I was hospitalized again. Yes, again. I will spare you the gory details, but my white blood cell count was back up to 25 and my heart rate reached 188. We need to talk to my cardiac surgeon. I narrowly avoided being administered Adenosine to reset my heart rate. I was told everything from it would feel as if I missed a step to sensing I was being hit by a semi. Both for 30 to 45 seconds. Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it? I should have asked if the latter involved me being in a car. It would’ve made sense. I was sick, though, and not exactly on my game. My heart rate went down on its own, thankfully. I say all this to tell you my stay wasn’t too bad. With the exception of my visit to the ICU. I’m pretty sure I went there because of my stupid heart rate, but spent an afternoon there nonetheless. After being stripped of my caregiver, among other things, I was repeatedly called “Alice.” That transgression is typically laughable, but not that day. I had been awake most of the night before. I think this was the worst treatment of the visit, especially when I had four nurses standing over me and talking about me as if I were unresponsive. I started this entry to mention that I forgot to acknowledge the 10th year since my mother’s passing. I am not sure whether I’m mad at myself for not remembering or simply sad. I was inconsolable. My mother would have said not to worry. Anyway, I went home the next day. And she was right. I shouldn’t worry. Ever.