Testing for stress
By Teresa K. Flatley

One thing's for certain as we get older: We will experience more and more of the delights that medical science has to offer.

Sitting in my doctor's office just before Thanksgiving, I was telling her about the chest tightness and pain that I often got when I over-exerted myself. Like when I walked up 50 steps, 30 more and then straight uphill in the cold weather getting to a parking lot we frequent. The pain stopped once I stopped, so I thought that meant it was a quirky thing, not something that required intervention.

Ha! Never say chest pains to a doctor without expecting a whole lot of intervention. By the time I left the doctor's office, I was headed to see a cardiologist who had fit me into his schedule that very afternoon, and who suggested they do a cardiac catheterization or a stress test. The first seemed way over the top to me, so I opted for the second, which I had had once before.

Again, gratefully, I was squeezed into the testing schedule the next day for the stress test which required that I not eat for six hours or drink anything with caffeine for 24 hours beforehand. I showed up at the hospital de-caffeinated and not too happy. While registering for my test, I learned once again that all patients need to be their own advocates. The registrar mistakenly tried to send me to get a normal x-ray of what-I-don't-know instead of the test that was written on my script.

After making my way down to the cardiac testing area, I changed into the ubiquitous hospital gown and waited. And waited some more, which probably didn't do much for my stress levels, but no one was testing them yet.

Since I was having a thallium stress test, which means that I would be injected with some manner of something, I had to have pictures taken of my heart before I was injected and then again after I had exercised. That was painless, but no one warned me that the device taking pictures of my heart was going to come as close to my face as a kissin' cousin while I lay on a thin sheet of metal masquerading as a bed. My claustrophobia kicked in big time, causing me to yell, "Wait a minute!" After the technician and I talked a bit, I was able to complete the photo regimen with the device inches from my face the entire time. With all the warnings medical staff give us that seem so Obvious, I was surprised that no one told me about the close proximity of the device.

After being told several times "to not jump off the treadmill no matter what" during the stress test, the test itself went fine. I exercised past the point of expectations for someone my age. Of course, when I told them I was done—absolutely done—walking NOW, I was sure that St. Peter was the next person I would see because my heart was beating so rapidly. I was also parched from not drinking water all day, which I have convinced myself kept me from walking even further, like say as far as a 20-year-old could go? Hey, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Back to that patient advocacy thing for a moment, though. While I was in the cardio department, a staff member came in and told the technicians, "When they bring 'Mrs. Smith' down here, it's not really Mrs. Smith, just her chart with the wrong patient. So don't do anything to her!" The real Mrs. Smith was still up on the ward, apparently. And then, while I was still being prepped for the stress test, the department staff was looking for "Mr. Jones" who had somehow disappeared from their department and couldn't be found anywhere. Gives you some pause, doesn’t it? That a world class hospital could make mistakes like that?

I figured both Mrs. Smith and Mr. Jones caught wind of that claustrophobic-causing heart picture-taking-device and bugged out to avoid up close and personal experiences with a camera.

Since my stress test turned out OK, it's fairly possible that the chest pains and tightness I sometimes experience can be caused by one of the medications I am on. We are testing that theory. For now, though, with a thankful nod to medical science, I can go back to walking and step-climbing like I used to without worrying about any early encounters with St. Pete.