I guess you could say my heart wasn’t in it.
Yesterday, just after making a clever but overall ineffective play, my legs kinda stopped working. I could pedal and all of that, but I couldn’t really put any force behind the movement.
And then I started getting dizzy.
And then by heart felt like it was trying to match the Macarena, but not the “aaaay, macarena!” part, but the part before that where nobody knows the lyrics and they just kind of mumble to themselves while touching parts of their body.
So I asked Darby to sub and sat down on the bench. My heart was still going crazy nuts and my legs were numbish, and I felt pretty short of breath.
So while I was planning out what my last words were going to be for the club, A voice piped up rather loudly and said, “hey, I’ve got medical background, lemme check you out.”
It was one of Ted’s friends, Amber, and she is pretty much the saint of the story, so just keep that in mind.
She did all sorts of fun little tests, checked my heart by putting her ear against my sweaty, disgusting chest and gave me options: either get it checked out right away or wait until tomorrow and get it checked out then.
I took the first option, as I am allergic to death.
She said “good choice, I’ll drive you!” The boys shuffled me off, promising to
divide my things equally between them get my car and equipment home for me, and Amber and I left for the hospital.
I learned two things on the car-ride to the ER:
- Amber was an ICU nurse for 10 years in Baltimore
- Going was a good choice, as my left arm went numb while we were en route
So, we get there, and Amber is more than my advocate. She’s pulling nurses to me, explaining my symptoms, working with the people there to get me where I need to go. She stays with me even when the get me into a room and makes me comfortable/relaxed.
My wife makes it to me and Amber takes her leave, giving us her phone number and telling us that if we need anything, to call – and that she hopes to go out with us sometime under better circumstances.
Let me tell you, dear readers, if you see Amber on the street, tell her thank you. Give her a puppy, anything. She’s amazing and I owe her quite a lot a the moment.
So I get all sorts of tests run, all the while trying to explain exactly what bike polo is and how, yes, it is a physically demanding sport.
Oh, and one more thing: I was in my polo shorts until early morning. uuuggghhhhh.
So the end result is this: my heart must have seen something that freaked it out, freaked out, and needed the good stuff to calm it back down. They don’t quite know why it was trying to escape from the prison of my ribs, but now I’m on medication for that with appointments to make with cardiologists.
What does this mean for polo? I’ll see you on Sunday, that’s what it means.
Okay – that’s kind of too brave of me to say: we’ll see where I’m at next pickup day. But if all goes well I’ll be back in the saddle before too long.
A big, HUGE thanks to my club for their concern, well wishing, and offers of help. You bastards are some of the best people I know, and I appreciate everything.
Likewise, thank you to my wife for sticking by me in that goofy-cold room, and for not saying “I told you so” too much.
And Amber – once I figure out your address you’re getting flowers and dinner and whatever else you want. Thank you thank you thank you.