I'm ready when Jack needs me

I went in this week for an Ultrasound. No, don't worry, there is no chance that I am pregnant. Due to the unfortunate genetic history of my family, my heart health is questionable. My heart health is specifically dubious due to the heart-muscle spasms that I had early in 2006.

This ultrasound is actually unrelated to my death-defying personal health history. My mom asked me to have my aorta checked because my Dad had issues with his aorta, and so did his father. I asked my cardiologist about it at my last appointment, Apparently there is a syndrome for tall people. (I guess that the advantages of being tall have to be balanced out somehow). This syndrome is called Marfan Syndrome. I don't think that I have this syndrome, but being tall puts me at risk. The major heart-related concerns with Marfan are aortic dissection and aortic aneurysm. The fact that my dad had the dissection, and his dad had the aneurysm makes me go Hmmm...

So, the cardiologist wanted me to have an ultrasound. "An ultrasound," I thought to myself, "That sounds like a good way to leave work early one day next week!" And, hey, I've seen my wife have a bunch of ultrasounds when she was pregnant. They are no big deal. The tech will just touch my chest with a probe for 10-15 minutes and tell me if it's a boy- maybe even confirm the due date. I might even be able to fit in a quick nap right there on the table.

So I showed up (early) for my scan. I really like to leave work early. The guy had me take off my shirt and lie on my left side. It started off badly when he asked me to breathe all the way out and hold my breath. I, of course, breathed all the way in and held my breath. The tech kind of shook his head and said, "Um, that's breathing in." I'm sure he was thinking something like, "We've got a bright bulb here, don't we."

After that small embarrassment, things went better. He did want to tell me all about his in-laws and their 9 destitute children. But I was able to follow his simple directions correctly.

I thought I was done when he finished scanning the area of my chest where my heart resides. Then he started moving down my chest. "Uh-oh," I thought, "My aorta goes way down my torso, this could take a while!" And it did. After about 45 minutes, he appeared to be done with the scan and had moved down to the bottom of my rib cage. I wasn't able to take a nap after all, because a strange man was pressing a probe against my ribs in a manner that was not relaxing or comfortable. But I wasn't at work, so it was OK.

Then he said, "Please roll onto your back." I correctly rolled my body onto my back, once again correctly following his simple instructions. I was proud of myself and thought that the worst was over. I was wrong.

Once I was positioned (correctly) on my back, he took that probe and attempted to stick it through my solar plexus and up into my lungs. It was a bit unexpected, because up to this point, the probe had remained OUTSIDE my body. Perhaps he was practicing for his other job at a secret CIA prison, I don't know. "You might feel some pressure," he kindly warned me after my soul returned to my body. To replicate the sensation in your own home, ask a loved one to take a carrot, touch the fat end against your solar plexus, and then jam it in until it touches your spine. I discovered that the solar plexus is, shall we say, a sensitive area. He continued with the 'scan' for another 10 minutes. Those were long minutes. He kept asking me to breathe in, breathe out, exhale slowly, hold it right there, inhale slowly, etc. These requests were difficult to honor while trying not to scream like a civil war soldier undergoing an amputation.

I did get to leave work early, but the procedure took over an hour. My tummy is bruised and quite tender. But I did find out that my aorta is in great shape! My entire aorta is in great shape. Even the part under my solar plexus.

I also learned a great method for extracting information if I ever have to help Jack Bauer save the world on 24. He usually calls in a scary looking guy named Steve to torture the suspected terrorist. Maybe next season he'll call in a lanky guy named Jeff, who will be carrying nothing but a carrot.