Nothing was happening while I was exerting myself--well to the extent I was exerting myself, like going up stairs or cleaning out the garage. But of a sudden, at rest, I had this swoosh is how I'd describe it, like a wave coming up the short of my insides to my throat, making a little grab and then swooshing off again. The other night, whilst taking my pulse in bed, I could have sworn that my heart skipped a beat. Now I know that it actually doesn't skip beats, but there is this irregularity that can happen. But of course, by the time i was taking my pulse in bed, instead of reading, I was already fixated on my heart, so who knew what was real or what was Djinn imagined. Yes, you amateur doctors out there! I came up with a couple of differential diagnoses to heart attack, like esophageal spasm (just happened there was an old episode of Golden Girls on late night and Rose, aka Betty White, had one of these, but based on how she reacted to her television version and mine, I thought, maybe not. And then there was GERD, essentially acid reflux, except I had no awareness of acid. And then I had enough perusing the net.
I was a terrible hypochondriac as a kid and I was convinced I was having heart attacks all the time. Then it was unlikely. Now, well, not so much, unlikely I mean. I decided on Tuesday to make an appointment with the doctor rather than go to my hair appointment. I was hoping for some opening that day, but I knew it was remote. Still, having made the appointment made me feel better, although the symptoms did not depart. Here's the thing, truly I was inclined to blow the whole thing off and take a wait and see position, but I was really afraid that I'd die and then everyone would say, "If only she had gone to the doctor. . . .". I know I was afraid I'd feel guilty after death. Ok, that IS silly. Well, really maybe not, when you think about it. When you listen to the radio or watch TV or news or commercials, everywhere you are being warned of some potential condition to check out with your doctor. I am terrified that my failure to check it out is some, to use my father's old phrase, lese majeste, a grievous failure. To die without taking ever precaution to live forever seems to be some kind of secular sin.
So, there I was today at my cardiologist/internist, in the waiting room that resembled Grand Central. "The 4:10 elevator to the stress echocardiogram is ready to depart!" People were swarming with their medicare cards, their insurance cards and their walkers. It seemed they clearly expected that somehow they could outrun the grim reaper, who dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck was sitting in a corner reading Computer World.and looking for likely prospects. (ok, just kidding). I was thinking that in some ways we may be better off with medical knowledge and avenues of prevention, but on the other hand we have become wildly preoccupied with our body functions. I hear one of my older friends telling me all the doctors I should be going to, to have this or that checked out. I find myself saying, "why". Is this what life is to be? I hear the bibilical statement in my head, "Those who would save their lives will lost it." But I don't think that God is talking about medicine. On the other hand, are we too absorbed in every burp and booboo that we fail to live while we are in moderate good health?
My reverie was interrupted by the mangling of my name calling me to one of the examining rooms. Pulse and blood pressure were good (my blood pressure used to be wildly high so here I must needs nod my thanks to the meds which have reduced it to normal, or is it the fact that I am a liberated woman, free to explore my creative side?) Either way it was low. I recited my symptoms and I could see the doctor writing GERD on my chart on the computer. Since I had not had these symptoms while doing any activity, this was a sign it was not my heart. Ahh, good. Good. So off ye to the land of Prilosec and Magnesium, and you should have the stress test soon. Reprieve!!!!!!! Oh, and have some blood drawn so we can look at the numbers--I also have high cholesterol but that is under control too.
Oh, goody, more pills.As I waited my turn with the blood letters, I read an editorial by Joel Stein in Time, his tonge also in cheek, about how he was planning his funeral to be a well attended affair unlike that of his poor grandmother who after a full and kind life, died at 90 to be mourned by the few people left to outlive her. He recommended professional mourners. Len Speaks, I am seriously considering this! And a trip with the body to New Orleans for a jazz band parade. This seems the least a good friend could do.
Be still my heart grim reaper--oh, maybe not.
But then, I think of that Queen song, immortalized in that movie and TV show, Highlander, "who wants to
live forever?" I am hoping for a good long life, certainly a lot more years, if you would Lord, but then at the right time ("He'll know when and please Lord remember that I am the biggest coward in the whole of the earth) I will pierce the Cloud of Unknowing and said "Djinna, Pascal was right."
www.youtube.com/watch?V=SR8-RTvSVxs
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