You gotta have heart

I debated about writing this because it's a little personal and not a little boring. But what the heck. This is what blogs are all about, right? So, damn the torpedoes, here we go: My family, on my father's side, has a serious history of heart problems. My dad died at the ripe old age of forty-four from his second heart attack. He smoked and drank and didn't do much in the way of exercise. He wasn't a very healthy guy. It's kind of strange to realize that he's been gone for nearly thirty years already.

One of the readouts from my EKG. I'm not sure which or how, because there are several pages like this.

His mother, my grandmother, suffered serious circulatory problems and underwent multiple by-pass surgeries in her later years. My dad's sister, my aunt, who's now in her seventies, has also had similar heart problems and surgical interventions. And just a few months ago, my younger sister suffered a mild heart attack that resulted in the insertion of stents. She's not even fifty years old yet.

So, given this history, my doctor advised me to see a cardiologist. Of course I put it off. About eighteen months ago, a French friend of ours died in his sleep from a heart attack. He was fifty-two years old. More recently, in March, the husband of an American friend died suddenly from what was apparently a heart attack. At age sixty-two. He was, from all outward appearances, an active and healthy guy (of course I don't really know the details). It was this sudden death and my sister's heart attack that finally jarred me and I called the cardiologist and made the appointment. I had to wait six weeks during which time I imagined all manner of horrible things, but none of them came to pass.

Last week I went up to the clinic in Blois for my appointment. I told the doctor all about the family history and gave him my latest blood work results. He did some listening, some feeling about, and then hooked me up to the machines for an electrocardiogram. After that, he did an echo-cardiograph which is basically an ultra-sound of the heart. Beep-beep, woosh-woosh! I actually got to hear the sound of my blood pumping through the chambers of my heart.

After the exams we talked again. He said that everything was completely normal. He saw nothing unusual, no anomalies. Frankly, I was surprised. And relieved. Then he said we'd do a stress test for good measure and scheduled that for a few days later.

I returned to Blois on Tuesday for the stress test, called une épreuve d'effort in French. Remember, I'm doing all this in French which adds a little layer of anxiety for me. I will tell you that nearly everyone I've encountered in the French medical system has been friendly, encouraging, and not at all put off by the fact that I'm a foreigner with an accent. They usually assume I'm English, but when they find out I'm American they really open up and tell me about their experiences of the U.S. through family or travel. It's really a good ice-breaker and puts me at ease after a few minutes.

An aside: I'm named after my father, who was named after his father, who was named after his. My birth certificate shows the Roman numeral IV after my name, and consequently, so do many of my official documents, including my French health service card. People always ask me about it and the cardiologist was no exception. When he said he had a question about my card, I thought uh-oh, what is the problem now? But all he wanted to know was what the IV meant. I have a standard answer that seems to please everyone. I tell them, "Je suis Walter le quatrième, comme Henri IV (I'm Walter the fourth, like king Henri the Fourth)." Big smiles all around. I think they're amused by American pretentions.

Another aside: My birth certificate. I got the first copy of my birth certificate when I applied for my first passport in 1981. I went to the bureau of vital statistics in my hometown and asked for it. They typed out a fresh certificate that was very short (half a page), signed and stamped it, and that has served as my birth certificate since. Hey, if it's good enough for me, it should be good enough for President Obama, right? But I digress... It was only very recently, when I enrolled in the French national health system, that I was asked for the "long form" certificate. I had no idea what this could be, so I called the hometown office again and asked. Oh, sure, they said, they could photocopy the long form on file and send it to me for a fee. It has my parents' names and birth dates on it, and includes their race. Do they still put race on birth certificates? So, it took the French to ask for the long form for me to finally see it, nearly fifty years after the fact. I'll bet if the French had asked to see Obama's long form certificate, Americans would have told them that the short form is good enough, dammit. I digress again...

So... the stress test went well with no unusual readings. I rode a stationary bicycle while hooked up to the computers. The resistance steadily increased and I broke a sweat at the third level. At the fourth level my legs gave out. I was a bit embarrassed that I only went nine and a half minutes; I thought I should have done better. Then there were about four more minutes of cooling down by pedaling back at the first level. Phew!

I did some research when I got home and found (on the WebMD site) that the average stress test lasts between seven and twelve minutes, so I guess I didn't do too badly after all.

So, the bottom line is that the cardiologist found nothing unusual in the readings, said that my cholesterol and blood pressure numbers are good, and that I am not overweight. He said to come back in five years for another go. I know that these tests are just tests. I know that the good results don't necessarily mean I'm in the clear. But it's a good sign, and I'll take it.

My regular doctor was pleased. So am I.