My old friend John is having health troubles. It's been at least a year since he's cared about food. He only eats before bed, usually a sandwich of some sort. Sometimes he'll have a snack during the day, but he doesn't get hungry and he doesn't enjoy eating.
He doesn't walk easily, having lost a toe to diabetes in 2016. But for the last two months, he's found any physical activity exhausting. Even folding laundry.
So he's finally going to do it: he's going to get the defibrillator his doctors first recommended a decade ago. OK, that's not quite accurate. 10 years ago, a different cardiologist wanted to implant a pacemaker. But that physician has retired and, I guess, technology and terminology have evolved in a decade. So now it's a defibrillator.
I'm glad and I'm mad. Glad that he's finally doing it. I love him and want him around for years to come!
Mad that he waited, literally, 9 1/2 years. He's a decade older, a decade weaker, than when the procedure was first recommended.
Oh, well. I have slowly learned that I can't run everyone's lives for them, much as I would like to. All I can do is love and support him. And pray.
You're such a good friend.
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