Stress Test

I am not sure I can pass this test. What if they expect me to run! For hours! My mind makes up silly scenarios of sliding off the treadmill and whacking my head on the floor or gasping for air and passing out. Don't be silly. (translation - don't stress about the stress test [g]).

I have cancelled this test three times. I just don't want to go. Its more than the "what ifs." I have turned into a bona fide chicken. I become melodramatic. Let me die a thousand deaths before you insert any more sharp metal objects into my tender arm. (fade to aging actress, arm across forehead, swooning on dust riddled couch. . .)

For crying out loud in a handkerchief, as my professor says. Get a grip. Kiel makes fun of my unfounded fears. OK, not fears really. Balking reticence. Stubborn obstinance. Plain old orneriness. Nonetheless, I find myself grumping along in the car, navigating to the very place I do not wish to be.

I am no Pollyanna today, reveling in the goodness of my ability to walk unassisted, to breathe freely, no aches or pains bending me in two. No, I want to be cranky. Let me fuss. The boys are irritated with my "old woman" behavior.

I check in at the outpatient desk, then head down the hall to cardiology and check in again. Fill out more forms than an old woman should. Take a seat in the waiting area, determined to pout. But I can't pout. There is a huge aquarium in the middle of the room filled with large beautiful fish - angel fish, swordfish, guppies with brightly colored streaming tails, kissing gourmets, all floating gracefully about, totally unconcerned that they are completely enclosed in a tank, nibbling on the seaweed, playing tag, hiding in the treasure cove on the far side of the glass.

I cannot resist their charm. I relax. I breathe normally. I realize that even if the test reveals a need for medical treatment, I will simply do as I have always done - trust God to see me through. They call my name. Despite my calmness, my bloodpressure is high.

They tell me that I need to get my heart rate to a certain point, to endure for a certain length of time. They explain that every three minutes, the treadmill will elevate steeper and move faster. They are skeptical of my ability to get to the necessary point and spend time explaining that if they don't get a successful test, there are other ways to test my heart with ultrasounds etc.

They swab my skin, dab it with goop, and stick little white pads all over my chest and stomach. They wrap a large black belt around me frothing with wires which they hook to the white pads, and guide me to the treadmill, wires dragging behind like dogs tails. Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!

Take long steps. You don't tire as easily. I pass the first upgrade OK, then the second. The third one is the killer. I am all but running. If its too much, I just have to say the word and they will stop the test. The nurse monitoring my blood pressure encourages me. You can do it. Just a few more minutes. You are doing marvelously well. They didn't think I could do it, but I am a tough old bird.

Gasping for air. I need to stop soon. I concentrate on long strides, but they sure come fast! I think I am bouncing on a trampoline. They are counting down for me. One more minute, keep going. You can do it! 30 seconds, come on. 10, 9, 8, 7 Ta-day! Move fast to the stretcher, you might be dizzy (I'm not). Drink this water. Blood pressure cuff tightens, loosens, tightens, loosens. My breathing slows down gradually.

Piece of cake. Except for the blood pressure part that is off the charts now. What do they expect? Make me run my hinney off and of COURSE my blood pressure will go up! I half listen as they patiently explain the process - cardiologist reads the results (and charges a fee) and sends a report to my primary doctor (who charges a fee) who will let me know what if anything needs to be done (more meds I am sure - for a fee).

Funny, the crankys have disappeared. I don't feel so old. I retain the bounce in my step as I collect the boys from the waiting room and head back to work. Stress indeed.