It's a long time since my angiogram day

First, an up-front confession.

In plain terms, I represent that demographic, who is absolutely shite-scared of hospitals, needles, blood, and everything assoc-iated with pain under their big tent. Period. Full stop. There, it had to be said.

You might as well also know: snakes are right up there, neck-and-neck with my inner feelings about most medical facilities.

I don't want to put too fine a point on the subject, but my inner demons might have well as strapped me inside an aluminum cigar shaped craft hurling through the heavens at 500mph, and then break open a few dozen boxes of the world's deadliest snakes in the hold, before arriving at the H. Just to make my day memorable. "Paging Dr. Jackson. Paging Dr. Samuel L. Jackson. Stat."

This fact must have been patently obvious to the admission team of nurses upon arrival. Could it have been that 'deer-in-the-headlights' look I projected throughout the day? I hope so, because the entire team acted professional and understanding to my pathetic needs.

I'm now convinced, angiogram recipients fall into two camps: those keeners, who can't wait to view dye pursing through their veins, on the overhead monitors. I suspect these folk were mainly weaned on Chicago Hope and ER, then graduated to CSI: Every- where and L&O spin-offs/repeats. We mean them no disrespect, but you'd likely find great swaths of this grouping in the front visitor's row of any State sponsored execution, if given half the chance.

And then there's the rest of us -- mostly gentle types from the land of 'Wallace and Gromit' -- in a continual state of smiling fright, who have no intention of seeing a flipping thing more than necessary.
There are no veins in this group, pulsating with amphetamine bravado. It's a busy place today, so wait your turn in silence. Be polite, and let the other nice people in line go-ahead of you. Hop on board. Keep your eyes firmly closed. Occasionally squint afar, to view relaxed technicians behind their glass partition. Babble back on cue, only when prodded. Hold still, all the while big boxes above, whir and zoom in for some sort of video or photo-op. Exhale a little more afterwards, while in recovery. And so my day-in-a-bubble went, just before the Labour Day long weekend.

All the while, we repeatedly tested the fact, that a good steady drip of drugs can become the great equalizer to any one of life's little stress points. Thank you, God.

I have to report, the anxieties and lead-up, were simply horrendous. You were right, Murray. The event was mostly uneventful, as most everybody had repeatedly predicted.

At the end of about an hour session, we all huddled to review go-forward (stent) strategies, or not. One main artery was clearly 99.9% slam-shut. Two others were about 75% and 80% blocked, respectively. In truth, I was functioning at about 15-25%, or so, of where I should have been. A date with angioplasty that day, was not even remotely in the cards. We all agreed, a future cardiac by-pass date was the only option left, and set an approximate operation date for sometime in the middle of October. Whoa, I'm now officially stamped in as an aortocoronary candidate, and plugged into their recovery system.

Either way you cut it, the drama and warm rays of September and October seems such a long time ago.

Why didn't I do this all much sooner? The H Boogey Man, likely.