Monday, January 25

I slept well last night, despite being anxious about a nuclear stress test at my cardiologist's office this morning. I prepared for it as instructed...skipping one of my blood pressure meds yesterday and this morning, not drinking anything caffeinated or decaffeinated, and eating and drinking nothing this morning but half a piece of toast and some water so I could take the rest of my meds.

I was pretty stressed out by the time I got to the cardiologist's office, since I expected I'd be made sick from a chemical injection. Others that I know and have talked with told stories of how sick they were following the test...splitting headaches, chest pain, etc.

But when I arrived, the clinic techs assured me that nothing I would experience would make me sick. And they were right. The tech inserted a small injections tube in my arm and escorted me to a waiting room, where I drank a bottle of water. Then I waited 20 or 30 minutes, before being ushered into a room with a big chair near some sort of scanner. I sat in the chair and placed my arms shoulder high on an arm rest. A wide wrap was placed around my upper torso. For twenty minutes, the chair gradually turned, while the computer registered images of my heart.

After that, I was taken to another room to do a treadmill test. A nurse checked my blood pressure...which was not nearly as high as I expected, considering being highly stressed, and not taking three doses of my BP med. My BP registered 144/80. I was given a saline solution, followed by an injection of a radioactive substance.

Then I walked a few minutes on an inclined treadmill, until I reached my target heart rate. Piece of cake. Then the nurse offered me a clear soda and a package of peanut butter and crackers. Of course, I couldn't eat the peanut butter and crackers, because they contain yellow dye.

In a few minutes, I was taken back to be scanned. This time, I was in the chair only 15 minutes. That completed the test, and I was dismissed. The worst parts of the whole experience were fear of the unknown, expecting to come home sick from the tests, a day of anxiety and stress yesterday, shivering in that frigid clinic (helped along by wearing lightweight capris, and a t-shirt, because I thought I'd have to tread till I sweated), and not getting breakfast until 11 a.m.

I learned that the test I'd been dreading was actually a chemical stress test, which does cause reactions in some folks. This one is administered if the patient cannot walk on a treadmill...another reason I'm so glad I've kept up with my exercises.

The lab tech sure is an upbeat person, whistling and singing all the time, maybe to help calm patients, I reasoned? However, singing refrains of "When the Saints Come Marching In," was something less than comforting! As I was traveling around in the scanner chair, though, I overheard the tech and nurses in the hall discussing the NFL Super Bowl Sunday teams of the Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints, which explained the song...obviously, the tech is pulling for the Saints.

There's something about being in one's golden years that prompts younger folks to treat you like you've also entered your second childhood. So the tech, in his early 40s, opted against addressing me as either Mrs. Last Name, or First Name, and instead kept calling me "Sweetie." I wonder how long it'll be before I become "cute?"


Poor Hubbie nearly froze in the main waiting room during my two-hour test. Had I known the test wouldn't adversely affect me, I'd have gone to the clinic alone. He complained about the cold, and I explained that the clinic is trying to inhibit the growth of bacteria, particularly during these days of flu season.

When we got back home, I was starving. So I fixed myself a cheese omelet and toast. When I saw Hubbie yearnng after it, I asked if he wanted one, too. He did, so I fixed one for him. Mother opted for a bowl of Ramen noodle soup. This served as our lunch, since it was 11 a.m. by this time.

We didn't do much during the afternoon. Mother worked puzzles. Hubbie watched TV westerns. And I uploaded swan photos to the one-hour service, checked my emails, read the daily newspaper, and did other unexciting stuff.

Supper tonight was chicken noodle soup, with some delicious applesauce muffins that Mother made this morning.

Later, Hubbie and I watched the movie, "The Secret Life of Bees," a 2008 PG-13 film starring Dakota Fanning, Jennifer Hudson, Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys and Sophie Okonedo. A young girl (Dakota Fanning) loses her mother, who is shot when the girl is four years old. Though it doesn't show it, viewers assume the little girl picked up a revolver that had been dropped by her mother in an argument with her father, and accidentally shoots her mother. In her teens, she is abused by her father and leaves home with her black housekeeper in tow. The two find asylum at the home of three sister (Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys, and Sophie Okonedo). The story takes place in 1964, right after the Civil Rights Act was signed into law. Race relations are explored, and life lessons are learned. Good movie.