Be Prepared!

Yesterday, I had a nuclear/echocardiogram imaging study, locally called a "nuclear stress test."  It's kind of a complicated procedure, involving their injecting me with a radioactive isotope, doing an EKG, taking photos of the blood flow through my heart, then running me ragged on a treadmill, then injecting more isotope and taking MORE pictures.  I also had to eat a fatty snack in there so they can see how my heart & blood flow work after I've eaten something.

I don't like this test much...I don't like having to FAST from liquids and solids from midnight before the test, and I really do NOT like doing the treadmill.  It seems as if they're trying to make me collapse entirely if I have to walk fast and get my heart rate up.  I don't like the injections or the IV port.  It seems like a lot of folderol, but we'll see.  It's a blessing, doubtless.  At least I did not keel over or run out of breath or anything dire like that.  Every time I go near the clinic, though, my blood pressure soars, and they raise hell about that.  And they also carry on about my high cholesterol.

The clinic personnel are wonderful, though.  I love asking them where they grew up.  One nurse was born in Maryland nearby, and the MRI tech is a native of Virginia (with a famous old Virginia name, he said), and the PA is Indian but born in Silver Spring.  I forgot to ask her the name of the best Indian restaurant there.  The Langley Park neighborhood there has many Indian restaurants, and I'd love to sample them.  

But, the part that really got me was when they asked me how I got there yesterday?  Did I drive?  Take the Metro?  I said "Metro."  Then they told me that the Metro is set up to detect radiation, and being as yesterday was the 11th anniversary of 9/11, they gave me a copy of my medical work order (or whatever) "in case they stop you."  Great!  I imagined alarms sounding, lights flashing, folks in dayglo Metro vests charging down the aisle of the car, big German Shepherds sniffing my pockets.

Ha.  When I entered the Metro station, I approached the manager, who was explaining the ticket machine to some outlanders.  "Hi," I said. "I'm radioactive.  I just had a nuclear stress test."  I rolled up my sleeve to show them the bandage over the puncture wound in my arm, and I fished out the medical form.  The manager laughed...."You don't have to show all of that," and waved me on.  I said, "Good!  I'm going home now."  And he said, "Good...have a nice trip."

Nice to know that our Metro system is prepared but doesn't get all flustered when radioactive grannies show up.