Ok, so by now we are all aware of the weird shit going on in my life. No? Well, get on the bus, kids, because this should be fun:
- This is my new fashion accessory for the next 48 hours.
So, I go to the cardiologist today for my appointment to figure out these weird heart palpitations. First thing’s first, let’s get an EKG. “Sure thing”, I say. I wore the most chest-access appropriate attire, too, which was very forward-thinking of me.
EKG comes back normal. “Of course it does”, I say. Dr. H agrees that the normal EKG doesn’t mean much right now, but at least we have a basis for comparison for later. “Later?” Asks I. He answers, “for comparison to the Holter Monitor”. Great.
So, the stickies from the EKG left marks on my skin, and the stickies on the Holter Monitor are ITCHY. I can’t wash my chest with this thing on, so I will be taking the strangest of showers for the next 48 hours. I go in on Thursday to return the HM, and I will be getting an echocardiogram. I’m not even sure if I spelled that right. Anyway, the HM and the echo will tell Dr. H if there is anything structurally wrong with my heart or perhaps the panic attacks DO cause the palpitations. I’m obviously hoping the panic is to blame… I’m sure you understand why…
So, while I am walking through the hospital looking for the cardiologist (should have had the HM on while frantically looking for the office, BTW), I happen to find my psychiatrist’s office. Good thing because I feckin’ HATE getting lost inside buildings. Get me lost in my car and I’m fine, but lost in a building and I get claustrophobic but quick. So, scratch finding Dr. D off the list of things that I needed to do before the appointment next week. Had Dr. H not called to tell me to come in RIGHT NOW I probably wouldn’t have freaked out today, either. I would have shown up in plenty of time to find an information desk to point me to the appropriate place. NOOOOO. COME IN NOW! Well, that doesn’t give me time to get LOST, Dr. H. That’s not good… well, I did it and I survived. See amygdala? It’s not always so scary.
- “Hey, sexy, can I get your num…what are all those things stuck to your boobs? What are you, Frankenstein?”
And now I don’t have to worry about finding Dr. D next week when I have to go talk to him. Between the heart guy and the headshrinker, I should finally be able to shed a little light on why my ticker acts funny. We shall see…
On an unrelated note, sitting in a cardiologist’s office serves a couple of purposes in my brain. 1) Figure out what’s what with my heart, and 2) look at all the sad old people in the waiting room. I was the youngest person in the room by at least 40 years. That’s sad. “Why am I even here?” I exclaim in my own head. Yeah, heart problems are for the old, not for the 30 year olds … oh. Wait. Let me rethink that for a moment … yeah, I lost two childhood friends at age 16 to heart disease. Sad, sad, sad. I even remember what they looked like back then, 14 years ago…
So, I am sitting in the waiting room thinking of my friends, and I think to myself, “self… what the hell are you doing? Sarah and Markie died at 16 years old!! They would have wanted to do SOOOOOOO much with their lives! Here you are worried about everything, scared of everything, and basically wasting your life worried about when your life will end and how it will end. THAT’S NO WAY TO LIVE, DAMMIT!” So, what do I do? I am posting this blog, hoping against hope that my Holter Monitor (which I named Hector) will find something that is a completely normal and safe function of a healthy heart that I have just been blowing out of proportion and I will live for a very, very long time. When I am done posting this blog, I will start finding tour managers and record labels and whomever else can help me set up these media passes that I want for the remainder of the year. Fuck it. What am I so afraid of?
So, to end this, I am going to use my imagination and write a play for you:
Open on a scene in the back yard of my Uncle Mark’s old house. July 4th decorations hanging, crowds formed, volleyball net in background, beyond the fence there is a group waiting to ride the 3 wheeler. Melissa enters through sliding glass door with a Bud Light in her hand. Sarah and Markie are standing under the awning, still young and vibrant 16-year-olds.
Melissa: Hey, guys! Great to see you! Haven’t seen you guys around in a long time!
Sarah: Yeah, we’ve been busy. No big deal. How have you been?”
Melissa: Oh, I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse, so, ya know…
Markie: What have you been doing in these 14 years since we’ve seen you?
Melissa: I’m a photographer. I shoot concerts.
Sarah and Markie: Wow, Melissa, that’s awesome. We are so proud of you.
Sarah: You’re doing what every 16 year old kid with a camera would love to do! (Even though you’re thirty, but you have the heart of a 16 year old — according to Hector the Holter Monitor)
fin.
Yeah. I’m a weirdo. But you know what? I would love to see how Sarah and Markie would have turned out at age 30. I doubt either of them would be a neurotic like me. They wouldn’t be scared to live. I shouldn’t be either.
phuktneurotic 