Partial Eclipse of the Heart
As I said earlier, if I write or talk or think too much about my recent adventures, it only gets my blood and heart rate going again, the very thing I'm supposed to be avoiding. But if I don't write about it people are going to keep asking me. So, for anyone thinking of calling me up to chat about how I am: I'm fine now, I was in hospital overnight mostly for observation, I'm on what they considered the proper meds, I'll be making follow-up medical appointments and trying not to get too worked up or move around a lot until I regain my energy which is sapped mostly by talking on the phone so please don't call, thanks for understanding!
So, my 48-year-old body decided to give me a belated birthday present last Thursday morning, when I awoke at 6:30 AM feeling like there was an anvil on my chest. I wanted to make sure it wasn't a heart attack, so I had Rob call 9-1-1, and the FDNY EMS guys were there almost right away. My heart rate was over 180 and very erratic. I was able to go to the bathroom once more before they gave me a few mouth-sprays of nitro whisked me over to the NY Presbyterian Allen Pavilion's emergency room center, where I began to feel better but was hooked up to so many monitors and tubes that, in retrospect, it was a very good thing indeed that I'd performed my morning ablutions. I was also grateful I'd plugged in my cell phone to recharge the night before, because I'd turn out to need it for most of my stay.
Still in ER, where I was to remain for most of the day, stripped and in two thin hospital gowns (one for the front and one for the back), I called work and told them I wouldn't be in that day, and probably not the next. I called my parents to check on whether there was a family history of a-fib, and found out, surprise surprise, that both Mom and Dad have the same condition. Which led me to wonder when exactly they were planning on telling me that, which might have saved me an ER trip as I could have gone to a cardiologist long ago, which of course raised my heart rate and blood pressure (my systolic was also around 180)... and not getting into a room for hours and hours after being told I'd have to stay overnight didn't help either.
Finally, around 5 PM, hours after Robin had gone home at my insistence, I was taken for an ultrasound, after which I spoke with the resident cardiologist. She said the ultrasound showed I had an enlarged left atria (shouldn't the singular be "atrium?", I thought) and that, together with the erratic heartbeat which I've experienced before (as a sort of "flutter" which usually goes away within a minute or two but didn't this time), put me at risk for blood clots and possibly stroke. Again, not that much of a surprise considering family history (grandfathers who both passed away from heart attacks in the days when they were far less treatable, a maternal grandmother who'd had a series of strokes). She gave me a couple options for what was to come on Friday - they were either going to start me on cumidin (which is what my dad takes, I'd earlier learned), but that took a few days to kick in so they'd need to keep me until Tuesday, and I was adamant about getting out ASAP. They could also teach me to self-inject a different anti-coagulant called lovinox, which didn't thrill me (I'd make a lousy heroin addict) but if it got me out of there the next day then fine. Then she started to pile it on - I probably have high blood pressure (not "borderline" as I've been told by every doctor I've been to for the past 20 years), I might have the onset of diabetes, and hey, have I considered stomach stapling?
Say WHAT? Why on earth would I, as someone who has been naturally fat my entire life, for a moment consider elective surgery which could kill me? You can imagine at this point what's happening to my stress levels, dear readers.
Then she left me alone to ponder my fate - apparently there was some sort of fire drill so none of the orderlies were around to take me back to ER or up to the room I had been told was waiting for me since around 3 PM. Yeah, completely alone for an hour, no stress there. Back to ER and lying in an ever-colder corridor for another hour, no stress there! Finally taken to the wing where my room was and left in that corridor by the nurse station... I actually got into my assigned room (a private one, amazingly!) by about 8:30, with no working phone or TV ("the technicians are only here to hook them up between 11 AM and 7 PM" I was told - then why didn't they get me there before eight bloody thirty?? yep, stress level just fine!) but with lots of blood pressure taking and such. I was somewhat ambulatory at last if I unhooked the oxygen nose-thingie and dragged the hepirin IV into the bathroom with me; fortunately I'd only had a bit to eat at around 2 PM so I didn't need to take care of too much.
So I tried to sleep, which as you might suspect is nearly impossible at a hospital, even once one gets used to the needles and oxygen thingie and crib-bars and drifts off in a quiet room overlooking a lovely scene of the Marble Hill Metro North station... because each time the intercom went off it sounded in every room, and I was awoken every couple of hours by nurses wanting something or other. The night nurse came in around 2:30 AM to ask me questions that they needed for their admissions forms, and wound up falling asleep herself! Why that couldn't have been done during the entire day I'd been in ER just waiting around was beyond me.
