I agree with the bypass surgery guy. One nice November day in 2009, make it the 9th, I finally agreed to a stress test. So I wanted the first appointment of the day so I could go to work and get a full day in. I'd never had one of the things and I just assumed it was simple and painless. Boy was I wrong.
I was led into a room with a racing snowmobile. They'd turned it upside down. So the girl told me to get on and she'd run it slow till I got the idea. She cracked the throttle and it was running about 30 mph. Then she nailed the gas with the thing tilted uphill. I got the idea, I was supposed to run uphill at over 60mph until I died. Then she had some momentary mercy and shut it down, telling me to take a seat for a few minutes. Then another nursy came running up with some dynamite in pill form, telling me to put it under my tongue. She said it was for my angina. I had no idea what that was, but I didn't hurt except for having run about a mile uphill.
Then this dufuss suited type guy came in and wanted to look at the tape the girl had been making. eh, not good. No one needs to remind me to never have another. So they said it wasn't good and I needed to get an angiogram. I still had hopes of getting to work, but the doctor guy said forget it until after the test. So off with my pants and off to a room. They gave me some drugs to make me less apprehensive. Next thing I knew the guys in white coats were there to haul me away. So into this clean room I went. The girl said she was just giving me something to relax. I was out like a light. Later I woke up to hear they decided I needed bypass surgery. I figured the surgeon needed or wanted a new Mercedes.
I was lucky, they said. Half the people with my condition died within one year if not treated. So after 5 full days I was sent home. The list of cascading terrible things just continued. First was my wife catching me while semi-comatose and telling me she wanted to tear down the house and build another. What did I care, I was a dead man anyway. Then there was the pain meds. The cute little nurses (my wife had been one 40 years before) were very generous with the pain pills. The deal was one or two pills every 4 to 6 hours. To the nursing staff, that means 2 pills every 4 hours. To my wife, it means one pill every 6 hours (or so). About the second cycle of her stingy ways, I took over my pain meds. It was less painful to get up than to be under medicated.
Regardless of what the medical folks say, I'm not having a rerun. I won't go back for another stress test. The doctors make you so miserable you want to be dead. I won't even go back to the cardiologist. All he wants to do is order up tests. Some more painful than others, but all are uncomfortable. I've lost my balance. Can't work on a ladder. They don't want me to eat food that tastes good, just rabbit food and similar "stuff".
So dead is good. Or at least better than all the pain I went through. I don't fear death, it sounds relaxing.
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