A Twizzler, a heart patient and Sandra Oh walk into a gym…

Proper cardiac rehabilitation starts in the locker room – i.e. finding the close-to-perfect spot where no one can glance or gawk at your Frankenstein’s monster’s scar.

The strategic maneuvering unfolds upon entering the fitness center. (Yeah, it’s a gym. But for $20 a month, its description receives an upgrade and use of the HydroMassage bed. Nice.)

Head to the men’s changing room. Once inside, you have seconds to beeline left, right or straight ahead. Take any longer and you’re checking out the guys. Move, damn it. Move. Find the corner section. THE CORNER SECTION. Open the locker doors to the right and left, which creates a pseudo-enclosed area. Remove the long-sleeve dress shirt and quickly replace it with Ohio Sports and Spine Institute’s complimentary T-shirt.

Whew, avoided the visual frontal body embarrassment. 

                       

Vanity, thy name is Patrick. Wait … wait… back up. Average-looking, middle-aged male, your name tag says “Pat.” Bottom line: I’m self-conscious and fear the ridicule (real or imagined) caused by the after-effects of open-heart surgery.

Sure, I go to a “No Judgement” gym … yes, the company spells “judgment” as judgement” (I shall vent later) … but the members still peek and critique. The woman racing on the treadmill sneaks a look at my heart rate numbers as I work the stationary bike.

View my surgeon’s mark as a north to south line of healed, corrugated tissue with its peaks and valleys displayed on the sternum. The disfigurement starts and ends in the “Aboves” regions. Above the nipples and above the midsection. Pretty? Eh, no. A year after my heart holiday, the blemish remains.

Thought about laser surgery to correct the problem. While I love the smell of deep-fried chicken skin, burned off human flesh is a turnoff. A tattoo or two? Sadly, there is the needle and permanent ink issues. As for designs, I can envision only a red Twizzler, a hickory walking stick or a black-and-white illustration of the chest cavity copied from Gray’s “Anatomy of the Human Body” as acceptable cover-ups. However, a drawing of Sandra Oh from “Grey’s Anatomy” is a possibility.

You can’t let go of what you can’t remove. That’s the price I pay for self-inflicted stupidity.

The workout ends and the wardrobe change begins anew. However, the practice provides another important lesson. Pants. I can’t leave without my pants.

Imagine the embarrassment.