A Post From Facebook About My Cardio Test

Yesterday, on my Facebook page, I posted this little bit of info and decided I have nothing else to post so I would put it here, too.

I dread tomorrow.  I had rather slide down a razor blade into a pool of Iodine than go through what I will have to go through.  

I have an appointment with my cardiologist for a treadmill stress test.  I’m stress enough just dreading the damn thing.  But it is needed, I guess.

I have been having some small chest pains and a few pains under my left arm for the past year.  Not good, I know, but blowing my fucking heart out on the treadmill doesn’t sound any better.

At my examination last week, the doctor (whom I fucking hate because he has had a carrier landing and takeoff – and he was never in the Navy) said the nerves on the right side of my heart are a tad slower than the left side. Plus he hears some noise in the artery on the right side of my neck. There may be a blockage there, so I will have an ultrasound next week… if I survive tomorrow…or don’t stork out before then.

Anyway, if you don’t hear from me tomorrow afternoon, you might as well delete me off Facebook because I have been deleted.  Otherwise, I’ll see ya then.

So I went and this is the post I did this afternoon about the results.

Well, I’m back and with good and bad results.  The good news (for me anyways) is I didn’t die or end up in the hospital with another heart attack.  Judy seemed to be pleased with that result, too.

The bad news, first of all I have an enlarged heart and that pisses me off.  I finally get something enlarged and it has to be my heart.  Nothing I could use for pleasure.  And the inner lining of the heart is not getting enough oxygen. 

There might be a blockage, but since I had trouble on the treadmill (more about this in a minute) I will have to go back next week for another stress test.  Only this one will be a chemical stress test.  I like chemicals.  This will be much better. Wait! What did you say, Judy? Oh! Dammit!  It’s not the good chemicals.  It’s a dye that will be injected in the vanes so they can see the flow.  Nothing I can enjoy. 

The way things are going, they might have to push the dye up my ass to get it in me.  Dammit!  Is it too much trouble to ask for a little pleasure and some enjoyment in doing this shit?

Luckily these two conditions can be controlled with a bit of exercise and medication – so he says.  Great!  More fucking pills!  He will know more about the dosages and type meds next week after the test.

The treadmill!   Imagine my shock when I found out the three hours I spent walking and hanging on for dear life actually only lasted for seven minutes.  Well, it was supposed to last at least seven minutes.  I made it to just over six.  That final minute was to be faster and more uphill than what I had already done.  I couldn’t do it.  I was dizzy and my legs were giving out.  I’m a pussy.

Before the treadmill, I had an ultrasound to get a baseline to check against.  After I got off the treadmill I had to lie down on the table and have the test again.  I told her I probably failed the stress part of the test.  She said that I did reach my target heart rate and it was good.  I told her (between sucking for breath) that if the target heart rate was all she needed, I could have reached it in one minute with some good sex and enjoyed it much more.  

She laughed and asked if one minute was all I could do.  I told her, hell no.  Sometimes I can go two or three minutes… on the second or third time… sometime during the month.  She just laughed.  But I have a feeling she will not be on my list of future girlfriends.  I think she is one of those feminist who think they should get something out of having sex, too.  Selfish bitch!

The bottom line is, I’m not as healthy as I was this morning before I went to the doctor.  Perhaps I should have stayed at home.  But I will try to do better, too.  I’ll walk faster to the frig to get my beers. 

And thank you all for your support on my last post bout going the cardiologist.  You guys are the best.

That’s about it for now. I’m still here…

The Smells From Being At Sea

There's an old sea story about a ship's Captain Who inspected his sailors, and afterward told the first mate that his men smelled bad.
The Captain suggested perhaps it would help if the sailors would change underwear occasionally. 

The first mate responded, "Aye, aye sir, I'll see to it immediately!"

The first mate went straight to the sailors berth deck and announced, "The Captain thinks you guys smell bad and wants you to change your underwear."

He continued, "Pittman, you change with Jones, McCarthy, you change with Witkowski and Brown, you change with Schultz."

THE MORAL OF THE STORY: Someone may come along and promise "Change", but don't count on things smelling any better.
 

Now you know why the Head is called The Head... look at the front of the ship...