Heather McKeown
East Berkshire, VT
A week or two ago, I decided to take my heart in for a check up. The squeezing around this vital organ felt like it was being wrung out in a huge fist. What could it be? My cholesterol was measured at 309 a few years back but it’s now down to 209 thanks to medication. It could be lower, but getting there is half the fun, or so I’ve heard.
Off to a cardiologist in some southern state I trotted. Well, actually, I pedaled to his office due to a lack of a vehicle.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Something’s squashing my heart on occasion and it’s scaring me!”
I was offered and accepted his invitation to enjoy a stress test. I’d had my hip shot up with cortisone a couple of months earlier and hadn’t jogged at all since. The idea of a treadmill work out sounded awesome and would act as a real test for my healing hip. The good doctor informed me that the test would last anywhere from two to three hours, so I donned my running shoes, shorts, singlet and mentally prepared myself for a marathon.
Another physician was called to the fore to spot me during these hours.
“I’m going to insert a catheter into one of your big veins because you’ll receive two injections of isotopes. This is a radioactive concoction which will settle in your heart and allow us to see what’s working and what may be blocked.”
Well, that was the first indication that I would be doing more than running and breathing into some tube. My idea of stress testing was so far off the mark that I could have been classified as beyond ignorant.
Blood pressure: 110 over 70
Pulse: 60
Weight: 112
X-rays taken for seventeen minutes
So far, so good. Anyone who knows me knows I’m petrified of two things: snakes and needles. I was fine thinking all I’d have to do was run for a few hours, but the needle would surely kill me! It didn’t. Onto the treadmill I stepped and was told it would begin at less than two miles per hour. I didn’t even know the belt could move so slowly!
“We’ll crank up the degree of slope and increase the speed as we go along. It’s to get your heart rate up to target. That’s 137 in your case.”
“Well, I can run for a few hours, so we’ll really have a good time if it’s at this pace and angle.”
“OH, you’ll only be on the treadmill for about six minutes then I’ll shoot you up with more radioactive isotopes to take more pictures.”
Well, six minutes became ten. Ten became eleven and so on and so forth. Finally, a needle was popped into my field of vision and they got my heart rate up to goal and I was told to stop. Apparently, I set the record for that week. The doctor told me, “Usually, people come in and they’re already suffering from severe heart disease, so the treadmill is a tremendous challenge for them.” Folks, if you want to catch a problem while it’s still treatable, call a cardiologist NOW.
As it turned out, my results were ok and it was decided that I was just having anxiety attacks due to life-in-general. I’ll admit that there’s been a lot going on in mine for the past little while and some of it’s not good at all. Join the club!
Coming back from visiting my dad in Ottawa, Ontario, we stopped at the border, passports in hand and nothing to report. We were just sitting in the car looking at the Customs and Immigration officer thoroughly expecting his blessing and an uncomplicated admittance to the United States.
“Have you had any medical treatments lately?” he asked in a very stern way.
Geez, I thought of my hip and told him, “Yes. I have arthritis in my hip. It feels great now though, thank you very much.” How could he have known about my history? Maybe it popped up on his computer when he punched my license number in? The things they do these days....
“Have you had any medical treatments, I asked!” he repeated in an even stronger fashion.
“OH! I had a stress test ! You mean you’re getting a reading from the nuclear medicine angle?”
“STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE!” he commanded.
Oh my God. Now I’m in for it, I thought as I followed him into the office. What, do they think I’m carrying, a bomb? Do they think I’m transporting myself across the border to destroy East Berkshire, Vermont? Will they use me on the war against terror by dropping me on Kabul? My mind does work in mysterious ways.
I was put in front of what must have been a Geiger counter and the static was super-loud. The officer started filling out forms and was very nice about the entire thing. “Didn’t your doctor give you a paper to use while crossing the border?”
“I didn’t tell the doctor that my 88 year old Canadian father was in need of our visits, actually”
After many minutes, the officer looked up at me and said, “YOU’RE HOT!”
Normally, any woman hearing this would say, “I know.” However, in my case, an old granny and looking the part, I just burst out laughing and asked if he’d like to rephrase that comment.
“You’re radioactive. Drink lots of water and, do you ever exercise? Exercise helps, too.” He stood up and marched in place just in case I didn’t understand how to walk. I thanked him for the lesson with all sincerity. Oh, to be young and in uniform, in charge, in the know and in control of one’s world.
I guess, ticker and arthritis aside, I do feel great when I’m not worrying about ‘stuff’. And, although it wasn’t meant as a compliment but as a referral to my potential threat to our Homeland Security, “Hot” was pretty nice to hear. As for the walking lesson, I’m just so thrilled that I’m still able to follow directions in that area.
What the treadmill took forever to accomplish was achieved at the border in the time it took a guy to demand, “STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE.” My heart rate zoomed up to a state of almost-ventricular fibrillation in a nano-second. Do you think heart specialists could dress up as border guards during stress tests? I know it would have saved a lot of time in my case!
Thanks Heather.... for more on Heathers writings
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