Up in the Air

 Strange day yesterday.  Went to see the nurse practitioner who works with my doctor. (My doc is so popular that it is difficult to get an appointment with her unless you are a Kennedy).

This nurse practitioner fellow seemed very knowledgeable however. I'd scheduled the appointment before last Friday's stress test indicated that i needed a more sophisticated one. At the meeting, I asked the nurse to take a look at the results to let me know where the problems might be. He responded but used terms for my heart that I did not understand. When I asked for a digest he nutshelled it for me by saying something like--"look you'll find out what is going on when you take the hoo-hah stress test." He did not say hoo hah, but I got it.

Then Donna drove me to the airport. I'm not sure this trip will prove to be the balm.  I'd planned it weeks ago. To put the high beams on my anxiety the flight was two hours late so I sat in the jammed room as I received e-mails from the airline telling me that now the take off would be at time x, then y, then z which varied from the information coming from the beleaguered gate attendant who was forced to repeatedly and diplomatically respond to the same questions from irritated passengers.

Meanwhile my head regarding my ticker is moving about like a car radio scanning for stations landing on: it's fine; it's kaddish; don't worry about it;  it couldn't be bad or the doc would not have let me go on this trip;  I hope to hell there is booze on the flight; I am in great shape.  The scanning seemed to rest on "it's kaddish" for longer periods than the other stations.  

The nurse had said the results of the initial test could prove to be a false positive. Afterwards, I wrote to the cardiologist asking if while I was away I should cut down on my 5 miles a day walking regimen. He said that there was no need to curtail my exercising. I had also asked him if I should go back to taking a preemptive medicine. He said that too was not necessary. So, I should relax.

But once we took off I thought of the metaphor of being up in the air.  For most of my life I have gone along thinking nothing bad is going to happen to me.  I thought of a college buddy who had this remarkable not to worry attitude about everything.  Immediately afterwards, of course, what rocketed to my consciousness was that I read his obituary ten years ago in the Globe.  A lover once told me that the problem with me (she actually could identify several problems with me) was that I thought I would live forever. Guilty as charged. But I am beginning to reconsider.

The flight was bumpy--another metaphor. Got to talking to the guy sitting next to me who was playing this complicated game on his phone. He tried to explain it to me and about half way through the explanation I wanted to beg him to stop but I did not want to be impolite.  There was a line at the rental car but eventually I got the car and got here in no time. Problem is anytime I feel a twitch in my arm--which could be because I raced after and yanked my unnecessarily stuffed suitcase off the carousel before it zipped past me and before barreling into an octogenarian who was looking over my head for his luggage.  Then I hauled the unnecessarily stuffed suitcase up the rental car shuttle bus whose steps, it seemed, were designed to challenge Olympic hurdlers.  Huge first step helped along by the driver whose counsel and wisdom consisted of "watch your step." The first step from the ground to the bus was a Neil Armstrong giant leap for mankind.  And I lugged the suitcase up those stairs, and then lugged it down too. So maybe that accounts for the stress in my arm.

Fortunately I'd left a couple of cold 16 ounce beers in the refrigerator.  I knocked one back moments after I lugged the unnecessarily packed suitcase into the condo and turned on the tv.  I must have conked out as I awakened hours later with the can in front of me and a rerun of Dragnet on the tube. Just the facts.

Well only a week now for the doc to tell me I am fine and stop lugging suitcases and garbage cans and laundry around to avoid feeling strain in my left arm.  The nurse practitioner told me the worst thing for me would be waiting for the test and not letting bad thoughts get into my head.  Not sure it was worth the absurd co-pay (and why am I paying both an upper and lower appendage for insurance if every visit requires a not insignificant ka ching) to get this sage advice, but he is right.  Just up in the air for a week before I can become reckless again.  I think the first thing I will do after getting the kosher next week is hit an all you can eat rib joint and indulge, washing it all down with a beer and a shot.