So I stopped the afib medication (Tikosyn) because the cure was worse than the problem, and I lived a glorious four more days without a triple digit heart rate while walking across the room. It was 45 bpm to be sorta precise, and even lower when asleep, which is all below the 50 bpm for which Tikosyn is contraindicated, but that's just an inconvenience when you're a cardiologist looking to fit one more patient in your decision tree.
I lost a holiday weekend to this nonsense, worked a couple of days, and then I blasted off to Del Rio, Texas, at 4 A.M. for #1 Son's graduation from the USAF's flight school. The flights there were bumpy, and I opened the barf bag on the last flight, though I never used it, which is a good thing because I needed two and I held only one. You see the impending eruption was going to be bidirectional.
Grabbed my bags, spent thirty minutes in the can being sure my belly was calm again, and then I took my rental car for a three-hour tour of southwest Texas. Though I cut the evenings early and started the mornings late, it was still an energy consuming time, and of course I'd do it again, right down to the flight simulator that I took into Mexican territory just because I could before I landed almost safely with a little help from Josh on the throttle. As you might expect, being occupied with the controls prevented further motion sickness, but not to worry as watching the others made up for it.
Let me add that it was a bone dry weekend for me because I didn't want to tempt my fate and have the atrial fibrillation return early. I think I was the only one there toasting with a glass of water.
Then up at 4 again for the return trip. Fewer bumps, but not to worry as my fatigue contributed to the air discomfort as I nodded in and out of a dream state, although I didn't need to grab a bag. Home at 7, and on the couch with a giant smoothie made with assorted frozen fruit by 8 for a little TV. As the smoothie chilled my unsettled tummy, I felt it, that brief motor boat, the sinking feeling of unspecified and unspecific angst. The afib was back, not just as a brief visitor, but as an upclose and personal, and quite unwelcomed, friend.
As my dorm suite mates in 1971 would say: Fuck a duck.