Update
For the last couple of days I've been feeling more bloated again. I've sort of been in denial of it, because I was flying high on the regular improvements I was feeling up to that point. Last night, during our "spa" night, it all came to a head with me. I started noticing a throbbing part of my chest that seemed to be beating with my heart beat. So much of the muscle and fat has gone away on the upper part of my body that the ribs below my collar bone are quite evident. This is the place where my pace maker used to be, before the transplant. Anyhow, it creeped me out and I started panicking some and fearing that I am on a downward trend again. Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. Only time will tell. Anyhow, Gail and I got through the moment. In honor of it, I will reprint my old song... the Dead Man Blues... that I wrote during my heart transplant days, but which seems to have raised it's sarcastic head again under my new circumstances.
Dead Man’s Blues
I woke up in the night and my mind was clutched with fear. I was chilled by the thought that the end of life is near.
My lady shook me loose, and I finally caught my breath, and we made a little joke about a twelve step plan for death.
Death don’t care if you’ve been good and death don’t cut no slack. It don’t matter if you diet or you can eat a bunch of fat.
Death don’t care. So hold me baby.
Rock me girl, through the night.
Tell me that I’m really joking. Say it’s gonna be all right.
Death don’t even care who you are or what you’ve done. You can be the president or you can be a bum.
Death is not some Santa Claus who cares if you’ve been good. You can smile or pout and cry and shout but you are gonna die, no doubt.
It doesn’t give a damn if you’re ready or you’re done. You can finish all the jobs you do, or leave them all undone.
Death don’t care. So hold me baby.
Rock me girl, through the night.
Tell me that I’m really joking. Say it’s gonna be all right.
You can raise your hands to Jesus, bow to Mecca or Vishnu,
You can make an X across your chest and cross your fingers too.
You can sit there like a lotus. You can do a Dervish dance.
You can handle snakes, be healed by fakes or join a cosmic trance.
You can be a Diest, Athiest, a Druid or a Jew
It’s equal opportunity, and Baby Death’s for you.
Death don’t care. So hold me baby.
Rock me girl, through the night.
Tell me that I’m really joking. Say it’s gonna be all right.
When everything is said and done it’s really very fair. You can say and do what you want to, but death don’t really care.
It’s a simple fact of nature when you’re young and when you’re old, that the first step and the twelfth step is that you ain’t in control.
You can write a song or do a dance or say a little prayer, but the last and final word for you is baby, death don’t care.
Death don’t care. So hold me baby.
Rock me girl, through the night.
Tell me that I’m really joking. Say it’s gonna be all right.
Death don’t care.