Rehab

Today was my first day of cardiac rehab. I ran around to stores yesterday trying to find something to wear, like it’s the homecoming dance or something. I bought a pair of black leggings and a black sports bra, just like the ones I already have at home. This morning, I woke up and googled “work out hairstyles” and I laid in bed watching girls do cool hair things, and then I put my hair in my usual bun, put on the old black leggings from my closet, made a huge decaf coffee, and went to rehab.

I like to call it rehab. It’s like being on a first name basis with someone new, or like calling someone by their last name in an affectionate way. And it’s mysterious. The kids can say “my mom is at rehab” and no one will know what’s happening.

I felt nervous this morning. Would I be able to keep up? Would exercise trigger another SCAD? My blood pressure, measured in front of everyone right after a very public weigh in, was a little high for me, as it’s usually quite low. After the shaming, I was handed an exercise prescription card, and a heart monitor was placed. That sounds so easy, but Nurse Angela said “oh a sports bra” and then shoved her hand down my bra, adjusted things, and popped on the monitor. A different nurse showed me where to go and what to do, and I got started.

I was nervous about being on time and having everything I needed along, and so I was late. In the room, which is about the size of a high school classroom and similarly lit, there are all the usual gym things, mostly up to date, except for an ancient, noisy exercise bike with a teeny tiny seat - the kind where the wheel is a fan. The room is upstairs from the cardiology office, and the line of treadmills overlooks the ER. I only had to use the treadmill for 10 minutes, but I got to see three people go in on gurneys and one man in pajamas run in while holding a Frappuccino. I prayed a little bit of the rosary. The people around me were a little too far to chat with, and I’m not super chatty, but I was glad they were happily chattering to one another and it made me want to be their friend.

I made Stephen spend 45 minutes last night after dinner finding some headphones for me to bring along, and pairing them with my temperamental phone. No one had headphones on, and I thought, oh! I’ve stepped into another generation! The other six people in the room were all in their sixties or older, and they were cheerful and funny and happy. Nurse Angela gave a short nutrition lesson and asked some questions about portion sizes.

“Can we ever eat burgers again?”

“NEVER,” everyone responded together, flat and deadpan, some shaking their heads sadly.

“Oh, you can! You just need to make it at home, and not often, and you should use what kind of meat?”

“Turrrrrrkey,” sighed one lady, super sadly, in an Eeyore kind of tone.

“Rachel,” Nurse Angela said to me (full voice), “that is Miss Patty and she is trouble.” Miss Patty flashed me a grin and everyone laughed. I was loving this.

“You can have one every blue moon.”

“Every time I drink a Blue Moon?” joked a jolly looking Asian man. More laughter.

“Ok,” says Angela, grinning. “What’s the serving size for a beer?”

“A six pack!” bellows Miss Patty.

“A keg!,” says a fancy looking, Birmingham type of lady in LuLuLemon.

These are not the types of people I’d have imagined have heart attacks. They’re not even overweight. They don’t have big huge Popeyes cups in hand. I can tell they’re thinking this about me. This makes me go faster on the bike than I really want to, trying to prove my youth and fitness. This, I tell my sister later on the phone, is my ideal gym environment. No one is snotty about the machines, and I don’t feel silly not knowing what they do. After every rotation on a machine, my heart rate is reviewed - I top out at 115, and I remember hearing that I ought to keep it under 120, and this makes me feel not-so-fit and very glad to be here.

Nurse Angela is very direct, and at the end of the session, she removes my heart monitor and says, “we need to get you in great shape. You need to be the picture of heart health because the odds are stacked against you.” Bummer. What does this woman know anyway. She thinks a serving of ice cream is a fourth of a cup and she doesn’t eat bread.

I go home and walk some more. I eat a big lunch of only roasted veggies, which leaves me super hungry but feeling superior. I’ll do this three mornings a week for three months, and I feel really excited about it. I need a new crew, and I like these funny people, and they’ve been through those ER doors just like me, and I don’t know anyone else who has had a heart attack. I might run out for some more leggings or something or some Hokas.