I breathed a sigh of relief. There's something wrong with my heart, I'm not depressed after all.
That kind of thinking may lead you to think I am depressed but hey, the ticker tape from my heart doesn't lie does it?
So my doc sends me off to see a cardiologist. I admit to feeling the cheap thrill of hypochondria. I better get to work on the dining room seat cushions in case I have to have a heart transplant.
I yesterday waited for the heart specialist on a tissue covered table reading a book about finding my life's purpose. There's a diagram of a heart on the wall but I'm too engrossed in finding out how to find out my purpose to pay any attention to the right ventricle or left whatever.
The doc comes in. I can't say he looks exactly like Doogie Howzer, but the closely cropped hair left on his balding head declares he's out of his teens. In the conversation he tells me he's not as old as me. But came after the first thing out of his mouth which was I have a right bundle branch block WHICH DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING. He has it too. It's nothing to worry about.
I don't know what the fee for this appointment at the ungodly hour of 8am is going to cost, but I don't think the office time is going to equal the money spent.
However since I'm there he does a cursory check mostly without getting off his chair. Asks me questions like why I think I've got a heart problem (which never entered my imaginative mind before I got a phone call that said see this doctor ASAP). I explain everything and Doogie launches into why Katherine Zeta-Jones may or may not have bi-polar disease, and it doesn't sound like I have manic periods so maybe I'm just depressed. I let him talk for awhile about what he learned in med school about depression then tell him my dad died.
OH! The light bulb came on. And he proceeds to tell me how sad he was when his father died (5 years ago) and how he still misses him and how a doctor tried to tell him he was clinically depressed and wanted to put him on medication but he refused. Doogie did not realize who he was dealing with. The Queen of Depression who has been battling sad times brought on by life events, a chemical imbalance in my over-active brain, and a gene pool of depressives could go 12 rounds with the best of know-it-alls. I am aware that many people can get through sad times without medication. I've tried and it doesn't work for me. So basically I tuned this doctor out. Lalalalala.
Eventually he pulled his stethoscope out of the pocket of his midi-length lab coat (which I guess he wore to make sure people knew he was the doctor not some kid from the mailroom) and listened to my right branch bundle blocked heart do it's slow thump thump thump. Only I doubt that he listened to more than one thump. Giving him the benefit of the doubt because after all he does have MD after his name, he wears a lab coat and is employed by a Cardiology Group with way more patients in the waiting room than doctors' names printed on the door, perhaps he can hear what he needs to hear in under 10 seconds. Then he listened to my lungs, laid his fingers on my wrist to read my pulse and told me to come back for an echocardiogram and stress test since I'm almost 60 ( obviously the new 100) and it's good to have a base line for the next time I have an EKG that someone thinks it's abnormal.
STRESS TEST? How about taking my blood pressure now, Buster.
Please don't get me wrong. I'm really quite pleased and especially grateful that I have no heart problems. This is a good thing. But.
(Sweetie, hates it when I say but, so I threw it in to see if he's paying attention unlike yesterday when he reminded me of a tag-along 5 year old who left his transformer in the car ... kind of grumpy. It made me think of the number of times my father said "what would you do if you had a baby to take care of" in a discussion about taking care of him. Dad's thinking was, of course, if I had a baby at home I'd stay home and not complain. My thinking was I'd grab his ass up, strap him in his car seat and go, which you can do with a child, not a stubborn 90 year old man. Funny how most everything reminds me of my father which takes us right back to the beginning of the circle, doesn't it?)
But...quite frankly I hate it when I go to the doctor with what feels like a real physical symptom and it turns out it's depression. You'd think Miss Smarty Pants I've-Done-This-All-Before would know by now that the depression monster wrecks havoc on your whole body, mind and spirit. Funny though, now that I have ruled out having a slow-functioning heart I feel a little more energized. Or it could be the fact that I spent the next 3 hours after the doctor's visit at Hobby Lobby doing nothing but perusing the 60-70% off aisles for "accessories" as they say on HGTV. Retail Therapy.
(As an aside, do you know Hobby Lobby has already stocked Halloween, Thanksgiving AND Christmas decorations? I think there should be a law against this. However that didn't stop me from looking at this gi-normous fake fir wreath and actually wondering if it might fit on one of my blank walls.)
Maybe next time I'm feeling like I can't get out of bed or stop crying or wanting to devour a whole tub of Bluebell Dutch Chocolate ice cream right from the carton in one sitting instead of delicately portioned out scoops, I should just head for Hobby Lobby instead of the doctor's office. I wonder what the insurance company would do with a receipt from a craft store?
Thanks for listening.
Today I'm grateful for the man I love, time on my hands, and finger paints which could be a great story but IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN.
I'm grateful for projects almost completed.
And I'm grateful for cats who drink out of the sink and a dog that sits down and smiles when she sees a camera in your hands.
Wishing for you good health and happy days,