I was also given various pills and, by morning, my heart was back in its proper rhythm and I was happily eating breakfast and anticipating release until - the Bureaucracy struck! In mid-bite I was asked to go into the corridor where a wheelchair was waiting to take me for a heart CT, only the wheelchair was too narrow so the nurse went to get a gurney, during which I was somewhat accosted by a very chipper physical therapist and asked to walk to the end of the corridor and back so she could see what my resting and active BP were. Active was over 210 systolic, not terribly good, but again, consider the venue. I returned to the gurney where I waited for 20 minutes more only to find out it was the patient next door who was to have the procedure, not me! So I returned to my room to finish eating, after which a nurse came in and told me I'd been scheduled for cardio version, which is a mild electrical shock they administer to get the beat regular again, but I couldn't have it because I'd eaten breakfast... which naturally nobody told me I shouldn't be eating if I were to have the procedure, so why did they bring me brekkie in the first place? A short while later I was almost forcibly hooked back up to the heperin and told I'd have to stay again because of the cumidin, to which I adamantly objected, demanding to see the doctor to whom I'd spoken the previous day. Then the "whole team" of 8 or so professionals visited me and started in on the same thing about me staying. This was getting ridiculous!
I was at a loss. The phone was hooked up, so phone switched on at last, called my boss who actually calmed me down more than anyone else had been able to, called Robin for about the fifth time that day asking him to make ready to bring a few days' worth of personal effects in case I actually would need to stay, so he was on his way. Finally the cardiologist came in and confirmed what I'd suspected, that my heartbeat had gone back to normal during the night and no medication would be needed at all. I was livid at this point, which I'm sure my blood pressure reflected. More waiting, then one of the doctors came back with an EKG to confirm the cardi's diagnosis, and I was home free. Robin arrived... and we waited another couple of hours. All told, it was almost sunset when I was finally released, with prescriptions for saline nasal spray (seems my addiction to Neosynephrine finally caught up with me, and I'll be happy to be broken of that habit!) and enteric aspirin and Cardizem, instructions on what to follow up on with which doctors, a very icy winter wonderland awaiting me, and an equally exhausted and frazzled husband. Home by 5 PM, to what I'd hoped would be a restful weekend except it took two hours to fill the Cardizem Rx on Saturday morning (we struck out at the first two pharmacies we visited) but it wasn't a total waste as I bought new footwear and other necessaries. I haven't rested as much as I'd wanted to this weekend, but am going back to work tomorrow anyway (to, yes, make some phone calls).
As I said earlier, if I write or talk or think too much about my recent adventures, it only gets my blood and heart rate going again, the very thing I'm supposed to be avoiding. But if I don't write about it people are going to keep asking me. So, for anyone thinking of calling me up to chat about how I am: I'm fine now, I was in hospital overnight mostly for observation, I'm on what they considered the proper meds, I'll be making follow-up medical appointments and trying not to get too worked up or move around a lot until I regain my energy which is sapped mostly by talking on the phone so please don't call, thanks for understanding!
So, my 48-year-old body decided to give me a belated birthday present last Thursday morning, when I awoke at 6:30 AM feeling like there was an anvil on my chest. I wanted to make sure it wasn't a heart attack, so I had Rob call 9-1-1, and the FDNY EMS guys were there almost right away. My heart rate was over 180 and very erratic. I was able to go to the bathroom once more before they gave me a few mouth-sprays of nitro whisked me over to the NY Presbyterian Allen Pavilion's emergency room center, where I began to feel better but was hooked up to so many monitors and tubes that, in retrospect, it was a very good thing indeed that I'd performed my morning ablutions. I was also grateful I'd plugged in my cell phone to recharge the night before, because I'd turn out to need it for most of my stay.
Still in ER, where I was to remain for most of the day, stripped and in two thin hospital gowns (one for the front and one for the back), I called work and told them I wouldn't be in that day, and probably not the next. I called my parents to check on whether there was a family history of a-fib, and found out, surprise surprise, that both Mom and Dad have the same condition. Which led me to wonder when exactly they were planning on telling me that, which might have saved me an ER trip as I could have gone to a cardiologist long ago, which of course raised my heart rate and blood pressure (my systolic was also around 180)... and not getting into a room for hours and hours after being told I'd have to stay overnight didn't help either.
