You may also remember that this is the second anniversary of my father's death after a heart transplant.
If you put the two together, you might conclude that I should be seeing a doctor to determine if I have heart problems of the same magnitude as my father. This is definitely what my mom thought (Hi, Mom! Love you!), and so I made a series of appointments for tests and consultations with various specialists. Every test turned out normal. During my echocardiogram, the technician kept saying, "Boy, I wish every patient had pictures like yours!" I take a strange pride in the fact that I have pretty pictures of my heart.
|This is EXACTLY how my heart looks in the echocardiogram pictures. Except it isn't a tree.|
Me: Wait, so I can run, do speed work, race, all that stuff?
Doctor: Yes, exactly. I want you to provoke an attack so I can study it.
Me: Won't this be harmful? Couldn't I, like, die?
Doctor looks at me for a full minute, then says: Do you honestly think I would tell you to provoke an attack if I thought it was harmful to you?
Me: I don't know. Maybe you don't like me.
Anyway, now I'm sure he doesn't like me because wearing this event monitor SUCKS BIG TIME. It's huge, so it looks like I'm carrying around a beeper from the 80s. It has suction cups, which I have to move to a different place each day, so it looks like I have hickeys on my chest. I have wires protruding from all parts of my body. I have to sleep with it, so I roll on it and it pokes me or vibrates to let me know that I'm killing it.
This morning I went for a long run (12 miles), and I wore the monitor. This is how it looks:
|One electrode here|
|The second one here just under my bra|
|They connect to this big, freaking box.|
I can't see any data from it. There are only buttons to push and one light that blinks when I have to upload the data. How do I do that? I have to call a number, hold the box up to the phone, and let it play a whiny fax-machine-sounding thing for at least five minutes. I'm not exaggerating.
The good news is that I feel much better knowing that this isn't really harmful; the word the cardiologist used was "nuisance," which I know pretty well. I can live with this nuisance, but I'll wear the damned monitor while I have to (love ya, Mom!).
I'll leave you with something positive--my view at the Beaver Marsh on the Towpath this morning:
|Those green plants are lily pads!|
|I'm hot, I'm sweaty, and I'm fabulous!|
|I'm in the bright yellow. Look at that ass!|
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