Stress Test

Tuesday April 12, 2011
 
 I just spoke with the Admissions Department at the hospital, and a charming lady quizzed me on my medical history and gave me detailed information about everything that would happen to me from the time I check in tomorrow morning until the time they throw me out on Thursday morning after the surgeon has checked my condition.
   (Joan on the phone to London--"no, not today: it's tomorrow he goes in...we hope for the best...")
   We certainly do.
   But to go back to the twists and turns of my cardiological history. I had to have a stress test. At the outset, they dripped radio-active isotopes into my veins or arteries, with jokes about glowing green in the dark. Then, settling me in a semi-reclining chair like a dentist's, I was instructed not to move a muscle for 17 minutes, which is a long time not to move a muscle when your nose itches and you fear you are going to sneeze. During those interminable 17 minutes a machine hovers over your chest, presumably recording what those isotopes are up to, and a computer is registering all the information from the electrodes they have attached to your chest.
   Then off to the treadmill, with the attendant carrying the laptop to which you are attached by numerous wires. Speed-- 4.5 mph with the gradient steadily increasing until my heart rate exceeded 122 beats per minute, which is 80 percent of maximum for a person of my age. We went well above that.
   And then back to the reclining chair and another 17 minutes of immobility to check again what the isotopes were doing.
   The doctor: "OK: now have the echo cardiogram, fix an appointment for next week, and I'll give you the results."
   The echo test was next, and I remember few details, except that the person doing it seemed to be embracing me from time to time and I kept hearing ominous gurglings.
   When I went back for the results after a week, the diagnosis of atrial fibrillation had become less clear.
   What was needed was a 24 hour record of my heart activity by means of a so-called Holter. I thought it was Halter, which seemed a reasonable description of what I would be wearing for 24 hours.