PATIENCE AND HEART MONITORS

by MARY DE LA PENA, ESQ

AUTHOR of A LAYMAN'S GUIDE TO 

CRIMINAL DEFENSE

Patience has never been one of my virtues. No amount of counting to ten; or trying to find my “happy place”; or even redirecting my attention will calm me once I am focused on a result. The desired result I to which I was aiming that morning as I drove the 70 miles to my doctor was to remove that damnable heart monitor! The one he put on me to find out why my heart was doing salsa dancing in my chest.

The closer I got to my doctor’s office in Long Beach, the more I was aware of the itching beneath my right breast. It was no longer just an itch; it was a raging fire that needed tending—right now!

Maybe it was the tension in my voice, or the scowl on my face, or my resemblance to an angry pit-bull that made the receptionist immediately usher me into a waiting room. Maybe it was just that the test required exactly 24 hours. I don’t know for sure which it really was. But, as soon as I was in the room, the nurse immediately came in, removed the memory chip and batteries. He murmured a quiet, “I’ll be right back to help you with the monitor”.

Like—HELL!

He was no sooner out the door than I was removing the band from around my waist and following each lead-wire up to the connecting spot on my body. As I reached each one, I ripped the offending gluey object from my chest and sighed. Eight leads, eight spots looking like I’d had all-nighter with a hickey-prone lover. But, the relief was almost immediate. 

Ten minutes later the nurse returned as I was using alcohol and a paper towel to remove the offending glue. He stood at the door stunned.

“You removed the monitor yourself?” he asked in not well-hidden disbelief. 

“Of course?” I snapped. “They itched and I needed them off.”

He said nothing, but took the offending monitor from my outstretched hand, turned on his heel and left. I followed him out, but he said nothing as he passed the receptionist.

She looked up at me, handed me a card with the new appointment—two weeks into July! I was supposed to wait two weeks to find out if I had a heart that was doing what it was supposed to do? How could I wait that long?

I started to steam, and my heart did a tattoo in my chest, rapidly jiggering, making me feel faint.

Then it hit me—patience! I needed patience if I was going to survive this new health crisis and my transition from trial attorney to author! Holy moly. Was it really that simple? Was all of this really just about changing my life to stop the stress by learning that simple word?

Hmmm, maybe so. . .