Part One

Cardiac Rehab

The Evaluation

For whatever reason, I sat in my car, at my house, in tears before leaving.

Not even able to logically grasp these outlandish feelings I was experiencing, I grew increasingly furious with myself.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. But it was.

Here I sat, terrified to drive.

Seriously?? What was wrong with me?!

True, it was only day two of driving, that is, if you counted day one as the short drive to church that had taken place just a couple of days ago.

I was a little nervous then too, but I survived.

So why was I now a complete and total wreck?!

I allowed my imagination to take over as I visualized the trip that lay ahead on the blacktop before me…

I would begin heading down the inevitable winding and twisting curves and onto the only route of state highway that would lead me to my destination.

I would start to notice that “static-y” feeling in my head, that light-headedness.

While still having somewhat of wits about me, I would quickly scour ahead for a safe place to pull over.

Before realizing what my eyes were seeing, my head would begin that deep swimming motion that would commence before drowning my perception into a distorted sense of being that I would have no control over.

During this extensive state of confusion, I would struggle to steer my car over to the right shoulder of the road, but not thinking clearly, and in a panic, the car would verve off to the left, crossing the solid line of the highway and onto the path of an approaching tanker truck!

As my foggy consciousness would fade in and out during these episodes, I would suddenly experience the terrifying sight of the enormous face of the oncoming cab as it rapidly closed in on my minuscule and helpless Volkswagen Beetle.

Time would all of a sudden morph into a dream-like, “slo-mo” encounter…

I would do a forceful double blink of my eyes in an attempt to bring myself back to normal cognition. It would be within this time span, that my brain would register that the bright yellow and red shell logo that lay on the hood of the towering semi, would verify what this massive entity of steel contained that I was about to inevitably collide with!

As insignificant as my little green Beetle bug would seem when this colossal tanker truck would run over it, it would manage to create a spark as its engine combusted.

The explosion that would engulf the tanker truck, as well as the lost, pocket-sized mound of German metal with me in its driver’s seat, would surely be seen for miles!

Now.

Given this scenario, to me anyway, a drive into town to do a cardiac rehab evaluation, just somehow, didn’t seem worth it…

 

There I sat in the driver’s seat, both hands clinched to the steering wheel.

I could do one of two things:

I could call and cancel the appointment until I got over this insane, but very real, paranoia.

To me, this just seemed like the most logical choice,

But… with the cancellation call would come a pursuit to reschedule, most likely occurring within days considering I was already behind on the whole cardiac rehab thing. And who’s to say I wouldn’t feel this way tomorrow, or the next day, or the next?

Or… I could just bite the bullet and go, but not before stopping to say a prayer that, 1. I wouldn’t have one of those crazy dizzy episodes, and 2. That the Lord would lead me and steer me clear of all gasoline tanker trucks along the way…

With hysteria and tears, I opted for the latter choice, and surprisingly made it to the cardiac rehab parking lot, but certainly not without replaying the whole epic explosion thing in my head a million times.

I’m not a drinking lady, but if there had been a cash bar sitting in the parking garage… Well, I just might have ordered a stiff one…

The sign alone in the garage signaled another set of emotions:

 “Parking for Heart Failure Clinic and Cardiac Pulmonary Rehabilitation”

I could feel the beginnings of an emotional volcano within me, ready to erupt at any given moment.

“Heart Failure” just hit me the wrong way.

A year-and-a-half ago I would have never, ever, pictured myself in this situation.

“What was I doing here??!”

Answering myself back, “Because this is what you do! Because this is where people come after heart surgery, you idiot!”

I sucked it up as best I could, got out of my car, and proceeded to the cardiac rehab office.

I was checked in by a very friendly and welcoming front desk lady. Luckily, her cheerful demeanor calmed my nerves a little, which was a good thing, because one wrong move could have unleashed a hysterical monster, and if that happened, participating in cardiac rehab therapy would have been the least of my worries.

I was called back into a room with a nurse for the initial part of the evaluation.

Ok, deep breath.

As I walked down the hall, I thought, I totally needed to get ahold of myself.

I mean, after all, look at me! I’m young compared to most of their patients. I’m in good shape, and this really should be a piece of cake for me.

I am probably not the norm for most of the patients they see.

I will probably be in and out of here in just a few shorts weeks, and on my way to a full and quick recovery, (even though I was already two months’ post-op.)

Yea, this would be a good thing.

The nurse began to go over the paperwork which I had filled out prior to the visit.

Questions like, where I was physically. Things like, how I did climbing stairs, walking, how were my eating habits, that sorta thing. All my answers were in the zero-to-low range, so that was good!

So, what was my problem again?? Why exactly, was I freaking out inside??

Even though I thought I had composed myself in the hall prior, I suddenly felt as if the tears were about to start streaming down my face.

Then came the questions about how I was doing emotionally.

“Do you feel as though you may be depressed?” She asked.

Ok woman…

Let’s get one thing straight.

One wrong word and this place is gonna blow!!!!!!

Calm down, I thought to myself.

Don’t fall apart.

Keep it together.

You need to sit up straight,

Place your folded hands on your lap,

Look her straight in the eye,

Give her a confident smile,

And reply,

“No!”

As well as I thought I may have masked my inner meltdown, I’m pretty sure the nurse could see right through it…

I was shown how to put on the heart monitor that I would be wearing during each of my rehab sessions.

Normally a “walk test” is completed during this evaluation.

This shows how many laps the patient can walk in an allotted amount of time, but since the doctor’s report from my treadmill test hadn’t shown up yet, I was not permitted to do this.

“But they said I did really good,” I explained, “going faster and longer than my set goal based on my age! I mean, I was a runner before all this, for crying out loud!”

The nurse apologized and reiterated that she could not allow me to do the walk test until they had the OK from the doc, and hopefully that would be at the next visit.

Again, I felt as if the overflowing glass of saltwater that teetered just below my eyes, was on the verge of, once again, spilling all over my face.

She then began to explain the three different visit sessions that a patient qualifies for based on their personal heart health evaluation.

Eighteen visits would be approved for what they considered a patient with a “mild” or low risk.

Twenty-four visits for a “moderate” risk.

And thirty-six visits for the “high” risk patient.

Mentally I was calculating this all up in my head:

Coming the three scheduled days a week, eighteen visits would constitute as six weeks here…

Wow. Much longer than I had anticipated, but…the sooner I get started, the sooner I would be done with it, right?

Over and done with, I say, and get me the crap outta here!

As the evaluation was drawing to a close she then explained that with my heart function registering on the lower side, I was considered a “moderate risk patient…”

After that, all that came out of her mouth was “Blah, Blah, Blah-Blah…”

I felt the trickles drizzle down my cheeks.

Mentally I was screaming, “did you NOT HEAR ME?! I was a RUNNER for crying out loud!!!”

But nothing audibly came out.

I’m sure the look of shock on my face said it all.

“This is all based on how things look today.” She explained.

“If your heart function improves, this could all change.”

She sounded positive, I’ll give her that…

I left with the hopes of that imaginary cash bar showing up in the parking garage…

And in the midst of it all, I had to come back…

So far, in the grand scheme of this whole thing, it seemed like getting my chest cracked open was the easy part.