Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Um. Gee. I Don't Want To Do This Test

So dear Hildi I did it. I went in for the stress test. Now, let me just say that this was totally my doctor's idea and I wasn't really on board from the start. I did ask around and was told that your didn't have to run. Because I was really worried about that. I mean, I was worried they wouldn't provide motivation. And everyone knows I don't run without motivation! Like a bear is chasing me, or there's one snickers bar left in the house and I must beat the kids to it. Something that makes it worthwhile. So I get to the cardio lab and Jethro and I sit in the waiting room filled with old people. I get us both a magazine. Me a Redbook and him a Parenting because, well you can't prepare to early, right? Finally, they call my name.

I follow the perky little nurse back to a room, that houses a gurney, a crash cart, a huge machine and a treadmill. She tells me to take everything off from the waist up and sign the consent form and she'll be back. So I disrobe and then read the consent form, which basically says that if your heart explodes while they're doing this test you can't sue them. Also you can't sue them if you fall off the treadmill. And you can't sue them for saying you're fat and out of shape. Basically, you just can't sue them.

So she comes back in and hooks up all these little electrode thingys and I start to wonder, between xrays, ekgs, this test, mammograms is there a medical person on the planet who hasn't had their hands on my boobs? Seriously, I think the medical community gets more access to my boobs then poor Larry. So after I'm all hooked up and she takes me blood pressure she tells me we have to wait for my doc. So she leaves again. And I wonder around the room (as far as my wires let me) because I'm bored. Then she comes back in and says he's on his way. Get on the treadmill. So I hop up there and she asks if I've ever been on a treadmill before. I say yes, I love treadmills. I've been trying to get our parents to give me theirs for years but they are very busy using it to hang clothes on. The treadmill is going at a nice easy pace and I think. huh. maybe this won't be so bad. WRONG! The doctor comes in and I'm all

Me: Haha. We started this party without you.

Dr: *smile* well that's good. Okay, I want to get your heart rate up to 168 so I'm going to increase the speed and altitude in 5 seconds. Okay? * Is that a real question? Really? Do I get to say no here?*

Me: Bring it on doc. *He then increases the speed and incline and I start to huff a little. Asthma anyone?*

Dr: Now if your chest starts hurting or you can't breathe or you just can't go on, let me know. *Yeah right. I'm not a wuss. I continue huffing along*

Dr: Okay, I'm going to increase you again. How are you doing?

Me: I stopped having fun about 5 minutes ago.

Dr: You've only been on the treadmill for 3 minutes.

Me: Seriously? Well if feels like 5! *speed increases. I'm really huffing and puffing and my calves are tightened up like bowling balls. If I wasn't so committed to not wussing out, I'd have totally told him to stop. At home, I'd have been like "okay, I'm done". Damn stubborn pride*

Dr.: Okay, well we got your heart rate up past where I wanted. I'm going to stop the machine now. But it slows gradually so don't stop walking.

Me: What? You don't want to see me shoot off of here like a human projectile?

Dr: *totally straight face* I've seen that happen. It's not pretty.

Me: huff, puff, huff, puff.

Dr.: So how do you feel? Does your chest hurt?

Me: Um. No. It's a little heavy and hard to breathe but I think that's just asthma.

Dr.: Well your heart looks fine, your BP's great. I think it's just muscle pain from the Fibromyalgia. The heart is a muscle after all.

Me: Fabulous. That's why my calves feel like rocks now too.

Dr.: I think you should start walking though. Twenty minutes three times a week.

I'm pretty sure that was him calling me fat. And out of shape. But I signed the paper so I can't sue. I think they should change the name of the test though. Instead of "Stess Test" they should call it "The Let's See How Glaringly Out of Shape You Are Test". The nurse did say that they get the incline a lot higher then most people ever do on their own. So while I wasn't really running, it was like I was walking up a mountain as fast as I could. It sucked. So I went to the mexican restaurant and had Flan. Because Flan cures everything. Including wounded pride.



  1. LOL! Your too much, taking a serious stress test and making it into a funny. LOL!

    Well, at least now you know it is not something very serious. That is good.

    Poor Larry, parenting mag and lack of viewing the teetees.

    What the heck is Flan?

  2. Heather~ thanks for your comment! I try to make everything funny. Even serious stuff. It's way better than brooding. And yeah, thankfully it all went well. =]


  3. Not sure how you can eat flan. It just looks like a glob of tan mush. But then again I don't eat creme brûlée for that reason. Don't feel too bad. I was told I need to be working out as well. I guess exercise is supposed to help headaches.
    I bet Jethro was so thrilled to be reading parenting

  4. Everyone should be exercising but does anyone really do it?? :) lol Thanks for the hilarious post

  5. Roxy~ Flan does not look like a glob of tan mush!!! It looks like a tiny plateau of wonderful smooth creamy deliciousness lightly covered in caramel sauce. just put a bite in the top of your mouth and let your tongue and your taste buds cavort with the rich's that damn good! And actually, Jethro likes Parenting magazine. Because he's weird.

    Smiley~ Nope. They don't. Thanks for the comment!

    Heather~ Flan is a delicious custard dessert that they serve at mexican restaurants. I also just found a Jell-O version to make at home. Woot woot!



Leave us your two cents worth~