A few weeks ago, I was having some funny stirrings in my chest. Like my heart was having hiccups. About ten times a day. It started to freak me out, especially since my father just recovered from his second open heart surgery a few months ago. So, I went to my doctor to get it checked out, and after running and ECG and all of that mumbo jumbo, she told me it was probably Premature Ventricular Contractions. Very common, certainly not life threatening, but something to investigate. Usually, they are caused by stress, fatigue, excessive caffeine, and even MSG. Considering that it started to occur a week after I had my accident, stress is probably the culprit.

So I got a call last week that they wanted me to come in and get hooked up to a Holter Monitor that records my heart’s activity to rule out any underlying heart stuff, considering my family history. I have to wear this contraption all day, without getting it wet or taking it off. For 48 hours.

It’s got five electrodes taped to my torso, and let me tell you, it’s doing wonders for my fashion sense.

I don’t have any shirts that entirely cover it up. In some ways, I feel like not hiding it and just wearing whatever, like those misfit celebrities wearing their court-issued alcohol bracelets. And then there’s the issue of the five cords dangling down the front, attached to this black box that I can hook on to my pants. Miss P thinks the whole setup is hilarious. And I have yet to pick her up without getting her toes stuck in one of the cords. This morning she accidentally yanked one off. Oops!

I get to take it off tomorrow morning, so my Father’s Day present to Jon is me taking a shower finally. The bird bath I gave myself this morning just isn’t cutting it.