Next stage on my way back is rehab.

Being young (read: under 60 and don’t consider stretching for a pack of cigarettes in front of the tv as cardio) I’m considered low-risk, which means I’m eligible for a new thing called long-distance rehab. Basically, instead of having to come in and ride a stationary bike with the other one-foot-in-the-grave cardiac patients, they give you a tailored training program and a smart watch to record your vitals, and you work out at home. They started this because people don’t usually take advantage of cardiac rehab since it’s a hassle. My health care provider doesn’t want to pay for it because they have their own rehab (which is on-premises and going to take a couple of months to start), so I’m paying out of pocket while appealing their decision. It’s not a lot of money, but I’m perfectly willing to go to court on principle since it pisses me off that others in my situation would have their recovery extended.

So now I need to get certified low-risk, which means a cardiac stress test. The nurse hooks me up to the ECG and I get on the treadmill, which is stuck on an incline position (she said it’s at 16%. Does that sound right?), so I guess we’re doing incline. As usual I hear the joke about why was I in such a hurry to have a heart attack.

We start off slowly. Her niece is getting married, and she catered her wedding just for her young friends but there’s a big family of older people (they came from the Soviet Union), who also just happen to be the ones who bring the most expensive gifts so she told her she should find a way to have a quiet place at the wedding and on a scale of 1 to 20, how difficult is this?

I tell her it’s a 3. The treadmill picks up the pace. Heart rate jumps to 95, but gradually drops back down to high 80s as I get used to the new pace.

She took her niece to see a place where there’s a cafeteria area so the older people can talk in quiet but it’s more expensive. Are you at a 10?

Nah, probably a 7. She looks at me funny.

We pick up the pace. It’s now a light jog, but on an incline. I tell her now it’s a 10. She tells me this doesn’t make sense, since I‘m coming back from a heart attack. And is it more difficult in terms of breath or legs?

Breath. I don’t feel it in my legs at all.

Her oldest is a 16-y.o. daughter. She’s at that age, so she tells people to not even talk to her unless it’s absolutely necessary. Took them 9 years to get pregnant again. Can you go on?

Sure, it’s a 12-13.

You know, this is where people find it very difficult to continue.

Nope, still fine.

The second birth was a set of twins. A boy and a girl. She’s very happy about that. But her mother came to help out, (I’m at 14) so the big kid got used to grandma catering service (15 now but no biggie) and it was very difficult to get her back in line. At first they didn’t know it was twins. Then they found out but at the ultrasound they could only identify the gender of the girl so her husband was worried (17) he‘d only have girl.

She tells me that’s enough and I can stop now.

I guess she ran out of stories?