Beware Of That Seventh Deadly Sin!

Smugness or excessive self-satisfaction or pride has been my downfall on many an occasion. I keep promising that I will be vigilant to watch for the sneakiness of smugness popping up unannounced. However, in spite of my best efforts, any relaxation of my defences leads to one outcome. Being bitten on the arse.

The gods or the universe or whatever is Out There are ever waiting patiently for any deviation in my course. The moment that I begin to feel that inner glow of ease and control (!) over my circumstances, I am rapidly and rudely reminded that smugness only lands me in the pooh.

Take the last couple of days, for example. After our fantastic, albeit tiring, working week in the Gallery, I had the rest of the month tied up neatly with appointments, visiting Sculptures by the Sea and attending the Caravan and Camping Show. A few trips to Perth, but not too many. Other activities spread out across the days, to keep our energy levels from lagging. Time for Pilates, my rip-n-tint of eyebrows, moustache and witchy hairs and even taking Madam Cat back to the vet, which happily coincides with our next visit to Laura at the Foot Studio. Oh, smugness reared its ugly head...

On Monday morning, we were both suffering from acute cases of Failure To Launch. We'd hosted an excellent dinner party the evening before. I dragged myself upright at the astonishingly late hour of eleven o'clock. Michael had only been up for a short time and announced that he was feeling pretty ordinary, even for him. We pottered around, achieving very little.

Michael was tackling the monumental task of sorting out his tablets for a week. Seated at the table, he suddenly felt very unwell. Like fainting unwell. He was covered in sweat with the shakes and nausea. I steered him onto the bed and took his blood pressure and pulse. These readings were careering all over the place, which worried me. I rang the Northam surgery. Stephanie had left for the day. Another GP was present, but at lunch. I considered calling Health Direct, but I couldn't work out which of his symptoms was most troubling.

He was feeling better lying down, so we brushed aside this episode as a fairly extreme hangover or a panic attack. He slept away most of the afternoon, tottering out for toast and vegemite. I then ordered him onto the couch and he was happily occupied with Michael Portillo on the telly for the rest of the day. A small dinner of chicken and couscous sat comfortably in his tummy. Later on, he declared he'd like a serving of ice cream and actually organised a bowl for both of us.

Tuesday morning. We were supposed to be having a date with the delicious Daram, our dermatologist in the Big Smoke. And we had hoped to stop at Sculptures by the Sea. We canned this appointment as Michael was now experiencing chest heaviness, on top of his clamminess, fatigue and shakes. Bingo, we thought. He had a chest infection! And I successfully snaffled the last appointment of the day with Doctor Stephanie.

We were seen by the cheerful and very efficient Stephanie at around four twenty. Less than fifteen minutes later, we were driving to Emergency at the local hospital. Stephenie was suspecting that Michael had experienced a heart attack. Oh goody...

Emergency was packed and just became busier. Everybody in Northam seemed to have arrived with chest pain. Throw into the mix three sets of small children and the noise was deafening. We could not fault their care over the next three hours. The magic bullet pill was put under his tongue and a dose of aspirin given. Michael also had bloods taken, was monitored, had a chest Xray, repeated ECGs and was seen throughout the evening by one of the doctors, a charming and thorough young bloke named Wes.

Diagnosis time. There was some evidence of a blockage within his heart. Wes had consulted the cardiologists at Royal Perth. An urgent referral was to be generated and sometime within the next two days, we were to be given an appointment to see the cardiac team.

So, we are now at home twiddling our thumbs and waiting for the phone call. Michael is improved today but we are taking life very gently. He has the miracle bullet pills on standby and a script for a spray. We have been told that if he needs to use either, we are to return to Emergency.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what occurs when I engage in that seventh deadly sin!

Preferred activities -

Then, there was Monday...

And on Tuesday was this -

My sentiments exactly -

Then we were offered this!

So Michael could return home to his preferred bed companion...

However, I must remember this...at all times...