Stress Test

Yesterday was a stress test. Part of the ongoing investigation into my heart attack. I wondered whether they wired you up to a monitor and then told you about Gordon Brown's latest plans for tax but no, it was a wiring up and then a journey to nowhere on a treadmill which went a touch faster than I am normally wont to walk...

I was starting to have visions of flying backwards as the legs stopped of their own volition but one of the nurses said "You look very professional up there!"
"What the heck does that mean?" I asked (gasped). Apparently the majority of people who have this test don't seem able to co-ordinate putting one leg in front of another to match the rate of the machine and so do a sort of hop, skip, run-to-catch-up routine.

"Can I still lead a debauched sinful life?" I asked. The doc looked a bit surprised.
"Why? Do you?"
"Well no... but it would be nice to know I could, if the opportunity came along..."

Anyway I bravely stuck it to the end, manfully resisting the urge to drop exhausted over the grab bar at the front to let the feet dangle and be dragged along the treadmill.

I now have little bald patches all over my chest where a very young and pretty nurse shaved them to stick on the ECG contacts. I might sell pictures on Ebay...