Tuesday, July 5, 2011

My Boob Stickies

This is like my chest, only this guys' boobs are bigger than mine and a little hairier.
Imagine this, only with Band-Aids holding on the stickies. That's me.

So there's this thing. On my chest.
Seven things, actually. Seven sticky things. And there's a strap around my neck and over my shoulder holding this transistor radio-sized computer thing.
It's a heart monitor, a halter thing. I'M FINE. Not that you were worried or anything but I'M FINE. No heart attacks, or murmurs, or strokes. I get this drug called Remicade every two months. It's for my Crohn's disease and it's a bit of a miracle drug. Thanks to Remicade I went from the doc wanting to remove my colon to having no symptoms. It's good stuff.
Only thing is, on the day I get the infusion (at the Huntsville hospital's chemotherapy clinic with the world's best nurses - "Hi Jodie! Hi Yvonne!"), I get this weird feeling. Fluttery. My heart races. I feel all crawly on the inside. The weird feeling lasts all evening. When I wake up the next morning, the weird feeling is gone.
I didn't even want to mention the weird thing to my doctor because I was afraid he might take away my Remicade and then take away my colon. Hey, I can live with the idea of a heart attack... I just don't want to poop into a tube if I don't have to. (Although this could be viewed as a positive. Just think. You never have to look for a washroom in a mall again. You don't have to endure stinky outhouses while camping. Or leave the slot machines. You just poop at will. Right in the middle of a conversation. While you're blogging. No one will know unless you announce it. "Hey, I'm pooping right now.")
Where was I? Mention the word poop and I'm all distracted. Oh yes. The halter thing. So, after my Remicade infusion ("Hi Jodie! Hi Yvonne!"), I went to the hospital's cardio department and got outfitted with a heart monitor. A nice gentleman stuck seven round sticky things to my chest and wired them to a monitor.
"When you start to experience your 'weird' feelings, press the Event button," he said. Then he added, "Whatever you do, don't sweat."
It's ninety frickin' degrees outside.
The minute I got home and went to the washroom, four of the stickies fell off. En masse. It was like they all gave up at once and fell to their deaths in front of the toilet. Like Elvis.
"Crap," I said, although I was just peeing.
I stuck them back on my chest, trying to guess where they had been before. It wasn't a scientifically-based guess. I stuck one on my boob, one under my boob and two more in the middle.
But I was sweating like a pig and, two seconds later, they all fell off again.
So I stuck 'em back on. Only this time I raided the Band-Aid box and used a dozen to re-stick the stickless stickies.
I look like a mummy who ran out of white bandages and used Band-Aids instead. A beige mummy. Oh, and did I mention all the Band-Aids are stuck to the sunburn I got whilst chasing campers off my site on the long weekend?
If they don't stick, my next recourse will be duct tape.
If they do stick, I'll be pulling them off in the morning and having hubs drop the monitor off to the man in the hospital who stuck things on my chest. Don't think that fact won't be crossing hubs' mind.
Not long after I emptied the bandage box, I noticed my heart start to race. BUT WAS IT REALLY? My trigger finger hovered over the Event button. Should I wait till it really starts racing? Should I do it now? What if it's a false alarm? You should have seen me when I was pregnant. I AGONIZED over labour pains. Real? False? Real? I didn't want to go early and annoy the doctor. I didn't want to go late and have my kid at the side of the road, either.
I pressed the button. Half-expecting a 9-1-1 swat team to show up I was vaguely disappointed that nothing more exciting than a pop-up window on the monitor with a few choices: heart attack, heart murmur, heart racing, heart stopping. Really? Do you think if my heart stopped I'd be able to push the Event button? I think stoppage would be pretty clear to the coroner even if you didn't push the button. "Well, I think it was a heart attack. A little hard to tell since the cats ate her. If only she had of pressed the Event button ..."


  1. back when I was married I use to take a lot of allergy pills because my ex hated the sound of my breathing ... the pills caused my heart to race (the D component of those pills that are a -D variety). The upside was that I lost weight cause my metabolism was in overdrive, the downside was that my ex hated more than my breathing. Today I happily breath and snore and my heart has stopped racing. Mighta bin the pills, mighta bin the ex.

  2. You know I understand with every ounce of my being how important this test is, but really, I have wet myself and fallen off my chair I am still giggling I tried to tell my husband about your story and all I could do was snort. You have such a wonderful take on life. I envy you, I truly do. I believe you are one of the gifts of the universe.

  3. If laughter is the best medicine, I'd say you'll be fine. Or I will. How's that work? I hope the monitor clears up any doubts the docs may have. :)

  4. *giggle*...*giggle*...*SNORT*

    Stop that, right now Ms. Cathy...or I'll die snorting.

    Sorry to read of your troubles...no, really, I am...it's just your writing that makes me laugh. Honest!

    My best to you - and hope all turns out well.

  5. I trust you are doing well now. As serious as this is, I laughed at the menu choice of heart stopping. I guess that's a CYA move in our litigious society. Hang in there, Cathy!

  6. I'm with you on that tube thing...that's for sure. Hope you are ok and all is well.

  7. You do have a wonderfully humorous way of handling all these things on the page. I'm sure it is high anxiety in person, but I appreciate the way you filter reality, ma'am!

  8. Love the way you write! I'm sorry you're having to deal with this issue, though. I had to wear one of those heart monitors for two months, and I did the same thing with wondering if I should push the button or it was just my imagination, so then I'd take my pulse before pushing the button, but that extra time meant they weren't getting the data they needed. Sigh, I got lectured constantly, yet I STILL couldn't push that button without taking my pulse. Plus, the monitor was really loud when recording (this was a decade ago, so maybe they are quieter??), and as I worked in a cubicle garden, it was horrifying to have to push that button and have everyone on the lower floor know what my current heartbeat sounded like. I hope you get results that will let you continue in the way you'd most prefer.

  9. I like that it's called an event button, like your flutters are some sort of party. It's the event of the season. Anyone who's anyone will be there.

    Like John said, I'm sure this is pretty worrisome in person, but you have a wonderful way of handling things with your humour. I admire that.

  10. I want an EVENT button!! Except it would be for anything related to the physical body...run into a drama queen? EVENT button pushed and the SWAT team shows up and takes them away--the possibilities could be limitless!!! O Cathy, I just about fell over laughing with this post! I wish you lived near me, or I you, and I'd have you over to dinner!!

  11. Yeah, pity the 'events' can't be more fun. But I'm sure you'll make 'em that way!

    Thanks for the laugh, Miss Cathy. You know that we're all sending our positive vibes your way.

  12. Ha! This post would be so funny if I didn't feel so bad for you through the whole thing. I've had that done, and I have WAY more chest hair than that guy. I was fine, but it was quite an experience.

  13. I had to wear one of these. And you crack me up.


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