There’s something about a doctor looking at my test results and saying, “Hmmm…” that makes me nervous. So when the cardiologist I was sent to looked at the results of my stress test and said, “Hmmm…oh, that’s not good” I really WAS stressed. It seems that my heart decided to race up to 300 beats per minute, enough to make me pass out. She suspected a blockage which lead her to suspect that an angioplasty was in my future.
Ahhhhh!
While my kids were getting excited about the big fat man coming down the chimney, I was freaking….um, I mean concerned about this somewhat curvy mamma being around for her kids. It’s funny how before you have kids, you abuse your body. It’s the old bad joke about, “Well, I’ll die a good-looking corpse.” Then, when you have your kids, EVERYTHING changes & you’ll do ANYTHING to live longer so you’ll see them grow up.
Eight agonizing, worry-filled days later, I took the nuclear stress test the doc recommended. I wept the whole time (which probably wasn’t good for my heart), and at noontime on Christmas Eve, I got the call that everything looked normal. EXCELLENT news, WONDERFUL news.
And now, I’m tired. Stress’ll do that. But like George Bailey in “It’s A Wonderful Life” I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. I’ll lose the weight. I’ll get healthy. Because not everyone is given a second chance.
(By the way, my minister at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation Of Montclair, Charlie Ortman, told a great joke at the Christmas Eve service. Here it is:
While a family was at church one night, a burglar broke into their home. As the burglar went about his business, he heard a voice say, “Baby Jesus is watching.” The thief shone his flashlight around but saw nothing. Again, he heard the voice say, “Baby Jesus is watching.” Getting a little panicky he shone his light again until, in the far corner of the room, he spied a parrot.
He approached the bird as it once again said “Baby Jesus is watching.”
“You’re the one who said that,” the man exclaimed. “What’s your name?”
“Moses,” replied the bird.
“What kind of sick family names their parrot ‘Moses’?” the man asked.
The bird said, “The same kind that names their mean, angry rottweiler ‘Baby Jesus.”
Happy New Year!
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