On Thursday, I at last got my cardiology checkup. So it was off to Dumfries for the afternoon.
Finding a parking space in the hospital car park was the first bit of stress. Finally, after circleing it for a couple of times, B dropped me at the main entrance and went off to carry on circling. My letter said to go to Outpatients. Quite a long walk from the entrance, but I made it OK and was glad to sink into a seat. Waited 10 minutes, got my blood pressure and weight recorded. Then got handed a card and told to go to the ECG dept for my tests. “Second floor, outside Ward 12” I was briskly told. So, there being no lifts in sight in Outpatients, I made my way back to Reception, where the main lift banks are.
Get out at the second floor, look for the dept. No sign of it. So I ask my way to Ward 12. Make my weary way to that, still no sign of ECG. Walk up and down, can’t see it. I ask again. The entrance to the ECG dept. turns out to be inside what appears to be a tiny wall recess, with a small sign (dark green, on a blue wall) pointing to it. For a hospital, the signage is remarkably poor; even somebody with decent eyesight could miss it.
So I go in and present my card. “Wait out there, seating area on the right” I am told by another brisk hospital worker. So I shuffle down the corridor to a seating area and make myself comfortable. Five minutes later, the hospital worker finds me – turns out I’m in the wrong seating area, I should have turned right after turning right. So off I shuffle again, down yet another bloody corridor.
Thoroughly weary by now, I sit and wait. And wait.
After around twenty minutes, I am finally called in for my tests. The first one is fine – I just have to recline on a bed while a technician scans my heart. It’s so comfortable that I almost doze off – but then I’m jerked awake by the tech’s mobile going off. “I thought you were supposed to turn those things off in here?” “Er, yes,” she replies guiltily, “but I’m expecting an important call.” Must be extremely important.
Then it’s time for the exercise test. And here is where it gets a lot less relaxing. I’m supposed to walk on an exercise machine – but nobody has told them that I have walking problems. And they don’t seem to have any provisions for exercise tests that don’t involve walking.
But I tell them I’ll give it a go. After wiring me up, they start the thing off. I almost immediatly start to fall over and have to grab onto the bars.
“That’s the slowest speed it will go.” the young tech barks at me, “Stretch your legs! Stay upright! Keep your back straight!”. I am now struggling to do all of that while keeping my balance, trying to stretch my legs without doing a damage to my knees and, more importantly, getting plenty of air into my lungs. I am panting heavily.
She switches up the speed. The consultant joins in, pushing in my backside and barking more orders at me. My vision is blurring, my attention span is shrinking – I am concentrating totally on breathing and staying upright. Which are both rapidly getting more difficult.
Abruptly, somebody cuts the power and I stumble off, falling into a chair, stillighting for breath.
The consultant now starts asking me questions. I gasp out one-word answers without thinking about them – then my head starts aching. Within seconds, white pain is stabbing up the right side of the back of my head, and I start involuntarily yelping softly, crying. I’m still wired up and the two of them start checking the readouts.
“Bastardsbastardsbastards” I’m thinking, with the small part of my mind that isn’t blanked out from the pain and the effort of breathing. “Look at me, not the bloody machine!!!”. The tech prises open my mouth, squirts something under my tongue. “You should feel better in a minute.”
“Bastardsbastardsbastards” is all I can think, but after a minute or so, everything starts to ease. Meanwhile the tech and the consultant are busy with the machine and its readout. They talk quietly together, just keeping an eye on me. “I’ve been told your angio exam went well this morning” Says the consultant to the young female tech. I don’t catch her reply, but it sounds soft and pleased. So, she’s his student. And the bastardsbastardsbastards are too interested in each other to see if I’m all right….
Eventually, I get back to a state where I can get dressed and leave. My head is still hurting, but it’s bearable. The consultant tells me that my heart is fine “except for a small valve leak, but that’s no problem!” Eh? But he doesn’t stop to explain explain why it isn’t a problem. ” But you have a serious problem with your blood pressure.” Oh wow, thanks for the info, doc – I’d never have guessed. He writes out a prescription. “You must take something stronger than your present beta-blockers. Start this immediately, it is important. I’ll write to your doctor, and I’ll see you again soon.” He shakes my hand. How nice.
So, out I go to find B. He’s not in the main reception, he’s not in Outpatients. He must be sitting in the car somewhere. Outside, it’s cold, dark, raining. The wind is whipping across the concrete. I’m so tired, so weary, with walking. But B is there, flashing his lights at me.
He takes me home. My head continues to ache. Later, it turns into a full-blown migraine that lasts the whole night.
Blahhhhh.