A Little Shocking

I went to my cardiologist yesterday for an annual checkup visit. He did the usual things with an EKG and a stethoscope. I like the guy enough, but I really see these visits as a waste of time and money...really. The reason that I'm obligated to go is that I have a stent in my aorta placed very close to the heart. It's due to an impact rupture from the motorcycle accident. Still, the visit was filled with questions about how I'm doing and feeling, so hey, it makes me feel as though I'm an important person. He scheduled me for a stress test because I've never taken one. He tried to do so several years ago but my insurance company denied the request. I have a different insurance company now, so we'll see if it actually happens in a few weeks. Otherwise, he says that I'm totally healthy. But, if I'm the epitome of great health and fitness, why the stress test? The world may never know.

In the process of being set up for a stress test, I asked him if it involved the whole treadmill thing, because I always envision the Tim Allen film The Santa Clause where he runs on a treamill at his doctor's office while trying to figure out why he's gaining so much weight. Anyway, my doctor said yes, and I let him know (again) that my leg doesn't do the whole jogging thing well. He then set me up for a chemical stress test. I don't want to think about the things that this type of nuclear experiment involves. I figure that I'll just drift off into the afterlife with my skin glowing brightly. 

In the process of all the stress test talk, I lifted my pant leg up above the knee to show him what I'm talking about. He stood there with a weird look on his face because my leg doesn't look so good, but then I bent my leg up and down at the knee a few times and asked him, "do you hear that?". He promptly turned away while saying, "yes, now stop doing that". So yeah, I can still make medical professionals go a little freaky deaky with the things that my bad leg does. I love being me.