Stress over Donald Trump made me take a stress test
Every day is something new. Russia. Comey. Special Counsel. Breaking News sometimes three or four times a day. Sessions. Spicer. Ryan. KELLYANNE!!
Life under 45 is stressful. Fucking stressful with a capital F in bold. All of this crap isn't healthy. Good thing it was time for my yearly physical exam.
Why do I need a yearly physical? Four reasons: a. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. Every twinge is a terminal disease. b. I want to make sure that Parkinson's Disease isn't turning the rest of my body to shit. c. My insurance company says I can and I don't want to disappoint them. d. Trump!
I meet up with my new primary physician for the physical. It's the normal medical crap. Weight, temperature, blood pressure, bloodwork, turn your head and cough, prostate. At the end she says she wants to send me for a cardiac stress test. Why would we do that? Four more reasons: a. Chest pains that I always think are going to be fatal. It's that hypochondriac thing. b. Family history of heart disease c. My insurance company says I can and I don't want to disappoint them. d. Trump!
Tuesday was the big day and I went off to my local hospital's cardiac center. It was a pretty froo froo place for a hospital. Leather chairs and a big screen television in the waiting room. I guess they figure if you're going to die during the test, you might as well die in comfort.
It was test time but first the lab technician and I had to have a little chat: Lab Tech: I'm going to shave your chest and put some electrodes on. Then you'll walk on a treadmill and we'll up the speed every few minutes. Moi: Okay. I can handle that, I think. LT: Now this stuff almost never happens but it's my job to tell you this. In rare cases people have had heart attacks, strokes and have even died during the test. So if you feel like any of that is happening tell us. Me: Ummmm yeah I will. I don't want to be like David Letterman. LT: What happened to him? Me: He took a stress test and it didn't go so well. Open heart surgery. LT: That almost never happens...almost. Let us know. Me: Ummm yeah I will. Pffft.
Now what kind of boob starts talking about David Letterman and open heart surgery five minutes before doing a stress test? The same boob that watches "Botched" the day before having his first surgery. Ummm yeah, that would be me.
I get on the treadmill and start walking...then walk a little faster...and then a little faster. It goes well. No chest pains. No heart attacks. No strokes. No death. But you probably knew that since you're reading this.
So what about those chest pains? Hypochondria or Trump? I don't know...maybe a little of both. All I know is since I started writing this there have three Breaking News alerts. THREE! Sigh! I may have to call my doctor in the morning.
Here's another piece about stress and Donald Trump.
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