Your attention, please.

People. Hear me when I say this: Tell your parents they need to go get a stress test straight away. Especially if they think the pain they experience in their chest is a mere case of indigestion because they just ate a hearty lunch. Ok, tell them even if they don't think that, but it's probably worth getting things checked out every now and again.

I'm armed with more than four exhibits to back this up, but four should get the point across:

Exhibit A: Uncle Don.
I got a phone call last year from my mom saying that they were on their way to the hospital, basically following the ambulance containing Uncle Don, my mom's sister's husband. Uff da. He'd suffered a minor heart attack, which, thankfully, was fixed with the insertion of a few stents.

Exhibit B: My mother.
As you know, she had open heart surgery last November, complete with a 7-way bypass. Uff da. My now heart-healthy Mom and Uncle Don like to compare heart-healthy diets and talk about their daily, heart-pumping walks.

Exhibit C: Uncle Iver.
Aunt Camille, my dad's sister, and her hubby Iver leave their Tacoma-area home every spring to go to Arizona for spring training. They have a little house down there that I'm quite jealous of, considering Arizona has the heat I'm looking for in California. This last spring, Uncle Iver went to the dentist in Arizona and through a series of questions and, I'm sure, some tests, they decided right then and there he should be taken to the hospital for his own open heart procedure. In Arizona. At the end of spring training. So they had to stay there longer instead of going back to Tacoma. Uff da. They're home now, though, and his recovery seems to be going swimmingly.

Exhibit D: My father.
Dad called me tonight to tell me he'd taken it upon himself to get a stress test because he's only getting more and more tired watching mom and Uncle Don run circles around him. At first he said he blamed it on age and his post-boat-accident-injury-riddled body (something that happened when I was just a twinkle in his eye), but the more tired he got, the more he thought about the stress test.

Well, that and it's really no fun to watch someone go through open heart surgery. It's scary, it looks painful, you aren't supposed to eat mac & cheese as much afterward, I get light headed when I see someone I care for is in a hospital, and it's scary. Scary enough that I've listed it twice.

Well, dad went in for a stress test and they basically told him things could look better. We'll find out a little more early next week, but for now dad has been given a few instructions and medicine to help get things working better because not all the parts of his big, loving heart are being treated as equals by blood and oxygen. Soooo...this Monday he has a consultation to see what the ol' doc has to say. It's likely looking like medication and an altered diet will suffice, but he has a hunch it'll involve stents. This is a nicer alternative to open heart surgery, of course, and I'm happy the doctor didn't call him and tell him to get to the hospital asap like they did with my mom, who was referred to at the time as a "walking time bomb."

Uff da.

I'm proud of my daddy-o for getting checked out. It's not every day you'll find a big, strong man admitting he thinks his heart might need a bandaid.

Please keep L.J in your prayers as the docs take a closer look to see what's going on, and for any procedures & recovery, as simple or as complex as may be necessary, to go well so he can start power walking with the rest of his posse. Thank you :)

Team Thompson against pesky arteries