We spent a goodly chunk of the morning, the Missus and I, at Chez Cardiologist.
Owing to a family history that includes plenty of Cautionary Tales, the Missus takes pains to ensure that her heart is healthy. She exercises and watches her diet, not to mention following her physician’s instructions and taking her medicaments as directed. But a recent EKG was just wonky enough to merit a more careful look at just what was going on, so her Cardiac Croaker scheduled her for a radioisotope stress test and echocardiogram.
Waiting for any sort of medical diagnostic exam is sheer torture. You spend a lot of your time imagining the worst-case scenarios. What if they find something wrong? And just how bad can that “something wrong” be? In the case of the Ol’ Ticker, bad can be really bad... drop dead at any random moment bad. Scary. And so She Who Must Be Obeyed has been on tenterhooks these last few weeks.
I tend to put on my best Optimistic Face for these sorts of events. And that’s surprising, considering that I spent a lot of time reading the Merck Manual as a kid. This was not the easy-to-read version they put out for laymen nowadays; courtesy of Eli, Hizzownself, who was in the pharmaceutical and hospital supplies business, it was the Full Monty, the Real Thing, about a billion pages of onionskin paper with tiny print that listed Every Fucking Thing That Could Go Wrong With Your Body. But rather than become a hopeless hypochondriac, I adopted the attitude that even though there was plenty to worry about, what was the point? It just makes you miserable.
What I told SWMBO was, “When we leave here today, the cardiologist is going to be a lot richer, and you’ll feel a lot better.”
And, as it happens, I was right. For wonky EKG’s notwithstanding, the Missus got a clean bill of health. Her heart works just fine.
Which provided a perfect excuse for us to celebrate with a Sushi Lunch. Mmmm, sushi.
I guess I’m stuck with her a while longer (keyn ayin hora). And that, Esteemed Readers, is perfectly fine with me.
Owing to a family history that includes plenty of Cautionary Tales, the Missus takes pains to ensure that her heart is healthy. She exercises and watches her diet, not to mention following her physician’s instructions and taking her medicaments as directed. But a recent EKG was just wonky enough to merit a more careful look at just what was going on, so her Cardiac Croaker scheduled her for a radioisotope stress test and echocardiogram.
Waiting for any sort of medical diagnostic exam is sheer torture. You spend a lot of your time imagining the worst-case scenarios. What if they find something wrong? And just how bad can that “something wrong” be? In the case of the Ol’ Ticker, bad can be really bad... drop dead at any random moment bad. Scary. And so She Who Must Be Obeyed has been on tenterhooks these last few weeks.
I tend to put on my best Optimistic Face for these sorts of events. And that’s surprising, considering that I spent a lot of time reading the Merck Manual as a kid. This was not the easy-to-read version they put out for laymen nowadays; courtesy of Eli, Hizzownself, who was in the pharmaceutical and hospital supplies business, it was the Full Monty, the Real Thing, about a billion pages of onionskin paper with tiny print that listed Every Fucking Thing That Could Go Wrong With Your Body. But rather than become a hopeless hypochondriac, I adopted the attitude that even though there was plenty to worry about, what was the point? It just makes you miserable.
What I told SWMBO was, “When we leave here today, the cardiologist is going to be a lot richer, and you’ll feel a lot better.”
And, as it happens, I was right. For wonky EKG’s notwithstanding, the Missus got a clean bill of health. Her heart works just fine.
Which provided a perfect excuse for us to celebrate with a Sushi Lunch. Mmmm, sushi.
I guess I’m stuck with her a while longer (keyn ayin hora). And that, Esteemed Readers, is perfectly fine with me.
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