I aced my heart test and humiliated my PA

I'm so back

Artwork provided by Jacqueline Dooley

The physician’s assistant I see for my general check-ups made the mistake of challenging me to a cardiac CT calcium score contest. Needless to say, things did not go well for her.

She should’ve known better.

Before we get deep into the weeds with this thrilling story of routine medical care, let me assure you that, no, I do not have more interesting things to write about. The best I can offer is more information about my new gym habit or musings on youth sports. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to update you on how my deadlift is coming along or how the U12 basketball team’s full-court press is looking, but I feel like taking a deep dive into CT scans and the burgeoning rivalry with my PA will somehow lose me fewer subscribers.

Anyway, I had a virtual appointment with my PA last week. She was checking all the boxes over FaceTime—anxiety fine with the meds, flu shot done, and so on—then, in a biannual tradition that started sometime around 2022, when my cholesterol began to register as mildly high, she asked if I had been able to get my calcium score test done. According to my other primary care physician, WebMD, arteries damaged by plaque and inflammation attract calcium deposits, so the calcium score test can help identify coronary artery disease, or dangerous plaque in the heart.

I sighed and explained that I hadn’t done the test yet because the insurance always denies it, and the hospital had explained to me on multiple occasions that it costs around two thousand dollars.

Our traditional dance continued with her telling me not to pay that, that there was a place I could get it for $99, self-pay, just walk in and get it done. At this point, however, we went off script, and she actually told me where the place was and sent the order while I was on the call with her. No idea why we never did this before. Perhaps the urgency just wasn’t there.

“You know, men in their forties or fifties who go to sleep one night and just don’t wake up, often have some sort of cardiac condition that could’ve been detected,” my PA said as she typed away on her laptop.

On second thought, maybe the urgency was there.

“My little brother, who is your age, had high cholesterol and scored a 400 on the calcium test. He was a mess, so we treated him aggressively,” she continued. “On the other hand, I scored a one, so you just don’t know.”

My eyes widened. I wasn’t interested in the bit about the brother, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this whole thing was a facade. Had she been playing the super long game for the last three plus years? Was this all one big sham designed to give her the chance to slip in that factoid about her near-perfect cardiac CT calcium score?

Perhaps she heard about my recent colonoscopy and sensed vulnerability? It’s impossible to say for sure, but I feel like it’s probably the leading theory. Occam’s razor, and all that.

Now that I was as alert as my labradoodle when the bunnies are being fed, I pounced.

“So, I can go to this place, pay $99, and get the scan? That’s it?’

“Yep,” the PA replied. “Just don’t have them run the insurance.”

“OK. Game on…ahem, I mean, I’ll try to do it.”

I called the imaging center 30 seconds later, and was at their door within 24 minutes. Turns out it’s located right next to a Thai restaurant we order food from once every year or two. Pretty crazy coincidence. The waiting room was empty. After I filled out some paperwork, a guy with long, stringy gray hair ushered me through a door and into a room with a huge machine in it. He told me to lie on the table and lift up my shirt. Luckily, I had completed four sets on the bench press just a couple of hours before. I held my hands above my head, followed the breathing prompts on the machine’s display, and was up and out of there in about three minutes.

The person at the front desk said the results would be ready in two business days and that they would send them to my doctor.

Waiting is the hardest part.

It was a Tuesday morning and I was just leaving the gym when I got the email: You have new results in the patient portal. I slipped into my car and logged in. A bit breathless with anticipation or fatigue from the gym or an underlying cardiac condition that was killing me slowly. We were about to find out.

I won’t draw this out any longer. My cardiac CT calcium score was zero. ZERO!

I tossed my phone onto the passenger’s seat and pressed the button to start up my car. A smile stretched across my face as I pictured my PA opening her laptop, sliding her reading glasses up on her nose, and perusing my sparkling report.

A zero. On the cardiac CT calcium score test! I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m pretty sure that blows a 1 out of the water. Yep, it was going to be a long day for my PA. I’m honestly not sure how she’ll ever come back from this one.

And my next check-up in six months? That’s probably going to be more than a little awkward. I’ll try my best not to gloat. Hopefully, I don’t die in my sleep before then and ruin my big moment.

Words by me, Andrew Knott. Best known for duck… and Baby-sitters Club?

Books:

Love’s a Disaster - contemporary fiction about a marriage proposal gone wrong, complicated families, mini-golf, second-chance love, Florida, sword fighting, and punk rock music.

Fatherhood: Dispatches From the Early Years - essays and humor about the very early years of my parenting journey