"It's Another Uphill Climb..."

Tomorrow is stress test day. This will be my second such test since I had my heart attack back in 2005. Admittedly, I have a small amount of concern about the entire procedure, it being not unlike knowing one must go to the dentist for a checkup with the self assurance that one's teeth are perfectly healthy, but also entertaining the discomforting thought that the doctor might just utter the disquieting phrase, "Oh my...what have we here!?!" as he reaches for those pointy and very sharp instruments to begin a closer inspection. I certainly do not wish to hear any such comments emanating from my cardiologist, Doctor Rosenthal, a brilliant, but abjectly humorousless man who is all business when it comes to his patent's health. Anything less than a report of "You're progressing nicely," which I received at the conclusion of my last check up, would be, to say the least, a blow to my belief that I am the very flower of health. I'm not borrowing trouble, just being pragmatically prepared.

In my younger and far more athletic years I participated in all type of competitive sports, including cross country and track and field in which I specialized in distant running. In high school I ran the mile in four minutes and eighteen seconds, a record for my school that went unchallenged and unbroken for over twenty years. With less than a month to go before I obtain the lofty of age of sixty, those days and that ability long ago departed with my youth. Now my legs grow weary from the simple and undemanding task of mowing the lawn. That particular malady came to the fore at my last stress test. The procedure starts out innocuously enough. there is a warm up period where the treadmill is clipping along horizontally and at a reasonable rate. So far so good. Then phase two kicks in. The speed picks up and the front end of the treadmill begins to pitch upward perceptibly. More physical effort is required to keep up with both. Still, so far so good. Then step three arrives and the whole enterprise ceases to be merely a leisurely walk in the park. It's an uphill struggle to maintain pace with the speeding treadmill and my upper legs are beginning to protest vehemently that further labor of this intensity will result in total collapse. Still I solider onward and upward, knowing that there is a prescribed time and heart rate requirement that must be achieved before this exercise in agony can be terminated.

With sweat now pouring from every pore and my heart rate just below the 130 beats per minute required threshold I announced to the female young nurse attendant that her assistance was now immediately required if I had any realistic hope of completing the test. Alarmed she inquired, "Are you having chest pains!?!" "No," I gasped, "But these legs of mine are about to give out!" Instantly she moved behind me and placed both of her hands on my rear end and leaned into the task of keeping me on the treadmill and pointed uphill. "Does that help?" she inquired. I replied, "Well I suppose you think this means we're engaged?" She laughed. I labored on, determined to see this thing through to its ultimate conclusion. Finally...130 bears per minute was obtained and the treadmill responded by reducing its speed and pitch. "You did well, Mr. Latchford." Your heart is functioning within the prescribed limits." "Good,"I breathlessly replied. "But I'm not sure that my legs will ever recover."

For her generous assistance that was certainly over and beyond the call of duty, the following day I presented her with a varied selection of doughnuts to share with her office mates. "In lieu of an engagement ring," I said, "these will have to do."

So, tomorrow I once again subject myself to this form of necessary torture trusting that my heart will again perform within the prescribed limits of acceptablilty and my tired old legs will see me through. I'm stopping in at the local supermarket in the morning to pick up more doughnuts...just in case.