Gun Geezer
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
No breakfast today. Up and in the car at 7 this morning, driving to my Cardiologist for a stress test he insists on conducting before renewing my meds. Have to renew my meds since I'm on LBJ-Care now. It's a government program meant only for liberal-minded seniors. Conservatives must first go before a death panel.
Car windows all open. Ah, haven’t seen early rising morning mists driving past Seneca Lake in a long time. Already 74 degrees, going to the 90’s today, but morning air smells good, like it did mornings in 1974.
See frail, pale people with walkers in the waiting room. I am reminded of the late Howard Cosell’s remark to a visitor, “THIS is what it is to be 89!” ...Gulp. They took my blood pressure, and inserted an intravenous device in my arm for fluids. Radioactive fluids got pumped in me. A bit later it was my turn to enter the Nuclear Medicine Cardiac Scan room. Sat strapped strictly upright in a revolving chair with arms resting on a swing arm in front of me at chin level. “Hold perfectly still for 8 minutes,” she said, but I could doze if I wanted to. Doze??
My veins were cold. The nurse-specialist said the radioactive fluids did that. Walls in the little room were painted a benign beige but I soon felt a rapid rush of claustrophobia. It became miserable, and finally very close to intolerable. It was the only 8 minutes I ever felt that seemed to be half an hour. The nuclear scanning buzzed while my seat moved inches, counterclockwise – or was it the other way around? My heart refused to pound but the real question was, would I bolt, or scream, or get sick?
When it was over I sat in the waiting room for an hour, recovering, and then they called me back for the actual stress test, administered by the cardiologist. Nurse shaved spots on my chest, and attached nearly a dozen electro-dads to my skin, and pumped in more fluids, which simulated actual stress on my heart. The doctor stood beside me over a keyboard entering data. It had a cardiogram read-out and a monitor behind it. Nurse checked my blood pressure three-four times. It dropped dramatically, and when testing was over new fluids were pumped in that cleared up my fatigue symptoms, my slight head buzz, and raised the pressure back.
Another wait in the waiting room. The nurse told me now I could eat the sandwich I brought. That was good. Then, a call back into the Nuclear Medicine Cardiac Scan room for new pictures of my heart. They wanted a comparison. I must have been more ready the second time around. It took an easy 6 minutes to complete.
So I never rode a treadmill. My cardiologist is very skilled. The nurse, I was told, will call with the results.
Car windows all open. Ah, haven’t seen early rising morning mists driving past Seneca Lake in a long time. Already 74 degrees, going to the 90’s today, but morning air smells good, like it did mornings in 1974.
See frail, pale people with walkers in the waiting room. I am reminded of the late Howard Cosell’s remark to a visitor, “THIS is what it is to be 89!” ...Gulp. They took my blood pressure, and inserted an intravenous device in my arm for fluids. Radioactive fluids got pumped in me. A bit later it was my turn to enter the Nuclear Medicine Cardiac Scan room. Sat strapped strictly upright in a revolving chair with arms resting on a swing arm in front of me at chin level. “Hold perfectly still for 8 minutes,” she said, but I could doze if I wanted to. Doze??
My veins were cold. The nurse-specialist said the radioactive fluids did that. Walls in the little room were painted a benign beige but I soon felt a rapid rush of claustrophobia. It became miserable, and finally very close to intolerable. It was the only 8 minutes I ever felt that seemed to be half an hour. The nuclear scanning buzzed while my seat moved inches, counterclockwise – or was it the other way around? My heart refused to pound but the real question was, would I bolt, or scream, or get sick?
When it was over I sat in the waiting room for an hour, recovering, and then they called me back for the actual stress test, administered by the cardiologist. Nurse shaved spots on my chest, and attached nearly a dozen electro-dads to my skin, and pumped in more fluids, which simulated actual stress on my heart. The doctor stood beside me over a keyboard entering data. It had a cardiogram read-out and a monitor behind it. Nurse checked my blood pressure three-four times. It dropped dramatically, and when testing was over new fluids were pumped in that cleared up my fatigue symptoms, my slight head buzz, and raised the pressure back.
Another wait in the waiting room. The nurse told me now I could eat the sandwich I brought. That was good. Then, a call back into the Nuclear Medicine Cardiac Scan room for new pictures of my heart. They wanted a comparison. I must have been more ready the second time around. It took an easy 6 minutes to complete.
So I never rode a treadmill. My cardiologist is very skilled. The nurse, I was told, will call with the results.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Boxer Puppy
Boxer Puppy This is a detail of an 11x14 oil painting on canvas. The painting is of the entire pup, sitting.
Black Lab
Also doing dogs. This is my lab, Jenny, when she was a very persnicketty, mischevious youngster. (Labs never outgrow that.)
oil on panel, 8 x 8"
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