Wake-up Call Number 23 by Lee Anne French

Today I was sitting here fooling around with some photos, and I started to get this pain in my chest, right where I think my heart is. It gradually increased, until the pain crept up into my left shoulder and then my jaw. My left arm felt sore too. It wasn’t excruciating, but I couldn’t focus on what I was doing at all.

I started to have The Conversation with myself. Maybe you know the one – it goes like this:

“What the hell IS this? Am I having a heart attack? What does a heart attack feel like, anyway? Oh god, now my jaw hurts. Seems like I read somewhere that your jaw hurts when you’re having a heart attack.

“Take slow, deep breaths. Just relax. It’s probably gas or something – - although I can’t imagine gas in my heart and shoulder and jaw … Do I need to have Tim call 911? Is Tim even in the HOUSE, or did he go out to the woods already? What would I do if this WAS a heart attack, and I was all alone? We live so far out in the sticks I’d be halfway decomposed before an ambulance ever got here.

I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m going to go see where Tim is. Oh – he’s still here. I’ll just lie down in the recliner and breathe slowly and see what happens.

“Of course I’m having a heart attack. I’m the poster girl for eating way too much of all the wrong things, not getting much exercise, cholesterol’s too high – no wonder I’m having a heart attack. And here I spend a shameful amount of time every day lamenting about how I eat too much and don’t get much exercise and therefore I’m uncomfortable, and can’t do all the things I want to do, and l look fat and I AM fat.

“What the hell’s WRONG with me, anyway?? It’s not about looking or feeling bad – it’s about stay frigging ALIVE so I can watch my grandkids grow up and do some of the things I’ve always wanted to do, and take a BUNCH more pictures! It this a wake-up call, or what? Food is fuel – isn’t that what I keep reading? Put shitty fuel in your tank, and your engine won’t run well, and might even die. Put good fuel in your tank, and your engine will hum like a sewing machine and keep you going for a long time.

“It’s not rocket science, Lee Anne. Don’t you even care enough about yourself and the people who love you to put the best fuel in your engine, and stop with all the damn sugar in your gas tank? Would you feed your own kid or grandkid the crap you shove down your own throat every night? Hell no! You’d be mortified and worried to death if someone I love ate the way you do.

“So – the pain’s subsiding. In fact, it’s all but gone.

“Maybe this was a gift, a jab to jerk me awake to reality. I should consider this little episode of gas or whatever as an omen, and get with some program or other that will get me moving and start feeding this body with the best of the best, and knock off all the junk.

“Yes, that’s what I’ll do. There’s still time. I’m going to change the way I eat.

“I sure hope this wake-up call feeling lasts more than an hour or two. Maybe if I feel it fade in the face of the rest of the Oatmeal Scotchies out in the kitchen, I could come in here and read this journal entry.

“Maybe.”