Monday: I went to my first ever professional eye exam as an adult. (I've been having a hard time reading things within arm's reach- especially with my right eye.) I told the doctor as much, because I was a little nervous and clueless as to what to expect. After going through a barrage of eye drops, vision charts, and a lot of "Is this better, or is this better", the doctor scribbled something indecipherable on a prescription pad and said, "You're all set."
(What the Hell does that mean?) "So, do I need glasses or...?"
"If your eyes bother you, then get glasses."
(If my eyes bother me? If they didn't bother me then why would I be here?) "Would glasses make a difference?" I asked.
"Oh, they would make a difference."
"Well, would it be worth getting glasses right now or not?"
"You can get glasses, or you can come back in three or four years and we'll see how you're doing then."
(Okay, you've been SUPER helpful, Doc. Have a swell day.)
After relating this story to Bethany she said, "Just get the glasses. He's always like that."
(Sorry to inconvenience you with my desire for understanding my ocular health, Doctor Indifference.)
Tuesday: I met with the social worker assigned to our adoption case. She asked about my family history and before I knew it, there was enough spin coming out of my mouth to make Tony Snow and the rest of Bush's spin doctors proud. After an hour and a half, she had what she needed and I drove home thinking a career in politics might just be possible afterall.
Wednesday: Cardiac Stress Test Day. Fun! (For those of you unaware of my recent heart-related episodes, a little back-story.) For several months, I have been having frequent irregular heart rhythms. Periodically, my heart will skip a beat for no apparent reason. Sometimes it continues to skip beats for hours on end. When I say "skip a beat" I really mean that my heart stops momentarily. To visualize what this is like, feel your pulse right now. Get a sense of the rhythm of the beats. Count to ten as your heart beats. Now when you get to seven, stop counting and start again at where beats nine or ten would be. Now imagine your heart stopping like this several dozen times in a span of a few hours. A little un-nerving to say the least. But the worst of it is when I have "exercise-induced" episodes during which my heart pounds extremely hard due to performing a physical activity. When this happens, my heart's rhythm feels more like Morse code than a heart beat. The most dramatic example of this occurred while sledding with Alex and Bethany. My heart would not go five seconds without missing a beat. It would also dramatically speed up and slow down in a very unpredictable manner. Had we not been snowbound following the 16 inch snowfall that weekend, I would have gone to the ER. It was more than a little scary, and at one point Bethany asked if I was still alive as I tried to collect myself while laying in my sled staring blankly into the blue sky above. Apparently, a wife doesn't like seeing the love of her life looking dead in a sled. Who knew? (As I typed this paragraph, I felt my heart miss 6 beats.)
Anyway, at the clinic, I was first given an IV. Next, blood was taken and tested. Then, I was injected with a radioactive isotope that would course through my veins illuminating my heart during my imminent gamma ray scan. The scan took place in a machine similar to an MRI and took 16 minutes, during which time I had to hold my left forearm over my forehead due to the cramped space my body was occupying. Next, I was off to the treadmill. I walked, jogged, and ran for a combined 12 minutes before reaching my target heart rate of 180 bpm. All the while, my blood pressure was taken and I was given two more injections. After the run, I was allowed to sit and rest. My heart only missed one beat while running, but while sitting and trying to catch my breath, it started missing beats frequently. All of these episodes were documented on the EKG that I had been hooked up to prior to the run. Next I was given an ultrasound examination during which I could actually see my heart beating. And once, I actually got to see my heart stop and then re-start a moment later. I have to say- that was pretty cool, if not a little bit scary. Finally, I was subjected to another gamma ray scan and eventually sent home with a 24-hour heart monitor to record any episodes at home. I spent 3 and a half hours at the clinic but thankfully had my darling wife right by my side the whole time.
Thursday: On my commute to work, The Mean Green Machine inexplicably died in the middle of a very busy intersection on Grindstone Parkway. The truck was blocking the left-turn lane and the left-straight lane. Rush hour motorists were in no mood for delays and several had the decency to honk and give my dirty looks as I frantically tried to restart the engine. After about five minutes, I decided to push the truck backwards into the left turn-lane, well short of the intersection so that my fellow commuters would not have to be inconvenienced by a man with the nerve to allow his vehicle to hinder their progress toward their infinitely more important tasks. I hopped out of the truck and pushed from the door jamb while steering with my left hand. After a Herculean amount of effort, I was able to get the 3,500 pound behemoth rolling, even though it was on a flat surface. Just when I stopped to catch my breath, I noticed a black SUV bearing down upon me in the left-turn lane. I decided to jump back into the truck and close the door just before the speeding vehicle whizzed by me. I assumed that the driver was turning left, so I decided not to flip him off. However, as he passed me by, his wife gave me a contemptuous look while he drove around the front of my truck and proceeded to go straight through the intersection from the left-turn lane. That's right- I was forced to stop pushing my truck, jump out of the left-turn lane to allow him to pass, only to get a dirty look as he rocketed straight past me. All the while the righthand, straight lane was unoccupied! Nice folks in Columbia. Well, I shook my head in disbelief for a while, hopped back out, finished pushing the beast out of the way, crawled back inside to get out of the 14 degree weather, and sat a spell contemplating my next move. I remembered the can of starting fluid that I had purchased a few weeks ago at a gas station when my truck wouldn't start after re-fueling. I popped open the hood, removed the air cleaner, then stood on the door jamb in the cab while hanging out of the open door while aiming the spray can under the opening between the hood and the windshield all while turning the ignition key. Bingo! It started up. I closed everything up, and limped the truck all the way to work without further incident. (I believe I may have a clogged fuel filter in case you were wondering.) I noted on the journal that accompanied my heart monitor that I had several skipped heart beats and that my heart was pounding through my chest. I was sure that the episode would show up on the monitor when it would be analyzed the next day.
Friday: After work, I went to get the results of my heart tests. After waiting a full hour for the doctor, he finally made his grand entrance. "I have good news..."
"That's a relief."
"We notice a few missed beats on your monitor especially while you were (pausing to refer the notes on my journal) pushing a truck. Although there were several, we didn't see an unusually high number of missed beats over the 24 hour period . Also, your ultrasound, EKG, and gamma scan all show that your heart is perfectly healthy."
"That is good news."
"You'll still feel your heart miss beats and at worst it will just be a little annoying, but its nothing to worry about. I have to say, Travis, there's just nothing wrong with your heart."
"Well, we just wanted to rule out anything serious."
"You're fine. That's all there is to say." And he stood up and left.
I walked to the nurses' desk and announced, "Well, it looks like I'm gonna live."
The nurse said, "That's good. Sounds like a reason to celebrate. It is Friday night, you know." (I think she might have been flirting with me.)
Chicks dig a dude with a good ticker.
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