Cardiac Rehab 1

The Cardiac Rehab Clinic orientation session started today at 9am, having only been told to bring a pen and paper didn’t sufficiently prepare me for the fact that this would last for the better part of 5 full hours. I have not done 5 full hours of anything for quite a few weeks now. This was going to be a long day.

We had arrived with the grossly incorrect assumption that we would likely be there for an hour or so to sign up, we realized swiftly enough that mum would not be able to stay as her flight left after lunch, so we said very hurried, impromptu goodbyes (more on the sad Mum + fruit plate free state of my life tomorrow) and she left with our gracious chariot driver, Tony to head back home. I headed to the start of the, far more involved than anticipated session,with a panic educing battery life reading of 48%.

I wondered if they purposefully omit the fact that the session is five hours long to ensure attendance. If that were the strategy it worked smashingly as the room was jammed full with 20+ participants.

The average age surpassed mine by 30 odd years, the average hairstyle was male pattern baldness, the average body type rotund to “are you ok?”and the average reproductive organ; penis. I wondered in this sea of bypass surgeries, heart attacks and angioplasties why the ratio of men to women seemed so low. The information slides later pointed out the higher mortality rate in heart attacks in women and I stopped wondering and instead smiled silently to the few of us who were actually there.

Nobody else was there because of a valve replacement, but I was pleased to learn about all the other variances of things that hearts can do when they decide to ‘go wrong’. I again counted more of my blessings for being – for the most part – a strong healthy person with – for the most part – a strong healthy heart. We went around the room to say what our conditions were. The nurse asked what sort of valve I got and I yelled out ‘PIG’, as if I had turrets. It was one of my proudest moments; I was a millisecond away from pulling out my hospital valve ID card. I really showed them not to pork with me. (see what I did there, yeah me too…)

The program is actually very well-organized and I again feel blessed to be offered such excellent healthcare options. Every medical system has its flaws, but I still sing praises for what we have here in Canada. Over the course of the rehab program I will have unfettered access to a dietitian, rehab nurses, Kinesiology practitioners, pharmacist and a cardio rehabilitation facility.

For a short time at the beginning the lecturer kept looking at me, perhaps considering that I might be in the wrong room, so I took off my scarf and unzipped my hoodie to show my heart club ID scar. I was in with the in crowd.

8 Cardiac Risk Factors

We learned about the 8 Cardiac Risk Factors and I took immediate umbrage to the first listed item. The stated quantities of one 5oz glass only per day seemed like some devastatingly flawed data to me. I made a note to further enquire at my one and one session to make sure that this wasn’t a misprint that should perhaps read; One Bottle per day. I plan to write an angrily worded letter to some sort of authority. I think the happiness police must be made aware of his travesty.

More importantly we were told that – and I paraphrase:
Blood pressure should not be too high because your head will blow off.
Diabetes, in general is a total douchebag and your heart and kidneys both would like to kick it in its stupid face.
Stress is a dickhead and you should avoid it at all costs.

We were schooled on the mysteries of LDH and HDL cholesterol, hypertension and why it is so dumb, and the way arterial plaque looks like cream cheese in every model and diagram ever shown. I am so pleased that my arteries are cream cheese free because that shit honestly really grosses me out and puts me off all dairy.

One gentleman enquired why his chest was still so sore after his very recent open-heart surgery. I then punched him in his neck for asking self answering questions. (I didn’t but I wanted to..)
The nurse giving the talk – who incidentally is hilarious and my new fave person ever – proceeded to describe, in animated detail, how the breastbone is ‘harder than you think’ and you often not only needed a saw, but also a hammer and a chisel to “crack” it open. She even made hammering motions with her hands as she described it. I laughed and fainted inside at the same time. She is seriously the best.

My first actual exercise session starts on February 20. I plan to grab it with both hands and destroy its smirking treadmill face.
Bring it on rehab; you got nothing on this junkie.