Conditions of the Heart
I folded the laundry before I went to the ER.
In my defense, it had been sitting in the dryer since the day before, and I didn’t want Cubby to have to deal with it if something happened. Folding laundry is not his thing. Plus, I figured he’d have enough to worry about with the dogs.
The dogs were the reason I hadn’t gone to the ER the night before, when the trouble with my heart began. I knew that if I left, they’d be upset. So, I told myself that if I didn’t feel better in the morning, I’d go then.
And I didn’t feel better. I felt worse. The irregular heartbeat was still irregular. “I think I should probably go to the ER,” I told Cubby once the t-shirts and socks were folded. “Just in case.”
When I arrived, I approached the attendant at the front desk. “Not to be dramatic,” I said, “but I think I may be having a heart attack.”
He seemed unconcerned but sat me down and checked my heart rate. “This can’t be right,” he said. He called a nurse over and asked her to take a second reading. “Get him in a room,” she said after seeing the number on the monitor. “Now.”
After that, a lot happened very quickly. Then a doctor appeared. “Your heart rate is almost 200 beats per minute,” he said. “How long has it been like this?”
I counted backwards. “About 13 hours,” I said.
He looked surprised. “Your heart is reacting as if you’ve been running a marathon all night,” he said. “I’m surprised you’re still with us.”
He then informed me that they needed to reset my heart. Specifically, they were going to use a drug to stop it and restart it. “This is going to feel yucky,” he said as he prepared to inject something into the IV in my arm.
Before I could ask him to define “yucky,” it was done. I waited for something to happen. Things went a little fuzzy. Then I saw the heart monitor beside the bed flatline. A few seconds later, it blipped happily again.
“Did I just die?” I asked.
“Technically, yes,” the doctor said. “But only briefly. How do you feel?”
“Better,” I told him. “Actually, fine.”
“You’re very calm about all of this,” he remarked. “People are usually much more upset when we do that.”
I offered to cry a little, but he said that wouldn’t be necessary. “So,” I said. “Did I have a heart attack?”
“It was a supraventricular tachycardia,” he said. “Not a heart attack. But it could easily have caused one, particularly since somebody let it go on for 13 hours before coming in.”
“I had laundry to fold,” I explained. But I promised I wouldn’t do it again. “I’m still going to say I had a heart attack,” I told him. “It’s more exciting. And easier to pronounce.”
They kept me overnight, both to make sure I didn’t have another SVT and because there was more news—I also have diabetes. That was a whole other thing, and actually worse than the heart thing, as it involved insulin and waking me up every half-hour to test my blood. Also, they sent in a perky dietitian to explain to me that I can never eat anything fun ever again and have to learn to like spinach greens and sand.
Both things also resulted in prescriptions for a lot of medications. Before going in, I took only a daily multivitamin. Now, I take seven different things. I also get to test my blood sugar twice a day. I had to make a chart and get a pill box, which is a bit like the Trapper Keeper I had in fifth grade to organize all my papers but somehow less fun. I also have an app on my phone that reminds me when to take my pills and records the readings from my glucose monitor and sends them right to my doctor, so that he can yell at me for eating the wrong things.
The meds have been the most difficult thing to adjust to, especially in the first few weeks. One of them caused changes in eye pressure, which made my vision fuzzy for a while. Another I would know was working, my doctor said, “when you start having diarrhea.” Which of course came on while I was at the Kroger, shopping for spinach greens and sand.
I do feel better than I have in years, though, which is something. And given that I made it to 54 before having any major health issues, I consider myself pretty fortunate. Still, this is a reminder that bodies do wear out, and that Things Can Happen. And we won’t even get into how much getting your heart reset costs, even with insurance.
But at least the laundry got folded. ▼
Michael Thomas Ford is a much-published Lambda Literary award-winning author. Visit Michael at michaelthomasford.com.