I Don't Speaka Tha Language

I've always been a big believer in picking up a dictionary if you didn't know what a word meant.  Too many times, we see people ask someone else for a definition only to forget what it was a day later.  When I got a copy of my latest echo exam, I knew immediately that it was going to be hard to practice what I preached.  It seems that medical language is something more than a joke uttered about some drug ending in 'pril, 'pro, or 'prin.  Before getting PH, I used to laugh at the medicine prescriptions on the way to the pharmacist, as there was no way they would be able to decipher the chicken scratch and give me the right medicine.  But it turns out that doctors, nurses, and pharmacists do speak a different language, something called medspeak.  

Medspeak started out as a way for village medicine men to communicate with their fellow shaman without upsetting the village leader, or for that matter the village idiot.  If a village person became agitated or distraught, the medicine man would prescribe something called the chilquitadukadukapril.  That was later dumbed down to chill pill.  The tradition has lasted until this day.

Getting back to the echo results, I see some recognizable words like ventricle, valve, and doppler.  But it wasn't the weather that was being measured here.  Evidently there is some tomfoolery going on in my right ventricle and right atrium.  The shaman was back muttering something about tricuspidaorticmitralscleroticregurgitation.  This was definitely something beyond my understanding & also that of Merriam-Webster.  It was time to take a closer look.

Left Ventricle: Normal in size - left ventricular ejection fraction is normal (sounds like a math problem on a genius edition of Jeopardy) - transmitral spectral Doppler flow pattern is suggestive of impaired LV relaxation (OK, rest & relaxation can't be all bad) - flattened septum consistent with RV pressure overload (I don't even own a RV)

Right Ventricle: severely dilated (I promise I didn't smoke anything) - systolic function moderately reduced 

Atria:  left side is normal - right atrium is severely dilated (again with the implications - geesh)

Mitral Valve: normal - no significant stenosis - trace mitral regurgitation  (I don't recall having thrown up recently)

Tricuspid Valve: normal - moderate to severe tricuspid regurgitation - right ventricular systolic pressure is elevated at>60mmHg (OK this sounds kinda serious, but is greater than 60, 61 or 90? All this medspeak and no specifics)?

Aortic Valve: is trileaflet - mildly sclerotic - no aortic stenosis - no aortic regurgitation (Great...mildly erotic leaflets that don't make you throw up)

Pulmonic Value: not well visualized (maybe because they were the ones smoking drugs & had the dilated eyes, not me)

Pericardium/Pleural: no pericadial effusion (evidently, they weren't invited to the party)

The echo goes on to list a number of measurements and calculations, some of which surely could tell you how long the man has lived on the moon.  I knew I should've manned up & paid the cardiologist $50 for the Medspeak-English Dictionary.  I see the Lung Shaman next week.  He better have answers or I might have to break out the voodoo doll.

Yes We Can

Last night I heard glass ceilings shatter all across America; I felt a burden lifted from my shoulders; I sensed a change in the fundamental attitudes that have kept us pinned in the roles we were born into; I saw several American iconic figures brought to tears; I tasted tears of my own as I saw history in the making; I thought that my lifelong desire to see good overcome everything that would keep good from victory had finally come to pass, and I breathed without labor for the first time in two years.

Now that I know we can; I hope to live long enough to see that we did.

Foliage Wars

This week has seen a rise in physical activity if for no other reason than getting up to answer all the robo calls from political hopefuls.  (It seems an unpublished phone number is no obstacle to those who want to take advantage of the politically uneducated).  I took advantage of a feel good day to cut the grass for the last time this season and in the process blow all the fallen leaves to the wood's edge.  My wife has this thing about leaves.  I guess you might call it a pet peeve.  To me, a yard full of fallen leaves is but a sign of the season.  To her it's like having a sink full of unwashed dishes. The siege towers that gave us a measure of shade and privacy in the summer now spew forth a profusion of optical debris. And when the foliage flies, she declares war.  She will spend an entire afternoon raking leaves, bagging them up, and dragging them to the curb for removal.  She has already blown up the leaf blower we bought just 3 years ago.  Now I have been recruited to help in the fight, an army of two if you will.  By riding the mower, I can theoretically help stem the tide of the enemy.  I think for a moment about using gas prices as an excuse but the serious look in her eye tells me that I'm better served to save that for a winnable argument down the road.  So the choices before me are to buy a leaf catcher for the riding mower, detach the side guard so I can mulch, or leave things as they are and just blow the leaves back to the forest's edge.  I choose the latter.  Catching the leaves and leaving them at the curb to be hauled off seems akin to sending your child off to military school.  Mulching them up may have a nutritious effect on the yard but I'm not crazy about having small oaks sprout up everywhere.  At least by blowing them aside they're still part of the landscape.   Sure the squirrels have to dig a little more for their nuts but Oreo appreciates having a bed of leaves to do her business.   I know you think I'm stretching a bit for justification but lets not forget the PH implications.  The only thing I know for sure is: I won't frown any more when I see a youngling clean their room by pushing everything under the bed.