measured truth… I thought I was maybe dying. And you know what? I was okay with it. I mean, I’ve had a good run. Lots of good friends, wonderful kids, I’ve lived in a bunch of great places, seen amazing things, wrote a few books… it’s been a good run. If I get taken out by a lightning strike (or one of the many, many existential threats facing humanity right now seriously look me up in whatever afterlife I end up in hint it won’t be the “good” one) then I really have nothing to complain about.

Here’s the story: I’ve been having what I call “heart bloops” since I was a kid. I panicked about them for a number of years until I had them during pregnancy, and because I didn’t want my kid to suffer because I was too scared to have a doctor tell me I was dying, I finally went to a real doctor and put in my WTF. They put a Holter monitor on me for a day, said, “You’re fine,” and sent me on my way.

No information other than that. Just, “You’re fine, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

Then, second kid. Same thing. Went in, did an echo-something (like an ultrasound for your heart) and they were like, “You have pre-ventricular contractions, it’s benign, you’re fine BYE.”

No explanation, nothing. No advice on what to do about it. I was like, I guess I have this benign heart condition or whatever then? Okay.

Through the years, when I’d run my body into the ground because I’m kind of an asshole to myself, the PVCs would act up. I’d drink a lot of water and rest, and they’d go away.

Then the menopause started, and the fucking bloops, Writer, I AM TELLING YOU. Anyway, there have been a few episodes where it was like my heart was hiccuping for two weeks, but I didn’t go to the doctor because it was plaguey end times and I figured, hey, I had a good run. And they always stopped after a while, anyway.

Then… writer… I fucking moved to Colorado.

Now, to be fair… I was told when I moved here that I had to drink a lot of water and that it would take somewhere between fifteen minutes and a year for my body to adapt to the altitude and I was like, “‘Kay, fine,” and then, after the huge stress of selling my house and moving cross-country, I proceeded to drink the same amount of water I drank in New York and still work full-time for two months while preparing to quit and go full-time self-employed and somehow figure out where the money’s going to come from now and HEY GUESS WHAT?

Bloops.

I mean… endless fucking bloops.

No matter what I did, or didn’t do.

Bloop bloop bloop.

You know when you get the hiccups and you do everything and nothing stops them? Well, imagine that, only it’s your heart and you’re annoyed and also like 50% sure you’re just going to die. To add insult to paranoia, my new health insurance took my money but didn’t bother to, like, actually give me my ID cards or access to my health services.

So it was hello, Dr. YouTube! Search, search, search, oh here’s someone who’s not selling anything and OH MY GOD.

You know what I found out?

Writer, I do not have a heart condition.

Turns out, something like 25% of people in possession of uteri get the bloops, and it’s worse during hormonal shifts (like, say, puberty and pregnancies and transitioning and fucking menopause) AND NO ONE EVER TOLD ME THIS DESPITE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL TWICE FOR THIS SHIT because no one bothers to talk about or study or listen to Utertonians.

For fuck’s sake. I thought I was dying.

Two days later, I’m driving cross-country to go help my kid move in Columbus and suddenly I’m at sea level and OH MY GOD.

Writer… oh my GOD.

I was like Superwoman. I basically lifted their entire apartment, strapped it to my back, and hauled it across town. I ran up and down the same flight of stairs like twenty times before I even noticed that I wasn’t winded, I wasn’t tired, and I felt like I could continue in this way for hours.

This was at 10:30 at night.

So… turns out… the body needs oxygen. And Colorado is kind of stingy with the oxygen. For five glorious days at sea level, I had energy the likes of which I haven’t felt since my 20s.

Then I came back home. I love it here, I was happy to be home, but a few days later…

Bloop. Bloop. Bloop.

So I bought a canister of Boost Oxygen and when the bloops start, I take a few hits and guess what?

No more bloops.

Yeah, it’s kind of a flat ending, but hey, I’m not dying, so I figure it’s all okay.

How was your last three weeks?

Everything,

L