Finally, around 5 PM, hours after Robin had gone home at my insistence, I was taken for an ultrasound, after which I spoke with the resident cardiologist. She said the ultrasound showed I had an enlarged left atria (shouldn't the singular be "atrium?", I thought) and that, together with the erratic heartbeat which I've experienced before (as a sort of "flutter" which usually goes away within a minute or two but didn't this time), put me at risk for blood clots and possibly stroke. Again, not that much of a surprise considering family history (grandfathers who both passed away from heart attacks in the days when they were far less treatable, a maternal grandmother who'd had a series of strokes). She gave me a couple options for what was to come on Friday - they were either going to start me on cumidin (which is what my dad takes, I'd earlier learned), but that took a few days to kick in so they'd need to keep me until Tuesday, and I was adamant about getting out ASAP. They could also teach me to self-inject a different anti-coagulant called lovinox, which didn't thrill me (I'd make a lousy heroin addict) but if it got me out of there the next day then fine. Then she started to pile it on - I probably have high blood pressure (not "borderline" as I've been told by every doctor I've been to for the past 20 years), I might have the onset of diabetes, and hey, have I considered stomach stapling?
Say WHAT? Why on earth would I, as someone who has been naturally fat my entire life, for a moment consider elective surgery which could kill me? You can imagine at this point what's happening to my stress levels, dear readers.
Then she left me alone to ponder my fate - apparently there was some sort of fire drill so none of the orderlies were around to take me back to ER or up to the room I had been told was waiting for me since around 3 PM. Yeah, completely alone for an hour, no stress there. Back to ER and lying in an ever-colder corridor for another hour, no stress there! Finally taken to the wing where my room was and left in that corridor by the nurse station... I actually got into my assigned room (a private one, amazingly!) by about 8:30, with no working phone or TV ("the technicians are only here to hook them up between 11 AM and 7 PM" I was told - then why didn't they get me there before eight bloody thirty?? yep, stress level just fine!) but with lots of blood pressure taking and such. I was somewhat ambulatory at last if I unhooked the oxygen nose-thingie and dragged the hepirin IV into the bathroom with me; fortunately I'd only had a bit to eat at around 2 PM so I didn't need to take care of too much.
So I tried to sleep, which as you might suspect is nearly impossible at a hospital, even once one gets used to the needles and oxygen thingie and crib-bars and drifts off in a quiet room overlooking a lovely scene of the Marble Hill Metro North station... because each time the intercom went off it sounded in every room, and I was awoken every couple of hours by nurses wanting something or other. The night nurse came in around 2:30 AM to ask me questions that they needed for their admissions forms, and wound up falling asleep herself! Why that couldn't have been done during the entire day I'd been in ER just waiting around was beyond me.
I was also given various pills and, by morning, my heart was back in its proper rhythm and I was happily eating breakfast and anticipating release until - the Bureaucracy struck! In mid-bite I was asked to go into the corridor where a wheelchair was waiting to take me for a heart CT, only the wheelchair was too narrow so the nurse went to get a gurney, during which I was somewhat accosted by a very chipper physical therapist and asked to walk to the end of the corridor and back so she could see what my resting and active BP were. Active was over 210 systolic, not terribly good, but again, consider the venue. I returned to the gurney where I waited for 20 minutes more only to find out it was the patient next door who was to have the procedure, not me! So I returned to my room to finish eating, after which a nurse came in and told me I'd been scheduled for cardio version, which is a mild electrical shock they administer to get the beat regular again, but I couldn't have it because I'd eaten breakfast... which naturally nobody told me I shouldn't be eating if I were to have the procedure, so why did they bring me brekkie in the first place? A short while later I was almost forcibly hooked back up to the heperin and told I'd have to stay again because of the cumidin, to which I adamantly objected, demanding to see the doctor to whom I'd spoken the previous day. Then the "whole team" of 8 or so professionals visited me and started in on the same thing about me staying. This was getting ridiculous!
I was at a loss. The phone was hooked up, so phone switched on at last, called my boss who actually calmed me down more than anyone else had been able to, called Robin for about the fifth time that day asking him to make ready to bring a few days' worth of personal effects in case I actually would need to stay, so he was on his way. Finally the cardiologist came in and confirmed what I'd suspected, that my heartbeat had gone back to normal during the night and no medication would be needed at all. I was livid at this point, which I'm sure my blood pressure reflected. More waiting, then one of the doctors came back with an EKG to confirm the cardi's diagnosis, and I was home free. Robin arrived... and we waited another couple of hours. All told, it was almost sunset when I was finally released, with prescriptions for saline nasal spray (seems my addiction to Neosynephrine finally caught up with me, and I'll be happy to be broken of that habit!) and enteric aspirin and Cardizem, instructions on what to follow up on with which doctors, a very icy winter wonderland awaiting me, and an equally exhausted and frazzled husband. Home by 5 PM, to what I'd hoped would be a restful weekend except it took two hours to fill the Cardizem Rx on Saturday morning (we struck out at the first two pharmacies we visited) but it wasn't a total waste as I bought new footwear and other necessaries. I haven't rested as much as I'd wanted to this weekend, but am going back to work tomorrow anyway (to, yes, make some phone calls).
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