Midlife Crisis Update (#3 in a series)

Okay, so I was having these chest pains, right? I agonized over doing something about them, then finally drove myself to the ER. The medical professionals took me seriously enough to shave spots on my chest and stick EKG probes to them. They gave me nitro tabs to dissolve under my tongue. The tabs didn't do any good, but it sounded just like what they do on E.R. They tested my blood for the enzymes your heart produces when you have a heart attack, but they didn't find any of them.

Okay, so it wasn't a heart attack. But they kept me overnight for observation. As my cardiologist put it, "You have too many risk factors for us to let you go home." I was aware of those risk factors, but thanks, Doc.

I had a restless night's sleep. No matter how nice the nurses are they still have to wake you up and do stuff to you. If I dozed in the wrong direction, one of my monitor probes would come off, causing an audible alarm in my room and at the nurses' station. Then there was the (male) nurse who came in after midnight wanting to talk about music. His favorite adjective was "quality," as in "It's quality stuff," regarding any band he liked a lot. Can't remember which bands he liked, however.

In the morning I took a heart stress test: first, an ultrasound of my heart at rest, followed by an ultrasound of my heart racing at 155 beats per minute. It's dobutamine, a devil drug, that caused my heart to race as I lay perfectly still for high-quality sonograms. Trust me, it's the most out-of-control feeling you'll ever have.

The stress test came back normal. But because I have all the classic risk factors for heart attack, as my cardiologist reminded me, and I still have chest pains, I took a different stress test this week. Verdict: there are areas of reduced blood flow in my heart, which implies blockage. This Friday I will have a heart catheterization to learn what the hell's going on in there.

My hope is that the docs will find a blockage, put in a stent, watch me overnight, then set me free to enjoy my newfound stamina and my new life.

Which now includes diabetes. Thanks to the ER blood tests, I learned that my glucose levels were way far out of whack. My physician and I are working on an aggressive plan to control it, but I need to get the chest pains out of the way first.

In case I needed another reason to feel decrepit, and I didn't, my opthamologist informed me that I have the beginning of cataracts. My vision isn't cloudy, thank you very much. But my lenses are now on notice that they're replaceable if they don't stop this ridiculous degradation. I mean, what right do they have, anyway?

So, to wrap up, heart-> diabetes-> cataracts. All I need to do now is install a compass on my dashboard to complete my transformation into a really old fart. And a walker. I need I friggin' walker. With a built-in glucose monitor, blood pressure cuff and halogen headlights.

Really, I'm only 43. Really.