THE NUCLEAR STRESS TEST

As you may know, the purpose of the Nuclear Stress Test is to see how your blood circulates in the heart and major vessels, and how it all responds to stress, in a controlled environment with medical personnel standing by, just in case everything goes wrong. Which, in most cases, it doesn't. Part of the whole shebang is introducing a radioactive isotope into the blood, then a while later mapping out everything with a gamma camera.

It's a way of seeing potential problem areas, and acting preventatively.

The stress part can be done chemically, which means that your flabby old body won't be jogging and quivering on a treadmill, but will be lying flat, and a nasty substance which makes your heart pound is injected into your veins. Followed, shortly thereafter, by something that calms the system down again, while the first substance loses it's effect.

That, more or less, is roughly what I've gathered from the words of the professionals involved in conducting it, as well as the internet.

What I didn't know is that it meant sitting around for hours.

Or lying flat, also for long periods of time.

I already knew about the needles.


And I hate needles.

Chinese Hospital SF

One of my earliest clear sentient memories, absolutely vivid, is of being chased around a doctor's office somewhere near Naarden when I was barely three years old, for the purposes of torture (a flu shot).
Throughout much of my childhood, hypodermics popped up with disturbing frequency, flu shots and other innoculations. Since my late teens I have as much as possible avoided the damned things.
A series of visits to the dentist over a decade ago was eased considerably by the humour of the master of ceremonies, a swab of topical anesthesia, and subsequent jabs I did not notice.

I am not a sensitive man. Just phobic. As well as neurotic.

The bad news, when they released me to go get lunch, was "no caffeinated beverages!" At least not until much later, after everything was done. I had not had coffee or tea since morning yesterday, and I am, as are most people, the 'coffee generation'. Cranky without caffeine. As some might say, damned impossible to deal with, and easily irritated to boot.
A pain in the gand for people around me.



LUNCH

Leung go chu yiuk siu mai (兩個豬肉燒賣), leung go po choi gaau (兩個菠菜餃), yat go lo mai baau (一個糯米包). Two steamed pork cups, two spinach dumplings, and a glutinous rice ball with savoury stuff mixed in. Plus hot sauce and a drizzle of soy. It was, after fasting since late morning yesterday, absolutely divine. And the pipe filled with Sutliff's version of Brigg's Mixture afterwards, while standing under a corrugated awning of a shuttered store opposite the hospital was extremely enjoyable. Of course the only thing missing was caffeine, but two hours later I had a cup of gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶，一杯) and a chaa siu sou (叉燒酥，一個).
Hot milk tea and a flaky charsiu turnover.
Followed by another smoke.

And, because I was in Chinatown already, I dropped by my barber and got a haircut. So I am now fully restored, and I look ten years younger.

If any nice young ladies want to drive my blood pressure up, you will be pleased to know that I am full of piss and vinegar.

As well as fuzzy and huggable.
Like a forest creature.
But trimmed

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