Joe McAdory: I've got nuclear stress test donut disorder

I love glazed donuts. I could devour a box of them each morning, jump into a swimming pool full of them and chew my way out.

I am to glazed donuts what the Cookie Monster is to a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints.

I am to glazed donuts what Mr. Whipple is to Charmin.

I am to glazed donuts what the silly rabbit is to Trix.

I cannot resist their doughey-gooieness.

That said, you can imagine the psychological pain and temptation I endured the morning a box of glazed delights were brought into the doctor’s office at my nuclear stress test.

I was prohibited from food or drink for at least eight hours leading to the cardiovascular examination.

It was torture.

As ordered, I had nothing, except maybe some toothpaste backwash.

And there they were a few feet away … round, shiny high-caloric objects of my desire. Starving like never before, the sight of their holiness was a blessing, a golden ray of sunshine shone down from the heavens as a chorus of angels sang “Hallelujah.”

I frowned and gnashed my teeth as I watched one person after another put their paws into this special donut box for a treat. I’m starving. I’m bound to this table with heart monitor electrodes stuck to my chest, a catheter I thought the whole time was a needle taped into my forearm, and my pulse clearly shot through the roof. Sorry if I blew a circuit to their fancy little heartbeat machine.

As I watched from my personal trauma unit, the sugar-laced morsels disappeared one by one.

Lady, put the last donut down. No, no, don’t put it in your mouth. And, good grief, don’t lick your fingers. Can I at least lick the bottom of the box?

Moments later, I climbed aboard the treadmill, mentally defeated and famished. They pushed me to 100 beats per minute, and eventually 150. Sorry if I drooled all over the place. Saliva doesn’t always hang from my chin.

The stress test was over. They walked me past the golden room where the donuts were shared into another place, made me lie on a table and remain perfectly still as some high-tech camera took pictures.

Bound again. I detest parameters.

Then my nose itched.

Now what? I can’t move, I’m starving, thirsty, psychologically devastated by watching folks frolic in the donut box and I can’t scratch a crazy itch. Just another part of this nuclear stress torture examination.

Got word the other day I failed their little test and need a heart catheterization. Found out I’m not supposed to eat or drink long before this procedure either. Hmmph ...

I’ve got to warn folks near the hospital’s cath lab: if you’ve got glazed goodies, go ahead and phone security.

I’ll be the freak streaking down the hall in a gown, wires stuck to my chest, IV dangling from one arm, and eating your Krispy Kremes with the other.

Joe McAdory is editorial page editor for the Opelika-Auburn News. He can be reached at 737-2549 or jmcadory@oanow.com