Mike had an appointment with his cardiologist this morning. I wonder if he was honest with him about his drinking. I don't know how he expects them to help him if he's undermining their efforts with his reckless behavior. I told him when he went to see our family physician last week that I'd already told them how much he is drinking, so he had to level with them or they would know he was lying.
"So how much did you tell them I'm drinking?" he asked.
"Oh, about 25 oz. a day," I told him.
"I AM NOT!" he countered. "You're crazy!"
"Ok," I said, "it takes you 2 days to drink a 1.5 liter bottle of wine. You do the math. And don't forget I was there when Dr. Fletcher told you to limit it to a 5 oz. glass of wine per day."
So he has a conversation with Dr. LeGarde's nurse about all this, and she says, according to Mike, "Oh, don't worry about it. Red wine is good for you."
"And what did the doctor say?" I asked after he told me this.
"Well, he was in the room while we were talking about it, and he didn't say anything."
One of the most worrisome aspects of this past Sunday's spree is that he fell, which is never good for a stroke patient. When I came in I found a dining chair overturned, the coffee table pushed out of its place, and it's a heavy coffee table, and a basket of Christmas cards overturned and scattered on the floor along with his telephone and remote control. I knew immediately what had happened. Somehow, he managed to get himself up the stairs and in the bed where I found him dead asleep when I got home at 9:00.
He had called me around 7:00 asking where I was. "We just finished the service at church, and we're on our way to the first house to sing carols," I told him.
"I thought you were upstairs," he said. Not only was he disoriented, his speech was slurred , so I knew he was drunk.
"You don't remember my coming through the living room about 4:15 on my way to church?" I asked. "I told you what time the service started, and you said you hadn't decided if you were coming or not. Do you remember any of that?"
"No, I don't," he mumbled. "What time is it?"
"It's time for you to get yourself in the bed before you do any more damage to your addled brain," I said. "I'll be home when we finish carolling."
I made up my mind to spend the night at Pam or Jean's if he were not asleep when I got home. I had no intention of going through another round of craziness like last year. But he was asleep, thank goodness!
I appreciate the notes of concern from some of you. Keep us in your prayers, especially during this holiday season. Something about it makes Mike more vulnerable to his demons than at other times.
"So how much did you tell them I'm drinking?" he asked.
"Oh, about 25 oz. a day," I told him.
"I AM NOT!" he countered. "You're crazy!"
"Ok," I said, "it takes you 2 days to drink a 1.5 liter bottle of wine. You do the math. And don't forget I was there when Dr. Fletcher told you to limit it to a 5 oz. glass of wine per day."
So he has a conversation with Dr. LeGarde's nurse about all this, and she says, according to Mike, "Oh, don't worry about it. Red wine is good for you."
"And what did the doctor say?" I asked after he told me this.
"Well, he was in the room while we were talking about it, and he didn't say anything."
One of the most worrisome aspects of this past Sunday's spree is that he fell, which is never good for a stroke patient. When I came in I found a dining chair overturned, the coffee table pushed out of its place, and it's a heavy coffee table, and a basket of Christmas cards overturned and scattered on the floor along with his telephone and remote control. I knew immediately what had happened. Somehow, he managed to get himself up the stairs and in the bed where I found him dead asleep when I got home at 9:00.
He had called me around 7:00 asking where I was. "We just finished the service at church, and we're on our way to the first house to sing carols," I told him.
"I thought you were upstairs," he said. Not only was he disoriented, his speech was slurred , so I knew he was drunk.
"You don't remember my coming through the living room about 4:15 on my way to church?" I asked. "I told you what time the service started, and you said you hadn't decided if you were coming or not. Do you remember any of that?"
"No, I don't," he mumbled. "What time is it?"
"It's time for you to get yourself in the bed before you do any more damage to your addled brain," I said. "I'll be home when we finish carolling."
I made up my mind to spend the night at Pam or Jean's if he were not asleep when I got home. I had no intention of going through another round of craziness like last year. But he was asleep, thank goodness!
I appreciate the notes of concern from some of you. Keep us in your prayers, especially during this holiday season. Something about it makes Mike more vulnerable to his demons than at other times.
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