When I was scheduled for my first (treadmill) stress test, the nurse took one look at me and said (or at least thought loudly), “Oh hell no.” 

Fast forward a few weeks, and I’m at the hospital for a chemical-induced stress test. 

They are so cute there.  So worried about my modesty.

What modesty?  I’m flapping my saggy fat old lady titties here and there, assuring the attendees (techs and nurses) that I’m waving them in the air because I just don’t care.  As far as I know, there are no surprises – just saggy fat old lady titties.

They hand me a gown and I question the size.  Kevin (the tech) looks me over (hey baby) and says he thinks he got it right.  I am not convinced, but agree to try it.  Wonder or wonders, the damn thing fits. 

This is part of my continuing adjustment to a smaller body.  Don’t get me wrong, I am still unquestionably a FAT old lady, I’m just not as fat.  Since moving to Michigan I’ve lost over 100 pounds.  Will it stay off?  Who knows?  But it is what it is. 

Next, they spend a goodly amount of time doing a control ultrasound of my heart (cold gel alert).  Which I get to watch on the screen – although I have no idea what the fuck I’m looking at, and listen to – which is really odd.  Who knew the heart made so many weird bumping, thumping and swooshing noises? 

Then it’s time for the real show.  Bring on the drugs.  Except we are missing a key ingredient – the cardiologist. 

Now, I came in 2 hours early because the doctor had a meeting come up.  So nobody is happy that he inconvenienced everyone and now is missing.  Calls were made and I was told he’d be there in 15 minutes.  Of course, I asked is that real time or doctor time?  I was told to hope for the best. 

They left me alone in the room and I promptly fell asleep.  Therefore, I have no idea how long I waited because waiting while sleeping is a great way to pass the time.  All I know is that he startled the bejeezus out of me when he said hello.  Maybe that was his way of getting a head start on the elevated heart rate.

Okay, pump in, by dribs and drabs, dobutamine. 

Now, I have had a dobutamine stress test before and I had to use a stress ball to get my heart rate elevated sufficiently.

Not this time.  Whoo-boy.  Within seconds, I felt my heart starting to pound.  Up and up we went.  First my hands started shaking – not trembling – shaking.  Then my jaw started to hurt to the point where I felt like I could barely swallow.  Then my legs started shaking.  And finally, the pain in the jaw started traveling down my right arm.  AND – we’re done. 

They were supposed to get my heart to 127.  They went to 131 (no, I don’t know why) before they started pumping in the calm-the-fuck-down juice. 

The cardiologist said that if he had a stress test, he would want the results to be as good as mine!  So that’s great news.  He must have been a hold over when this hospital was Ascencion (and quite religious) because he was bless you this and have a blessed day that all over the place, which is just fine.  I’m an atheist but I recognize well-wishes no matter how they are couched.

Anyhow, I was wobbly and trembly the rest of the day.  But I got through it.

And I know I brought one bit of sunshine to the techs’ day.  After removing all the wiring and sticky pads he gently closed the gown, and I said, “What?  Tired of looking at my saggy fat old lady titties?”  He laughed and looked at the other tech, and said, “Did you hear that?”  Hey, my job here is done.