It can be brought on by any number of things. The docs say there is nothing structurally wrong, but every once in a while I could get a little flub. They didn't believe me at first but I think they were first on the scene.) When my heart rate hit its peak, I jumped off and got sonogrammed again as the beats subside. (I got $10 for being part of the WJLA News Team, which was the going rate for tips at Channel 7, after I ran to a pay phone and called them. But the real doctor was nice enough and it turns out we experienced a unique event both of us saw the Cessna crash at Bishop O'Connell High School back in the 80's. The man-nurse taunted me by regaling stories of other people who had run faster and at higher inclines. They had me run the treadmill, all wired up, until my heart rate went up beyond 190 per minute. This anatomical/philosophical dread returned as I watched it tick away on the screen.īut the stress test did not reveal any problems. But I started to gloom over the idea that my heart was allotted only a finite number of beats over its lifetime and I was using them up by drinking caffeine or taking cold medicine. After being diagnosed with extra or "ectopic" heartbeats, I figured I would rather have too many than not enough. I'm sure watching you baby in utero is a joyous event, but watching the operations of your heart in real-time is disturbing.
Turns out my heart is pregnant with love and high cholesterol. But I'm a doctor of Nordic mythology, not medicine.
#Tick tock you don t stop skin
(By the way, is there a protocol about eye contact as you lie on your back and silent man scrapes Bic across your chest.? His distracted tuneless humming was an added gratuity.) The monitors were the standard suction cup variety, but I found it odd that the nurse licked my skin before attaching each one, instead of the wetting the cup itself. I'm not Justin Bateman is a boxing werewolf-Teen Wolf Too hairy, but it was still uncomfortable. Just straight metal to skin, no cream, lotion or water. Instead, I got some dude with a plastic razor and no prep. I had been forewarned and was hoping for some sort of humorous Steve Carell scene. The preparations for having the suction cup monitors attached included the delightful experience of having my chest hair shaved by a burly-bear male nurse. The tests included a fun stress test and the funner echocardiogram. I took Monday off to have it checked out again, because the first test didn't show anything, and the doctors wanted to make sure there was nothing to worry about. It’s like a quick muscle spasm, which I wouldn’t mind except it’s not in my back or leg but IN MY FUCKING HEART! AAAARGGHH! STOP IT! Something I ate has just triggered my loopy heart to kick in with its extra beats.
0 kommentar(er)
