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Column # 217: Walking
the Machine of Fate |
| This test will decide my fate. Um. Is there a way to cheat? | Photo coming really soon.... really... really soon. |
| Living the Life of Holly
“No,” I said, slowly. “They told me to wear regular clothes.” She rolled her eyes. “That means street clothes. Work clothes.” I looked down at my short skirt. “This’s what I wore to work today.” She looked down her clipboard at the slip-on sneakers I pulled from a bag. “Can you run in those?” I stared at her. Was she trying to stress me out? “They said I’d be walking.” She pressed her lips together and motioned for me to step onto the treadmill. Explaining that I’d walk then run until my heart rate reached 180 on the little monitor, she flipped a switch and the machine began to roll. I was feeling slightly competitive; how could I beat this test? Was there a way to cheat? If I passed this test with flying colors it would prove those little dizzy spells I was having were not related to a heart malfunction. I knew it was draining to get wrapped up in the outcome of the test, but who could walk on the machine of fate and not be consumed with worry? I only agreed to have the stress test because my ex-ex-boyfriend was a cardiologist at this center and thought it might be a good idea to prove my heart was willing to work under any condition. He reminded me not to worry about taking the test (how did he know?) and promised he would read the results the moment he returned from his out of state conference. “So.” Tech said. “Why are you getting this test?” Ok. Wait. Maybe talking and walking on an automatic machine wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Step. Step. Step. Step. “Been’having’dizzy’spells.” Step. Step. Step. “When was your last one?” Last one? Can I count backwards while walking? Step. Step. Step. “’Bout’two’weeks’ago.” Step. Step. Step. She got some kind of invisible signal from the machine. “It’s time to take your blood pressure. Give me your arm.” Step. Step. Step. I held the machine with one hand and dropped my arm, letting her check the pressure. “What kind of work do you do?” She asked, pumping air into the armband. Step. Step. Pay attention to the steps. Step. Step. Hold the machine. Step. “I’m’a’teacher.” Step. Step. Step. She nodded at my blood pressure. “The machine is going to go faster now.” “Ready.” I lied. Step step. Step step. Step step. “Do you like being a teacher?” Step step. Step step. Step step. “Yes.” Step step. Step step. “Where exactly is your school?” Breathe. Step step. Step step. Step step. Breathe. “Downtown.” “Oh.” Technician frowned, looking at the monitor. Um. Was she pitying my job location? “Something’wrong?” “Oh.” She stared at the squiggly lines spilling out of the machine on a long roll of paper. “Nothing, much. You have a cute little irregular heartbeat.” Step step. Breathe. Step step. Hold on. Step step. Irregular? Step step. As in bad? “I’don’t’like’the’word’irregular…” Step step. Breathe. Step step. She laughed. “It’s not a big deal. Many people have an irregular beat now and then.” I wanted to take a break so I could ask a few questions about irregular heart beats. Maybe we could sit down sip tea and talk about it? Step step. Step step. Breathe. “So’does’that’give’me’a’regular-irregular’heart’beat?” Step step. Step step. Breathe. Step step. She stared intently at the readout, lost in squiggles, and didn’t answer. Guess the chatting was over. She took my blood pressure, then turned the machine up a notch so I had to walk faster to keep up with it. Stepstep. Stepstep. Stepstep. “Thisisfaster.” Stepstep. Stepstep. She stared intently into my face. “Do you feel ok? Are you dizzy now?” Stepstep. Stepstep. Dizzy? I think I need to stand still to think about dizzy. Stepstep. Stepstep. If I don’t know I must be fine. Stepstep. Stepstep. “I’mfine.” I looked at the squiggly lines for some kind of clue. “Why?” It was hard to think and walk fast on the machine. Concentrate, Holly. Stepstep. Stepstep. Pay attention to your feet. “Well.” She pointed to the readout. “Now you have two irregular heartbeats in a row.” Yeah. I’ll bet lots of people have two irregular heart beats. Stepstep. Stepstep. It must be part of the test. You know. Up the stress in every way and watch my heart flutter. I watched the cute, little double irregular heart beats obediently show up on the read out. She pointed the squiggles, “Three.” She was starting to look a little stressed. Maybe she hadn’t done a lot of these tests before. I watched as my heart produced three irregular beats, separated by five regular beats. The irregulars looked like a drummer’s notation of what cymbals might look like on sheet music. Was my heart celebrating something? Maybe I’d earn a lollypop for having three mis-beats in a row. She took my blood pressure again. Hold the machine with one hand. Stepstep. Stepstep. Watch the squiggles. Stepstep. Hold arm steady for her. Stepstep. All at once, my three irregular beats turned into a long series of irregular beats. It looked like my happy heart was clapping to its own beat. Really fast clapping. I laughed. My heart was congratulating me. A feeling of wonder filled me. Was something wonderful about to happen? “OFF.” Technician demanded. Stepstep. Stepstep. “What…” “You’re getting off the treadmill, now.” She flipped a switch. I stumbled as the machine came to a fast stop. “I’m not dizzy. Weren’t we going to go to 180 heartbeats?” She grabbed the wires that were pasted to my chest and yanked them from the machine. “Let’s go.” “Did I do something wrong?” Was this part of the test? Because she didn’t need to work so hard at trying to stress me out; all she had to do was ask me about the debt I accrued while chasing my writing dream. Big debt = big stress. Pulling me by the wires that were still pasted to my chest, I was whisked back into the echocardiogram room where Tech #2 recorded my happy heart on a T.V. screen. “It’s moving fast.” I noted, proudly. I could watch my heart pulsing on a screen all day. There was nothing like proof that my heart does exist. Maybe I could order some wallet sized photos that I could carry around and show to doubters. Someone tried to take my blood pressure. “Can’t get it.” Tech #1 leaned into my face. “Are you dizzy, now?” “No. But. What does that mean, can’t get it?” I held my arm up higher. An older woman with glasses on her head ran into the room and took her turn with my arm. She held the stethoscope to my inner arm and listened intently. “Ok. Got it. Man, it’s weak.” “DO YOU FEEL DIZZY NOW?” Tech #2 shouted into my ear. I turned towards her and spoke softly, you know… as an example. “No. I’m great. Fine. Not dizzy.” The women standing over my bed stared down at me with arms crossed. This was even tenser then when I scared people in public places by fainting into a sprawled out corpse on the floor. Tech #1 leaned in. “You sure you’re ok?” I shrugged. “Fine. Not dizzy.” Was this routine? Was this an April Fools that my ex-ex set up? Tech #1 picked up the chords that were still pasted to my chest and walked me back into the stress-test room. “You’ll need to talk to a doctor.” She plugged in the chords to the machine and frowned. “Ok.” I stood to leave. “I’ll make an appointment on my way out.” “No. Sorry. You need to wait. You can’t go home.” I sat on the bed and stared at the white picture-less wall. Breathe. Bite lip. Breathe. “I failed the test, didn’t I?” Tech #1 looked at the readout. “How many people in your family have died suddenly?” So. The cards of fate have been drawn. I’ve never, ever wanted to go home so badly in my whole life. Wanna try another column? How about #218 Run of Death which is about ignoring the doctor's orders. or Click here to go to Current Columns to pick another column. Or perhaps you would like to go to Column Finder by Subject to choose your next column about dating, or epilepsy or friends... you choose! Don't miss out! 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