More tests..zzz

So – had two more joyous tests this week to try and work out why I'm so breathless. 

 

Firstly the 'exercise/stress test ECG' – which involves 10 leads being attached to you plus a blood pressure cuff, by the junior nurse lady at Kingston Hospital. Then in strolls the consultant – trousers practically round his thighs, as his bum was so concave, looked like the headmaster from Inbetweeners (if he was a tad browner of skin).

Cue getting on the treadmill, all fine to start with – then they whack up the angle of it so you're romping up hill and give it a natty speed to match. Thank god I was in a room on my own – what a sight to see, back fat wobbling, purple face within seconds, puffing like a beached whale… just lovely.

But – apart from the raised resting heart rate, nothing much he had to say.

Thence on to my 'bogey' piece of testing equipment – the CT scanner at Parkside. Where I had to lie down and be calm (I was until they said that) because my resting heart rate was – again – too high. About 85-90 when she was looking for a beat of about 55-60. Hmm, she'd be lucky. Ended up being given a beta-blocker to bring it down as it's never that low.

Anyway – this machine is the one where they inject you with a dye, which is meant to give you hot hands and feet and a warm wet feeling in the pelvis so you think you've wet yourself. All that is live-able with. What they don't say is IT MAKES YOU THROW UP! Within 5 seconds, bang – and there I was, being hauled out of the giant scanning Polo, and heaving unceremoniously into a little cardboard bowl, oh super nice.

With the radiologist guy going 'oh that's a bit unusual, it doesn't happen very often. And me, once I'd stopped heaving spit (thank god for the 'no food from the night before' rule) asking 'so how unusual is unusual?'.

'Oh, about 1 in 100,000 cases' says the bloke. 100,000!!!!!???? What??? Yep – Scotty Weird Body rides again. I am so sick of being 'special', harrumph.

And then they starting stressing, checking me over saying 'are you itchy? you must be itchy?'

Well, no, not itchy, at all.

'Are you getting a rash? People often get a rash'

Well, no. Can't see any rash, think I'm fine.

'How about hives? Have you got any hives?'

Still, no. Hive-free and not adhering to any of the far more usual side effects.

Just the inexplicable barfing when the metallic dye 'taste' hits the back of your throat (impressive, as they actually inject it into your arm!). So they are writing it up as 'a reaction' – and I only got through half the scan. But they did look at my lungs as well, and chappy is supposed to be sending a letter to tell me if it means anything.

I did then see Prof who – finally!!! – came up with the good suggestion that he look at all my results (the radiologist, the heart & lung man and the rheumatologist) and see if there is something that links it all together. Hurrah – at last a good idea!

Will keep you posted.

In the meantime, never get in a giant Polo with dye. They're mean.

S x