A medical procedure
I heard my name. Slowing down a bit and swiveling my head in several directions, which gets harder to do without inciting some kind of spasm these days, I tried to see who might be calling me.
Was I mistaken? I have, on occasion, thought that the “mom” that I heard was directed to me, but this was clearly a person saying “Ann.”
I couldn’t stop, no now. I was on a mission.
I raced by the paint and hardware, turned at the hunting equipment and passed the toys, crossing in front of electronics and the little boys clothing section, I turned as I passed the little girls dresses and headed toward produce. I was at Walmart getting ready for a medical test.
This all started several months ago, when I visited the ED with chest pains and shortness of breath. I have developed, over the past few years, a substantial array of diagnostic skills by watching hours of ER re-runs on TV. I was sure that I had pneumonia.
Two weeks prior to this, I came down with one of those colds that had, after seeming to get better, morphed into something awful, complete with a racking cough that kept me, my spouse and the cat awake.
My chest hurt when I took a deep breath. I did think that this pain was probably from all of that Olympic style coughing, but then there are all of those admonitions about chest pain or any pain for that matter that might signal a “woman’s” heart attack or, in this case a catastrophic type of pneumonia, particularly dangerous for people who have accumulated a good amount of birthdays.
And, yes, I have had both pneumonia shots, but pneumonia can be caused by a lot of things. At least that is my argument and I am sticking with it.
So, I drove myself to the ED.
The doctor began her diagnosis by ruling out pneumonia, heart attack, deep vein thrombosis and congestive heart failure. My body is in such a pitiful state that any of those were a possibility. The only thing that was for sure was that I wasn’t pregnant or had something wrong with my prostate. Tests ruled out all of the other potential maladies, but the doc recommended that I see my cardio doc.
So off to the cardiologist and a chemical stress test that lead to a heart catheterization and thankfully a good outcome, except for one thing. My blood pressure during the stress test, which when sitting quietly in the doctor’s office is within even the new normal range, went through the roof.
I was prescribed medicine for the high blood pressure.
I am not all that good about taking medicine. First it says that I am less than perfect, which I don’t need medicine to tell me and secondly, you have to remember to take it.
I’ve accepted my every other day dose of generic Lipitor, but another medicine? I started to question whether this was necessary since I don’t often have the need of a chemically induced stress test. I reserve that for special occasions.
So, I had a chat with my doctor and he asked if I had a blood pressure cuff at home.
What can I say? We have one, but it only registers one blood pressure. That did not seem right.
I told him that I often took my blood pressure reading in the pharmacy area of the Walmart in Camillus.
So, my doctor explained the machinations of blood pressure when sitting quietly and under exertion.
Actually, I had to ask him to repeat his mini-lecture because my mind then became engaged in questioning why I am keeping a broken blood pressure cuff in the linen closet when I need the space.
He kindly repeated his explanation and suggested that I do a few strenuous laps around Walmart before I take my blood pressure readings to see how exercise affected it. “Keep a record,” he said
So, there I was on a Tuesday morning completing my second lap, hoping that no one else was intent on getting their blood pressure readings at the same time.
What I will do with the readings?
I’m not sure, but I’m more than willing to use them in my argument to my physician to eliminate the blood pressure meds. So, if you see me racing around the Walmart in Camillus, and I don’t say hello, it’s because I am in the middle of a medical procedure.
