It felt really really nice to get a long-lacking sense of validation at the cardiologist's yesterday.
For all the intimidation and abject terror that some of my friends' experiences with stress tests, along with the technician's warnings, instilled in me -- I am very happy that I participated in one.
Walking into the cardio-lab, hiding my still-trembling hands (the drive gave me LOTS of time to terrify myself) behind me, the technician put on this horrendously sympathetic face and began immediately apologizing for what they were "about to put me through".
Then they made me sign a release waiver, in case they pushed me too far and set off a heart attack.
They coddled me while I changed, patted my hair and made me worry by telling me not to worry, hooked me up to the requisite twelve wires until I looked like the 6 million dollar man (which, oddly enough, zipped by on the television as we inhaled dinner) and set me on the treadmill, apologizing AGAIN for what they would "have to do".
They put the treadmill at a 40� angle and set me walking.
The machine beeped and they took my blood pressure and then set me jogging.
The machine beeped again, they pumped air into the cuff again, and set me running, with one hand in my back so that I wouldn't fall off.
I didn't fall off.
Initially they thought it would take a good fifteen minutes to get my heart rate up to 180 beats per minute, but by minute seven they were asking if I could "just hold on until minute 9" because they needed at least nine minutes of ticker tape.
I looked at them in surprise and said "sure! I thought I was in for forty-five minutes of this. I'm fine".
Ten minutes and lots of cold gel and ultrasounds of my heart later, I was getting changed and they were asking me if I wanted to lie down, a glass of water, maybe some painkillers or anti-nausea meds before my cardiologist appointment.
I stood up and helped them clean the bed and assured them that I was just fine, and with the eliptical machine at home I do far more than nine minutes every morning.
"But we got your heart rate up much higher than it should ever go! You need rest!"
"But I do this all the time, I feel fine..."
The validation that this provided that I am still a tough little bitch and that when I DO complain about dizzinness or discomfort I REALLY mean it was incredibly good to hear.
I've been hating myself this year for all the complaining I've been waking up to find myself doing. I've been feeling like this big whiny, intolerant, insufferable weakling, who'd lost all her previous toughness -- every time I'd get winded or nauseous and need to sit down...
(If the technician was just doing a phenomenal job of coddling me, I'd have to swallow hard to want to know.)
I am suddenly a lot less angry with myself.
I'm also just as confused as the cardiologist.
The results are in. My kidneys are perfect. My lungs are great. My bladder has the strength of a bull that used to sit through a lot of back-to-back two hour labs. My muscle tone is excellent, and my heart doesn't whimper or jump, even when we put it under maximum stress.
But. It still only took half the time it should have to raise my heart rate. Despite the daily cardio, despite the rollerblade marathons, despite the ski team and rock climbing and yoga.
But. I am still a good thirty pounds overweight.
But -- and this is the big one, I have the heart rate and blood pressure of someone in their fifties.
It isn't dangerously high, but it is abnormal enough to need to control before I strain it so that when I DO hit my fifties I won't be the hospital's youngest pacemaker victim.
So. What have we learned?
We are still one tough bitch, and damned proud of ourselves.
We are in very good health in all other respects, and have been doing a pretty good job on that project as I have on corporate ones.
We are on new meds that are directly targeting the heart muscle, and so far they only side effect is a headache that is slowly diminishing.
Ya wanna know my theory?
When the boys started calling me the thirty-six-year-old twenty-year-old when I hit my twenties, they were right on the nose.
I've had a pretty nutty life so far, and I guiltily, but thoroughly, enjoy the comments that fly from new faces when they decide I must be somewhere in my forties to have found time for it all.
Apparently my heart decided that as well. My heart is as tired as my spirit -- but the upside is that we've both learned so much
we're tough inside and out and constantly getting stronger
so it's all good. (as long as I remember that)
My nipples are still pointing up, but my insides seem to be trying to catch up with me.
I have to admit, it's certainly been worth it.
And I'll be just fine.
Oh, and I'm cleared for pregnancy.