My Stress Test
I can attest it that was aptly named
Per my doctor’s last check-up and being in my 40’s I was referred to my first stress test. I guess being fired last fall, then rehired and then occasionally eating foods name “The Alamo” may suggest a certain lifestyle is in need of some adjustments.
I was an interesting day – it started out smoothly. I took a rare el train ride, which is fun for me. I brought my camera with as well. I got there a little before about 6:45, about 15 minutes early or is it 75 minutes early…
…let me digress a moment on the scheduling oddity…
When I made my appointment, I was offered the early slot of 8:00 am, being the early bird person that I am I said fine, but then the person advised me that I will need to get here an hour before the appointment, “…so (they) can do all the preparation they need to do before the test”.
Pondering this, I was compelled to ask the obvious... “Wouldn’t it make sense to say the appointment is for 7:00 instead of 8:00?” She said “Yeah, I guess that would make sense, but we don’t do it that way”.
…OK then…
I get into the facility and it’s a newer building -- sort of 80’s retro-cool waiting room. I was hoping to hear some shoegaze tunes. It looked like I was the second person as the room was nearly empty except for a couple against the wall.
There was a signup sheet at the desk but no pen or pencil, so I called out “Hello?!?”
“Be there in a second”…I heard a woman’s voice call out from behind the maze of cubicles.
She comes out, hands me a clipboard of forms, many, many forms and I’m getting the jist of the one-hour prep time. These forms remarkably contain the same info that I fill out again, and again, year-after-year, insurance info, next of kin, yada, yada, yada…don’t tell me we can’t save billions overhauling our current system.
Ten minutes later, 19 forms duly filled in I hand the clipboard up and she asks me to take a seat and wait for my name to be called.
While I head for my seat, the same woman, now moves from the sign-up desk to, what I would I guess would be called the registration desk – a moment or two after I sit, she calls my name and we waltz through the clipboard information.
The info was already in the computer, SHOCKED I tell you… and she hands me a file folder, with a paper clipped note on it that has the number 303 on it.
“Wait until your number is called” with some added emphasis that my name will not be used from this point forward…and she adds
“…the numbers are also posted up on our announcement board”.
Sure enough, on wonderful Uber large LED board the number 300 is gleaming above her registration desk. Again, my curious nature, I offhandedly ask why wouldn’t I be number be number 2 or 3 instead of 303?
…at first I think my question stumped her, then later she at least chuckled at my question never quite explaining why we begin our number at 3xx.
I sit down again, gazing at the 303 while he couple next to me is still waiting…a nurse walks out, makes eye contact with them and without calling their number simple says “…please come with me”.
The big board number boldly glowing still says 300, so I am left wondering if their number was 302 or perhaps something like 281. Is there another room with 20 others stowed away?
Another person walks out from the back area, let’s call him Mr. White Hair, who is somewhere around my age, starts chatting with some of the folks who work here came in over the past 15 minutes or so. I’m the only left sitting in this reception area. After 10, 15, or so of him BS’ing at the front, he calls out to me, “you here for the stress test?” I responded, “Yes sir” and he then asked me to follow him.
There I am asking myself does this 303 serve some other purpose.
Skipping on from the boring waiting part, where I sit in a closet sized room for about 20 minutes, I then get moved to” The White Room”.
If you wanted to a room to look clinical, cold, and unpleasant…this was it.
I’m handed off to a woman, thick with Polish accent who asked to hop on the bed, in order to get the intravenous line put into my arm. She did this with barely a pinch of pain. She then loaded me up with the radiation stuff that takes 10-20 minutes to circulate, but “it’s harmless” she promises. She exits into the SCANNER room where I assume the ticket holder 302 is being scanned.
Then Mr. White Hair comes back. He does two things…first I am shaved in the spots where they attached the electrodes, so now I have an odd pattern of shaved skin areas somewhat reminiscent from Steve Carell from the 40-year Old Virgin.
He then tells me he has a special technique to make sure the electrodes make good contact, so he roughs up the areas of my skin with what amounts to sand paper before sticks the electrode on. After 14 or 15 spots I’m ready to tell Mr. White Hair to take his sand paper elsewhere. Finally, he finishes and he exits.
I’m left to gaze upon the white room still waiting for 302 to finish.
Oddly, there’s a HD screen above the treadmill. It’s playing a continuous loop of Sunset/Sunrise Earth. I’m quite familiar with it. When HD was just getting started; the few TV stations that were early broadcasting in HD had a dilemma. They didn’t have a lot of HD content to broadcast.
Someone had the bright idea of setting up an HD camera in a scenic nature setting. It may be some ocean front seashore with seagulls, crabs and such or stream of running salmon with bears. It’s sort of HD version of white noise, quite comforting. I once had it on TV one morning while I was getting ready for work and fell asleep on the couch.
One of my two cats, Annie, adores the program if only for the steady stream of bird sounds or the occasion shot of wildfire that would randomly pop up on the screen, but for the simian form of life, you watch 1 minute of this, and after that, it’s like watching paint dry…unless there’s a shot of some antelope being pounced upon by a Grizzly bear, it’s not really gonna hold my attention.
This now is my entertainment whilst I wait my turn for the SCANNER room. This is when I get my camera out for shots.
Polish Tech comes back in leads me to the SCANNER room. Now here’s a treat – an ice cold room, laying down on an ice cold table and humongous machine than comes way to close to my personal space. …and it takes 20 minutes while it moves about 1 centimeter every half minute…oh joy.
After what seems like an eternity, the machine finishes and now it’s time to go back to The WHITE ROOM.
Treadmill time.
Sadly I’m not in the best of shape so it’s pure joy to be climbing mount Olympus whilst watching penguins on the HD screen. I’m asking myself is this intended at motivation or relaxant, while dangling 15 or so electrodes from my body. Mr White Hair is trying to motivate me, instead of having the damn penguins he should have just waved that damn sandpaper he used on me 30 minutes ago.
I made my mark, get injected with my radiation stuff which I’m reminded
“…it’s harmless”
…which in retrospect was probably true, compared to the 100 or so zaps I’m getting from the Humongous personal space invading machine. Another half hour of humongous Zap machine changing my DNA to something else, and I’m DONE!!!
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