Weight-Loss Wednesday: The Stress Test
by Scott Hardie on November 30, 2007
Two weeks ago, I wound up in the hospital for what I worried was a heart attack, but turned out to be back spasms caused by too much weight on my frame. Either way, the lesson was ominous: Lose weight, or spend a lot more time in the hospital in the future. I would like to document my progress here on Wednesdays as I undertake this long journey.
I remained stiff and sore for nearly a week after the incident, hobbling around my apartment like an arthritic old man at the worst times. The doctor's prescription for aspirin seemed like a joke, but patience was the cure for my ills. The other pills they put me on were blood-thinners, just in case it was my heart, and I stopped taking those when a salty lunch turned my face the color of lipstick and made my head feel like it was on fire. No more metoprolol, thanks – and no more salty lunches either.
My care seems to have diverged in two directions. I feel a little silly being loyal to my "regular" doctor, since I only saw her once in March for a physical and didn't follow her advice at the time ("lose weight, or your knees or your back will give out on you"). When I landed in the ER, she came by in the morning and discussed sensible solutions like getting a diabetic cookbook (so far: bought, not read) and getting me on a doctor-prepared nutrition and exercise plan. We're scheduled to lay this out next week. But since I was admitted to the hospital with chest pain, they put me in the care of a cardiologist who suggested gastric bypass surgery right out of the gate, which is like recommending castration to a sex addict as a first resort: Can we take a shot at a less destructive solution, please?
The cardiologist signed me up for a stress test in his office, and my regular doctor approved of the step. It will help us establish an exercise plan, they said. Great. My only knowledge of the procedure came from episodes of The Simpsons where they hook up the cartoonishly obese Homer Simpson to a treadmill with a bunch of wires and watch his flubber jiggle while he tries to run. Let's just say I wasn't looking forward to it.
You know what? The treadmill part wasn't so bad. It didn't require running or even jogging, just walking uphill at a fairly rapid pace for ten minutes. I wouldn't have had trouble except that they kept making me take my arms off of the support bars and hold them still so they could give me injections or take my blood pressure, and I nearly lost my balance a couple of times. We even discovered that my blood pressure drops sharply when I stand up, which might explain some light-headedness and headaches that I sometimes get.
What was much, much worse was the machine that took photographs of my heart (didn't catch the name). A "modern-day rack" as the technician called it, this thing crams you into an awkward seated position that holds your arms up in front of your face, with your nose and mouth in your elbows. A scanner presses against your chest at various angles. It's difficult to breathe by design, and then they emphasize at length how you're not to move a muscle or take deep breaths for the fifteen-minute process. I made it ten minutes before I felt a faint coming on like a mack truck, and insisted on being removed just in time to collapse to the floor and lie there for a few minutes, trying to breathe while blood came back into my head and arms. It was miserable, and worse, it meant I had to start all over again. I made it through the second and third scans by defying their rules and sitting in a way that allowed me to breathe. I was at least amused by the conversation behind me as the two technicians discussed their favorite snack foods, candy and potato chips, while my fat ass was immobilized in the chair of pain.
Three Replies to Weight-Loss Wednesday: The Stress Test
Anna Gregoline | December 6, 2007
Oh, how awful. Sometimes it seems like medicine is all about torturing the patients! Good for you for doing all this!!!!!
Jackie Mason | December 7, 2007
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