What exactly is that?
I went for a stress test today. With my family's propensity for heart problems, and my entry into my sixth decade in the not too distant future, my doctor thought it would be a good idea.
I did not have to fast, thank goodness. It was just a tread mill test. Just.
I woke up this morning with a headache that remained with me all day long. I am certain that is the result of taking my dad to the VA hospital yesterday. As I mentioned to a friend in an e-mail, there is nothing more stressful than taking your father to the doctor to discuss his hemmoroid problems. I mean really.
The entire way there I had to listen to the whole long saga of his problem with his derriere. Why? Do I look like I care? Do I really need to know about this? I don't think so.
So I nodded my head and made vague little "uh-huhs" in response to his diatribe.
Sitting in the waiting room, hoping beyond all hope that he would be called quickly, I was exposed to yet more discussion of ailments from every corner of the room. And yes, my father is not the only one with problems in the back end. And no, there are certain procedures that you absolutely do not want to have done if you know what's good for you. Perfect.
I messed up two Sudoku puzzles trying to block out the never-ending tales of woe.
Finally they called Dad, and I wheeled him to the exam room where the doctor promptly shut me in there with him. What?! Oh my gosh.
I will spare you the details of the discussion, but suffice it to say, that when the doctor left the room, leaving me there with my dad and a poster of The Prostate and How to Keep It Healthy in living color, I nearly lost it. I do believe that the room was actually spinning.
Back came the doctor, and I (in a very weak voice) asked if there was someplace where I could wait for Dad. I was led back to the waiting room where, yes, the discussions of ailments large and small were still the topic of discussion.
I am throwing away my Sudoku book.
Had they done my stress test yesterday, I am sure that the results would have been markedly different. But today was a new day, and despite my headache, I took the test and passed. Perfectly, the doctor said. Well, what a relief that is.
Ten minutes on a tread mill, with Madame deFarge* revving up the speed every two minutes just to "get that heart rate up" was nothing compared to yesterday's events.
I am still trying to shake the vision from my mind.
* Actually, she was a very nice woman and we had a lovely conversation. Until her son's teacher called to inform her that he was not doing his homework because he was, and I quote, "Turning 18 in a few weeks and will be leaving school anyway."
I should have hooked her up to the machine. Bless her heart.