Is there an echo in here?

Okay so yesterday I had an appointment at the St. B Hospital again, this time for an echocardiogram. An echo-what? I know, that's what I said. My doctor was sending me for the test to help rule out heart problems in relation to that fainting spell I had last summer. When I got the call last week about the appointment I couldn't remember if my doctor had said he was going to set me up for this test along with the Holter monitor test (which I did in January, remember, suicide bomber?) or if this was some kind of bonus test that I was getting now because of something that showed up on the Holter results. It made me nervous.

I Googled Echocardiogram and learned that it is is a test that uses sound waves to create a moving picture of the heart. The test can detect things like abnormal heart valves, damage to the heart, infection in the sac around the heart, congenital heart disease...need I go on or are you freaking out as much as I am?

I called my mom to tell her about the upcoming appointment. Her optimistic words of support?

"Maybe you just have a heart murmur or something. You know Grandma has a heart murmur and look how good she is."

How about maybe I don't have a single freakin thing wrong with me? I remember waaaay back last summer when I had the fainting spell that the paramedics and my doctor said it was probably all just due to a low tolerance for pain and I vehemently disagreed because I, Jillian, can take all sorts of pain. I may whine and cry about it, but it has to be super bad before I'll take a single Advil. Now, facing another test to check out my heart, i.e., the very thing keeping me walking and talking and tripping over myself in Zumba class, I am fully ready to accept a diagnosis of "low tolerance for pain" just to put the whole mess behind me.

I had one of the first appointments of the day. Having been to the hospital once before now for a test I figured I knew where to go to check in. No, I was wrong. Apparently they have numerous places to check in. Who thinks these things through? Hospitals are big and kind of scary because you're not often there on good terms. If I were designing the place I'd have a big check in desk right at the front, that is staffed at least 7:00 am to 5:30 pm with happy, smiley, warm people. You'd give them your name, they'd enter you into a computer and then offer a friendly happy volunteer to walk you to whichever department you need to get to. where you can then complete the check in process.

Anyway, I was redirected to the correct reception desk in the Heart Sciences area. I was told to take an elevator. Ooooh, she's going for an echocardiogram, better not send her to the stairs, she might have a bad heart. I kept my eye out for a staircase but couldn't see one so I reluctantly took the stupidly slow elevator. I sincerely hope they don't use that thing for emergencies. All the heart research in the world ain't gonna help if every heart attack victim has to wait for an elevator.

When I got up to the heart department--which has things like pacemakers and information on the effects of smoking hanging on the wall--I was the second person in line to check in. Ahead of me was a rather large woman who used a wheeling-walker thing and had laboured breathing. Hm. I thought to myself, one of us has a heart problem. Please don't let this be the picture perfect public serivice announcement with a surprise twist ending.

When it was my turn to speak to the clerk at the desk I gave her my name. She looked on her screen.

"Jillian Shannon?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Jillian and Shannon are the names of my daughters," she smiled. She confirmed with me my phone number and address, even asked my religion. Next she asked for my emergency contact person and then she said, "oh wait, I have it here, oh my goodness, your mom's name is Bev, that's my name."

Cute, Universe. Cute. Way to play the name game. Is this supposed to calm my nerves? Can we just get this over with please so I can get on with living a very normal and healthy life?

A few minutes later I went in for the test and the cardiologist notices my name and tells me, "that's my daughter's middle name. Her first name is Claire." So then I told her the story about the woman at the front desk and then she said,"well I guess you were just meant to be here today." Meant to be at the hospital is not really what a supposedly young and healthy woman wants to hear while she is getting her heart checked out, but sure, I suppose the coincidences were somewhat entertaining. Or weird. One of those.

So the echocardiogram itself is essentially an ultrasound on your chest. There's a wand and goo and a fuzzy picture in a pie shaped area on the screen. I didn't really watch. Once in a while she would turn on the sound and I'd hear my heart but this, for me, was not all amazing like it is when a woman hears her baby's heart beat in the womb. Mostly I was sitting there wondering, is that supposed to sound like that? I suppose pregnant ladies get to hear things like, "your baby's heart is looking and sounding very good!" I was just laying there feeling smothered by my own name, trying to breath normally so my heart wouldn't race, hoping that I was normal and healthy and wondering what time I would be able to get into work at.

The test took 20 minutes or so. I found my way out of the hospital, paid for parking, fought with morning rush hour traffic to get home only to miss the next bus out by 30 seconds. I decided to walk in the drizzle. I sped past a senior couple and a daycare group. I had my iPod on and tried to get lost in a favourite song.

I don't want to have a heart problem. I don't want to have coincidence keeping me company at a hospital appointment. I don't want to get old and do all this stuff without someone holding my hand. I don't want to but I am. I don't know about my heart, but my spirit has strength, and of the two I think that's the harder one to apply medicine to if it needs repair.