Home after my angiogram, and four hours of mindnumbing bed rest.
Surprised at how out of it I feel.
Going back next week’s Wednesday for a stent, maybe two. Doctor says that procedure will be quicker and less annoying than today’s, where they did some looking around, and pumped dye into my heart – watched it flow curling out of the angio tube on the screen, in black and white like some weirded femme fatale’s cigarette smoke, and then my left side, or my right side, or my neck, would burn inside me for a few quick seconds; the unnaturalness of the sensation worse than the fleeting heat.
Funny that I jokingly used stills from Doctor Zhivago to illustrate my previous post about the it a couple days ago – and Doctor Zhivago was on TCM as I was recuperating. (A film that has a lot of personal import for me).
The doctor assured me any actual surgery was not in my future (except for an outside possibility in 10, 15 years to deal with an anticipated issue that is not affecting me now). My stent next week will be for something my heart already has done a workaround, of sorts, to compensate for.
And it was cool seeing my eight chest wires floating in a line on the screen, each looped and twist tied.
But I’m sure you would prefer a poem…
There once was a man had an angiogram
A tube up his heart the doctors did cram
They prodded and poked
While the drugs made him joke
Groaners worse than plots by M. Night Shyamalan