Baddie gets an ECG
Ok so you know how as you get older, little mysterious aches start popping up? Like, say, mild stabs in your chest that send you running to your GP because OMG you are probably dying? Well, as it happens, my GP is a very nice lady and since I’ve just started with her she said we should do a few tests, including ECG and lung function. I agreed happily and… promptly missed my appointment. I basically showed up on a Tuesday, to be told by the receptionist that yes, my appointment had been for Monday, and it is best to write it down / put it in your iphone calendar / tattoo it across your forehead. Anyway. We rescheduled for the next week.
The following Friday, as I stepped inside the practice reception, which is amazingly like a cafe, with chairs, tables, bottled water and the best. coffee. ever. I could tell something was dead-wrong. Imagine three flustered, red-faced receptionists, taking turns burying their heads in paperwork like ostriches and ignoring the patients in front of them, or answering the phone in a slightly desperate yet snappish way. As it turned out, my doctor explained, their new computer software had malfunctioned and they were having a bit of a crisis. (Feel free to read that as “they were freakin’ afraid a mob of angry patients would bite their heads off and make off with the stethoscopes, Viking-style.)
Which brings us to my third and last appointment for my tests, which was today. And wonder of wonders, this time it actually worked. Not that I would actually recommend it. You have to bare your upper torso, then a smirking nurse sprays you all over with this icy thing. Then come the octopus-like suckers. And so, if done correctly, you become connected to a machine via about ten to fifteen grey cables. Just call me Neo – I should have gotten my head shaved instead of an “ends only” haircut yesterday, methinks… But to resume: this is a very, very strange feeling. It’s probably your mind silently screaming at you that it never signed up for being inside a cyborglike creature. Luckily, you just have to lie there for a few minutes, breathing quietly, and then it’s over.
Or so I thought. In fact, the humiliation and strangeness was to increase to so far unimagined proportions. Not only are you not off the hook; you must get up (suckers and cables still attached) and get on a bicycle, is what the nurse informs you. Where you must start to pedal. Half-naked. With those cables still sticking out of you. And you must pedal in a certain way, not slower than the 55 and not faster than the 65 the monitor shows. (What do those numbers stand for, anyway???) Otherwise the nurse will scold you. Jesus, the pressure! As you might know or have gathered, I have the attention span of a fly in any case. Unsurprisingly, I went beyond the “acceptable” range: four times when the blood pressure arm thingy began to tighten and hurt; twice when some of the suckers came off and had to be reattached; four times when the bike made it more difficult to pedal. on purpose. (COME. ON) and about twenty times for no reason. I got scolded every single time.
The good news is that everything seems pretty alright with my heart. Except… my heart beat is a tiny tiny bit irregular. Which means I might have to have this check-up every year. Because… well, because this is Baddieworld.