Tilt!

 I  never was much of a pinball player. Dad never let us go to the arcade at Kennywood because he said it was a waste of money.There were a couple of machines in the back of a store in the little town where I went to college, but more often than not, I set off the dreaded "Tilt" alarm and lost my quarter, just as my wise father had predicted.

If you have never played one of these old beauties, just know that if you tried to manipulate the ball by jostling the table a little too aggressively, the "TILT" light would flash on, and thenwhole game would shut down.

That's sort of how the tilt-table test works. They tip you in just the wrong way, hoping they'll be able to see what happens when your brain says, "game over." So, I guess mine was a success.

I'm gonna try to remember yesterday's events, but the images are pretty foggy, so don't hold me to them. I'll try to keep the dramatic embellishments to a minimum.

I woke up around 3:30. These stress tests always seem to happen at god-awful morning hours. Consequently, the sleeplessness that precedes them starts that much earlier. I was allowed to take my medicines, thyroid and grandpa's crazy pills, but you have to fast so you don't get sick all over the expensive equipment. I skipped my morning coffee, for safety's sake.

Sophie and I meditated for about 45 minutes, then we did the Wordle and the Connections puzzles. Checked the bank account to make sure the pre-payday balance was still in the black, and it was. I had to laugh. Last week, I got a note from the hospital, informing me that my share of the cost of this test would be a little over $1600. I didn't dare tell them how slim the odds were of either of us ever seeing a check that big with my signature on it.

The test was scheduled for 8:00 AM, and my instructions told me to be there 30 minutes early. If you know anything about Nicholasville Road in Lexington, you know that waking up 5 hours early for an 8:00 appointment on that nightmare of a road doesn't give you nearly enough time. I pulled into the parking lot of Central Baptist Hospital at around 7:50 with no idea where I was supposed to report on this labyrinthian campus which I had only visited to bring my then fiancé to chemotherapy appointments. Mercifully, I was nowhere near the cancer center. 

I was a confused traveler, lost in a strange forrest.

A couple of lovely fairies in blue scrubs helped me to find the registration office. I had a vague sensation of having been in the same room with Debrah when she was alive, but couldn't be sure. The lady who registered me was very sweet. Asked if I'd like to pay anything on my balance, and when I said no, she suggested I wait for a final decision from the insurance company.

I was pretty distracted when she gave me the directions to the stress lab. Something like, "Go right out the door, turn left, then left again, and the elevator is right there. On the third floor, you'll go left - you have to, because there is a wall on the right, then you'll go left and left again, and the lab is right on your left." Thank you, ma'am. I wandered into the hall, hoping for lots of signage.

"Bob? Bob, is that you?" A pretty little fairie in scrubs caught up with me and gave me a hug. After a few coffee-deprived moments, I recognized Krissy, a girl who used to work at the Y. She is now among the friendly little blue spirits who wander the halls of Baptist Hospital rescuing lost travelers. She pointed me toward the elevators, which I'm almost I remember being on the right, and wished me good luck.

A short ride to the third floor, and a bunch of left turns put me at a set of open automatic doors. About 3/4 of a mile down the hall, a lady with a clipboard called out to me. "Robert?" Turns out she was my nurse, and had been alerted by the forrest spirits that I was stumbling along the path in her direction. I do not remember her name, so I'll call her Renee. She was very kind, like all the folk in the kingdom, and of exceedingly good humor. She laughed and joked as she asked me to strip off my shirt, shaved my chest, and stuck little electrodes all over me to monitor my heart through the test. She asked all the questions to make sure I had followed the instructions in my email, and put a blood pressure cuff on me. My pressure was exceptionally low, which i attributed to all the magic creatures I had encountered on my way to the lab. Then she told me that a nurse named Allison or Adrienne or some such thing would be in in a moment to insert an IV.

With that, the door opened and a little guy with a rapidly receding hairline and a kind face entered and introduced himself as my nurse, Stephen. Renee laughed. I was so accustomed to being confused by this point that I just took it in stride.

Stephen explained the test, used lots of acronyms, and stuck the IV in my arm. I make a habit of always complimenting the skill of anyone who sticks me. I think it relaxes them, and that can't be bad. Stephen's stick was about a six out of ten, I flinched a little, but at least he hit the vein on the first try. "Well done," I said. "Thank you." He seemed relaxed. Another happy blood-letting on my permanent record.

One detail sticks out from our conversation, "After we tilt you up, you may feel light-headed, or even faint during the test. Don't fight it. You are strapped in solidly and you won't fall. We're trying to measure what happens to you when you have an episode. If you pass out, we'll stop the test and put you down." Now, in horse country, the phrase "put you down," is not one you want to hear from a veterinarian, let alone an RN with slightly above-average phlebotomy skills. I made a mental note not to pass out under any circumstances. 

This is where the fogginess starts. I'm flat on my back, strapped down with three wide velcro belts, and Renee took a baseline blood pressure. 104/58. That is so much lower than normal for me that it made me wonder if I had messed up my meds the night before. Little did I know how strange things were about to get. 

Somebody pushed a button, and the table tilted up to 80°, just a slight backward lean. Blood Pressure: 64/44. "Holy Shit!" It would not be the last time I sullied the forrest air with foul language. "How can I still be alive?" Suddenly, my fairies seemed a lot more professional and serious. There was no sense of panic, but I definitely had their attention.

My vision started to blur in my right eye, the side where they found the blocked arteries in my neck. When I closed my left eye, it seemed as if I were looking at the world through a broken window with jagged shards all around the frame. A sharp pain seized the area around my eye, and i started to feel weak. Renee continued monitoring my blood pressure every three minutes. 

 62/42

58/42

60/46

I'm copying these numbers from the report. I don't remember hearing them. I just remember being terrified by them.

They asked me to keep talking and describing what I was feeling. My tongue seemed to thicken and my mouth was having trouble articulating to make words. At one point I told them that my brain was feeling "wooly." I told them about studying diction in acting class and about how Martha had looked after me during my cancer treatment. I told them how bad I felt about not being a good husband. "Oh, fuk. Excuse me, Miss Renee. I'm sorry I said that in front of you." I don't know what I told them after that.

The last reading on Stephen's report says, "50/? - unable to hear a diastolic #" 

And that's when they decided to put me down.

The aftermath is like a medical montage in my memory. Blood pressure readings returning to normal. Stickers being removed. Shirt back on. A forest nymph with a wheelchair rolls me to the front door. She tells me I can take the shuttle or walk to the parking garage. I start walking and realize I have no recollection of where I parked my car. The garage seems a long way away, and it is much colder than I remember. Find the garage. There is the elevator. Pick a floor. The panic button on my keychain sets the horn off. My car is definitely not on this level. Lean out over the rail. Yes, I think it's below me. I should absolutely not be leaning out over this rail. Down the stairs. Find the car. Yeah, a designated driver was recommended, but not required. I really should have lined one up. Send a text to work. Test is over, going home, need subs for my classes. Cancel personal training clients. Loving support from the team at the Y. Start the car. Holy shit. I hate driving in parking garages. Out on the street. Goddam Nicholasville Road. A Yankee must have engineered this traffic pattern. Past campus. Jaywalkers. They have no idea the risk they are taking. Uptown. Parking spot. Front door key. Sophie, vocal and confused. And I pretty much slept until suppertime. 

I don't know what they learned from this. I guess it confirmed that I wasn't making it all up. I'll hear from the doc soon I'm sure. Meanwhile. I feel fine today, and am heading back to work. A nice splash in the pool will do me good.

I prefer the company of geriatric water nymphs over blue fairies, any day. 

At least they've never threatened to put me down.