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8 december 2003
currently reading
i did it, i did it...i read the davinci code. i couldn't put it down for a week. shut up.
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loocy got some 'splainin' to do
If you are a woman, or care about a woman, who has ever been dismissed by a physician, please share today's post with her. In particular, if you've ever gone to your doctor with physical symptoms, and been dismissed with anxiety, please please please share this with her.
The past month-and-a-half has had its ups and downs. Literally. Hopefully, this somewhat long but informative post will shed light on my recent absence. On Friday, I will be having an electrophysiologial (EP) study and, hopefully, ablation, to treat a heart condition that I've had for about three years now. Thursday will be my last day for the semester. I'll spend Christmas recovering and rejuvenating for January, at which time I hope to be in much better shape--for me and my students.
This all began about three years ago when I got off of a fair ride in Winston-Salem. I've never thought anything of riding the most gut-twisting, barf-inducing roller coasters in this country. The highest, fastest, twistiest, stand-uppingest, g-force speed monstrosities--rode 'em. I've dropped, whirled upside down, held my hands up, and spun until it made Mom sick to watch me. So you'd think a dumb fair ride would be nothing.
It wasn't nothing. I got out, and passed out, with a fluttering heart rate of over 200 beats per minute. My heart was working so inefficiently that you couldn't feel my wrist pulse. That's creepy. This continued until a friend rushed me to the ER, where by that time it had corrected itself and my EKG read normally. My pulse was still somewhat high, but all tests showed up 'normal'.
The DERMATOLOGY RESIDENT (note to readers: avoid the emergency rooms of teaching hospitals whenever necessary) gave me a half-assed diagnoses of SVT (fast heartbeat), and then scraped a mole on my neck before I left. Bastard.
For the next six months, I suffered with these 'spells' (for lack of a better word to call them). I had a bad one while eating outdoors on the beach in Florida with my sister. I had them when walking through the park. I went to my family physician, who had me wear a Holter monitor for 48 hours. No 'events' regisitered, and so he didn't pursue it further. He wrote 'anxiety' on my chart, and sent me away with no more follow-up.
Keep in mind that I have always had health insurance, so it's not a 'she can't pay' situation. In fact, I could have been a gold mine for that schmuck.
At the time, I had no clue where to begin. I felt very alone with all of this, even though friends and family had witnessed me during these events. They sure as shit knew that I wasn't anxious about anything, except maybe these persistent spells that made me feel like I was about to drop dead. That does make one anxious.
I started experimenting with cutting Nutra-Sweet from my diet. I used to swill Diet Coke and coffee with Equal like it was water. About three months after giving up Equal, the spells stopped completely. It was wonderful, both physically and mentally. I felt that I'd vindicated myself, and called my physician's nurse to please amend my health files with my findings. And also to get rid of that moronic 'anxiety' tag from Dr. Dumbass. Bastard.
Fast forward to October, 2003, second-period English class. I'm teaching. Suddenly, I fall back against the board, hold myself somewhat upright with a nearby stool, and momentarily forget where I am. The room is moving, and my heart is racing again. I am about the color of most people's teeth. My students, to their credit, are very calm. Since my classroom is in outer Mongolia, I decide to take them to the library so that we can be around other adults. I start having a bad asthma attack.
And that, Denizens, is where it begins again. Someone drives me to the doctor, I get nebulizer treatment, and am sent on my way. But not for long--later that week, it happens again without the asthma attack, and one of our guidance counselors recommends her family doctor. By the time we get there, my blood pressure is 80 over 55, I'm still dizzy, and feel like I've had no sleep for two days.
Dr. Finally-Gets-It-Right takes a good look, and books me with the area's best cardiology practice within three hours. He says, "this is not anxiety. You're having a heart arrhythmia, and we have to figure out what it is."
I spend the next couple of weeks wearing a long-term heart event monitor, which records your EKG whenever you have an 'event'. You then transmit them over the telephone, at which point your cardiologist will look them over and go from there.
The Friday after I transmit my second event in a week, Dr. AfternoonGolfDate calls me back into the office at 3:30 p.m. I am told to disrobe and smock up (even though I am not being examined). Dr. AfternoonGolfDate spends exactly four minutes quickly glancing at my EKGs, tells me I have ventricular tachycardia (which kills lots and lots of people each year), and starts to sound like the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons. I can't understand a word he's saying. I ask him if he could please explain this in such a way that I can parse it out, get more information, etc.
Know what Captain Golf Date says?
"Now, I don't want to have to tell you this five times." Bastard.
I called the following Monday to switch to another, female doctor, within the same practice and to register my written and verbal complaint. It takes me longer to brush my teeth than it takes that guy to make a diagnosis. Pfft.
So fast-forward to now. I've now undergone the stress test, the electrocardiogram, turned in the event monitor--and had my wise and wonderful new cardiologist actually look at all of my data. I mean, really look.
On Friday, I will be treated for something called Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome. It's a somewhat rare arrhythmia that she has a good bit of experience with. Instead of one pathway of electricity in my heart, I have two. One kind of short-circuits the other, which causes these spells that I have. The ablation therapy will hopefully destroy the tissue for the extra pathway, and I'll again have a normal heartbeat. If they can't ablate the tissue, meaning that the arrhythmia originates in a riskier area of the heart, I will probably have a pacemaker or ICD installed.
I'm good with all of this, I really am! Been a little bummed lately, because I want answers. Unfortunately, this Wolff-Parkinson can look like ventricular tachycardia, which is more difficult to treat. But we're being optimistic around here, and hoping that the surgery will fix me once and for all. Either way, you'd better believe that I feel fortunate to live in a time that can treat this stuff for a long, high-quality life.
More importantly, I feel fortunate to have finally found doctors that actually looked for the physical cause of my problems, rather than chalking it up to 'anxiety'. I've talked with a number of women who have been treated similarly when presenting with physical symptoms. Interestingly, I've not spoken to one man who was told, "it's stress. Take it easy. Here's an antidepressant."
Anyway, wish me luck on Friday. Or, wish the doctor luck. She's doing all the work. Gulp.
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