On another forum I had talked about hoping I survived the 3 minute stress test I was going to have and this is the rest of the story. Just picture Miss Chubbette, me, who is almost as wide as she is tall, plus being what, three times the age of the professionals there, walzing in to this curtained darkened space with two very young, slender, beauties who announced they were going to be doing the heart ultrasound and tread mill test for me.
Mercy, the joke about the three minutes isn't a joke. She said the treadmill was set on an uphill fast pace for at least 3 minutes and did I think I could do that. Of course I can do that. What's 3-5 minutes? We started off chatting but it wasn't long and I had to shut up and breath. After 3 minutes she asked me if I could give her two minutes more. "Are you OK? Maam, let me know if you need to stop. Don't just try to jump off. Esther, we need a minute and a half. Shall I stop? Remember to let me know if you need to stop. You can't just step off, you know." (At this point I feel her hand on my back at the waist like for some stupid reason she thinks I need help, I almost slapped her but didn't dare let go of the handlebar thingy.) (OH in the meantime I'm gasping and my lungs are beginning to scream. My hip joints both are starting to let me know that Arthur resides in them and both of my calves are checking out the room exits) "UM, maam, you're not answering me. Please, we need 35 seconds more. OK Maam?" By this time she is irritating me with her questions. I can hardly get enough breath to stay upright and moving, let alone answer her 49 comments and questions. At that point I have to focus like a drunk to remember which foot goes next and how to set my foot down to keep from being swept off the back of the treadmill. Most of all I don't want to fall on my face and scare these lithe, sweet young things half to death and me end up looking really bad. So I begin counting in my head, trying to focus and judge how long 35 seconds might take. It can't be long can it, and how will I be able to interpret impending death, so I can let them know in time to shut down the machine. Also I needed to get my hips and calves to stop screaming so loud, I can't hear myself counting. Or is that the heavy breathing that is blocking out the counting? Or maybe it was my heart beating so fast and loud that they can hear it in the next room. I'm getting to the end of the minimum time that it takes to get their information and she brightly says, "Almost done. Now we'll slow you down so you can quickly jump back on the table." Jump, I have to jump? Is it OK if I just collapse on the table? I managed to wobbly lay down and was thrilled that they wanted me to lie down for a while so they could do the rest of the ultrasound that is done after the heart has been active. ACTIVE YOU SAY!! I would have said it out loud if I could have talked. "Stay quiet while I get this last test and then you can go." In my head I'm saying, "Yah right, like I'd be able to get up and leave right now, I can barely gasp, uhhuh." Finally she says, "There your heart rate is about back to normal speed and you can sit up and get dressed." And I'm thinking, "You mean I can't just stay here for a half hour and recover?" I did manage to walk to my car and drive home. After an hour, the weakness had passed and I guess I'm OK. I could just picture those sweet young things snickering across the table from each other on their lunch hour about their 3:00 patient.
Next to the colonoscopy, this is my next favorite health care experience. Some day I should give you a blow by blow description of that experience. Or then again, maybe I shouldn't.
