After yesterday’s EKG, I can scratch another item off my list of “1000 things I need to (not) do before I die”. 999 more to go…
First, I got to confuse the receptionist at the family clinic because I didn’t have an appointment. Not that I didn’t try to make one. But the nice lady at central appointments called the clinic- while I was standing there- and confirmed I didn’t need one. So I sat there. Luckily, I had time and only four people ahead of me.
After about 40 minutes of watching the news and rehashing inauguration highlights, they had found me a nurse who would do the EKG for me. Very nice lady. I wouldn’t have been in the mood that early in the morning. The whole process was astoundingly simple: take your shirt off, take your bra off, lie down, be stuck with electrodes (ok, not stuck. They’re pasted to your skin), record some heartbeat activity, take the electrodes off, get dressed, be done. Ten minutes tops.
The nurse was rather pleased with the result. ‘Everything looks good’, she said. Well, I’m glad I’m not about to keel over and die, but this only means that the mystery illness will remain exactly that. Now I’m wondering if I should even bother doing a follow-up with the doctor.
