Having My Dance Card Filled

I began seeing a doctor regularly in 2016 after around a twenty-year delinquency. My pulse was low from my very first appointment in the years since, generally 48 or 49, while 60-100 is considered okay. Yet other than an initial EKG, my physician decided that 48 was simply my normal. We'd watch it and that was that. He said at the time that if it dropped to 40 or below further testing would be necessary.

Good old Marty turned 65 his last birthday. At my October checkup, just a routine checkup, mind you, nothing to see here folks just move along, my doctor said he thought I should see a cardiologist about the still low pulse. "It's been that way before!" I protested.

"You weren't 65 before," he answered. I didn't want to do it, but paranoia once your doc suggests an idea, any medical idea, makes a guy grumble but accept fate. I arranged to see the heart doctor January 9, last Friday. Everything will be all right, right? I'll be out in an hour and living the Life of Riley again.

An EKG was required as soon as I arrived. But that's okay. It even makes sense when you visit a cardiologist the first time, right? So I have the EKG, am shuttled to an examination room, and wait. 

Within a few minutes the doctor comes in. "Your EKG was outstanding, Mr. Cosgriff. Based on it I'd say you're as healthy as a horse."

Great! I can go now, methinks. "But I'd like you to have a sonogram," he continued. "We can do it right now and save you a trip back."

But, but, my EKG! Horse healthy! Yet also paranoia about not doing what my cardiologist thinks a good idea. And a return visit saved. I agree to the sonogram.

Other than a vaguely larger than average aorta ("We'll note it, but not a worry, Mr. Cosgriff") the sonogram was spectacular. I can go now? "There is this thing about your red blood count slightly higher than normal, Mr. Cosgriff. Do you sleep well? Do you snore?" I think you may have undiagnosed sleep apnea; that can drive up you red count."

What does that mean? It means three more referrals for this, that, and the other thing. It means wearing a heart monitor for two weeks, even though the EKG and sonogram tests were passed with flying colors, because it doesn't hurt to get a longer term look at the old ticker just the same. It means seeing an ENT,  an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist, because if it's sleep apnea what ails ya it may be due to a sinus defect. It means, ugh, a night at a sleep clinic, with electrodes attached all over my aging Dad bod in order to see if the trouble actually is sleep apnea while I try to somehow get a decent night's sleep with electrodes all over my head, neck, and torso. It means a breathing test to make sure my lung capacity is up to snuff, even though my lungs sounded completely clear when the cardiologist and his pulmomary specialist checked during the January 9 appointment.

All of that from a low pulse which had been low for a decade. 

Is this my life now? Will the rest of my days be filled seeing Dr. Howard, Dr. Fine, and Dr. Howard whenever any irregular number is present on my checkups? Does senior citizen status mean that any new friends I meet will have MD after their name? 

Better safe than sorry, I suppose. But still, really? All this? Har-rumph.

Missed it by that much

The longest time that I have ever been awake is 36 straight hours. I'm sure that pales next to what others have accomplished, doctors and soldiers and even me old Grandpa Joe. But it was a long time for me, and I nearly bested it yesterday.

I was awake at 6 AM Tuesday. I worked, then played my curling match that night. We won, demonstrating the importance of a solid third in a curling lineup. I immediately left on a sales trip, figuring I could catch a few power naps along the way.

That didn't happen. The two times I tried I never came close to falling off into dreamland. The first time I was at a truck stop, but the chairs in the rec room were simply too uncomfortable to sleep in. So after an hour I gave up and went back to driving, to try to catch a nap later. That didn't work either, rental van seats being equally unconducive to sleep, so I just went about my day.

It's a funny feeling when, after being up and about for around 30 hours, in my case Noonish yesterday, that you realize you're tired but don't actually feel like sleeping. I felt profoundly fatigued yet was wide awake and very aware of what I was doing. My eyes weren't drooping shut; I was not nodding off in the least. I was driving well, and dealing with customers quite normally, chit-chatting and answering questions as though I knew what I was talking about. Indeed, I felt I could go another thirty hours. If anything, I had anxiety. I was anxious to keep going, to prove that I was up to my unintentionally imposed challenge.

Arriving home just after 4, I unloaded my own order at the Shop, returned the rental van, and on getting home I got on the computer. You know, to catch up on e-mails, not play games or anything (how could you think that?). I soon thought I'd stay up until 7, to break my record by an hour. Why not? And surely lying in bed with a book would seal the deal.

I woke up at 7:25 this morning with a book crunched under me. I think I made it til 5:30, or 35-1/2 hours. I missed it by that much, as Maxwell Smart would say.