April 15, 2003 | Category:

Pushing Blood

In an effort to finally figure out why I occassionally collapse and black-out, my doctor suggested that I had a heart monitor attached for 24 hours. This didn’t bother me too much.

When I turned up to have it fitted yesterday, it turns out it wasn’t a heart monitor he wanted fitted; it was a blood pressure monitor. This did bother me. A lot. I really don’t like having my blood pressure taken: restricting my arms, squeezing out my vains, making me lose feeling for a minute or two. It’s not my idea of fun. But, since it was supposedly in my own best interest, I got it attached.

Now, it’s fairly bad when a doctor takes your blood pressure. He can at least figure out how tight it’s supposed to get and get it done quickly. Apparently, machines can’t. It over-inflated almost every time, making sleeping quite difficult. Every hour (or every half hour before 10pm), it would switch on and try to cause my hand to burst. The experience was akin to having a Boa Constrictor attached to your arm; not entirely comfortable.

It’s off now. But I started thinking about the chances of it having found anything. Now, the fact that it kept waking me up last night means that my mathematical prowess is slightly off, but I reckon the chances of it actually picking up one of my crazy-fun-collapso-fits is 900 to 1. That’s not a horse I’d bet on.