“What Makes For an Exciting Story?? An Unexpected Twist!!”

 

After the chest X-ray was the MRI, and yes, the tech followed suit in the pattern of knowing of my daughter…

My extensive research on the antiarrhythmic drugs was to no avail.

It was deemed best to give the Metoprolol Succinate another shot.

So, once again, that prescription was flip-flopped and the dosage upped even more.

The cardiology team recommended for me to go ahead and start cardiac rehabilitation therapy within the next few weeks. Originally, the thought from one of my cardiologists was to wait until I felt better. The hope was that if I started it now, maybe an exercise routine would aid in the way I was feeling. Plus, I was just shy of a couple of weeks of being released to drive.

The game plan for now, was for me to follow up with the regular cardiologist as previously planned, and I would also be worked into an appointment with an EP specialist (electrophysiology cardiologist).

I was then discharged and headed back home.

With my next regular cardiology appointment not for another two weeks, I decided to call the hospital to inquire about the results of my chest x-ray and heart MRI.

After leaving a message, I received a call back from one of the on-call cardiology doctors who agreed to go over my reports.

The echocardiogram showed that my heart ejection fraction, or heart function, was between forty and forty-five percent, which I already knew because that was mentioned in the hospital.

A normal heart ejection fraction is anything fifty-five percent or greater. This didn’t really bother me at all though, as the cardiologists and surgeons both had explained that after OHS your ejection fraction most likely will go below fifty percent, with the hopes that it will increase as time goes on.

The doctor on the phone then explained that, per the report, there was an area on my heart that appeared on the MRI. He called it “heart scarring.” It seemed that most of the PVC’s could possibly be occurring in that section.

“Heart Scarring? Like from my surgery??” I asked the doctor, thinking that even if internally, scars and surgeries made sense.

“Well, most likely not.”

“Well what would cause that?” I asked, perplexed.

“Usually heart scarring is a result of a cardiac event.”

“A cardiac event? Like what?” I asked.

What he said next consisted of a cluster of words that formed his analogy to my question.

But, the two most predominant ones that seemed to echo above and beyond all those others, were the words “heart attack.”

 

What?!

What did he just say to me?

I felt the world stop.

I was numb.

A sudden fear engulfed my whole body.

I was frozen.

What?!

He couldn’t have said what I thought he said.

There was no way.

He hadn’t even seen me or knew my full story, which he also clarified.

How could he say I had had a heart attack?!

I did ask him, after all.

I had prodded him about what could have caused this “scarring” and he simply answered me.

He continued to mumble something to the effect of “I’m sure your doctor can tell you more about it…”  and that he was simply reading the report.

I should have never asked.

At this point, I wish I wouldn’t have.

But I did. Never, ever expecting anything like this as a response.

That’s all I heard over and over again. Those words.

Heart attack. Heart attack. Heart attack.

This was ludicrous.

Heart attacks were something that happened to old people.

Except for that one girl I read about in all my cardiology researching. She was a model or something and had had a couple of heart attacks in her teens and twenties. But she was different. She had some rare underlying heart condition.

But not me. I only had a leaky valve and hole in my heart. TONS of people have those, and walk around and never even know it!

Oh my gosh… Oh my God, and I said that as a prayer,

“Oh my God, please don’t let this be happening! Please take it back!”

 

This couldn’t be possible…

Or could it?

Had I forgotten?!

My own mother had had a heart attack!

She was forty-nine.

I was forty-six. Only three years difference.

But, again, that was different.

She was a SMOKER! A heavy smoker too. She even said so herself!

She blamed her heart attack on the smoking and from what I could remember, so did her doctors.

I wasn’t a smoker, never was.

Alright, there was that one time back in high school when they came out with those colored cigarettes. In pinks, blues, yellows and greens.

A friend and I decided that it may look kinda “chic” to sport those, you know, matching our outfits and all.

Stupid I know, but I had only done that a couple of times.

And I wouldn’t have even called what I did, “smoking.”

I never even inhaled. I faked it.

I decided early on, that it was gross and bad and not worth the extra matching accessory.

It tasted disgusting, it smelled horrible, and well, there was the fact that it could kill ya.

Wasn’t worth it to me.

I would much rather have used the money on an extra tangible lasting accessory, like a bracelet or purse or something.

But that was it! That’s all I ever did!

Surely! Surely, those couple of times puffing and immediately exhaling wouldn’t have caused a heart attack decades later?! Right?!

But my mom, she was a full-fledged smoker, smoking two to three packs of cigarettes a day, for decades. Now that would warrant a heart attack.

But not me!

This was insane!

And oh crap.

What about the blog?!

The stupid blog!!

I couldn’t tell the world, (or at least my few readers) that I had had a heart attack?!

No way!!!

Dammit, again! (and again, Lord forgive me.)

 

It was time to  summon up the knowledge of Google once more.

Those two words were all over the web in conjunction with the search “heart scarring.”

 

I called and left a message with my local cardiologist.

I called and left a message with my Cleveland cardiologist.

And I waited. For what seemed like eternity.

I looked at myself differently.

I was a person who had possibly had a heart attack.

Really?

This was unbelievable.

And when did this happen?

Surely, I would have KNOWN if I was having a heart attack, right?

If my mom were here I could call and ask her about it.

But she wasn’t here. A second heart attack took her out of this world.

In the midst of all these emotions, anger for my mom seemed to surface above all else.

How could she leave me at a time like this?! I thought as if she had a choice in the matter.

Then part of me became thankful she wasn’t here.

If she were here, among all this madness, it would only create worry and stress for her, and her damaged heart.

I then resorted to memory…

I remembered my mom describing her heart attack.

At first, she said she had thought she was having really bad indigestion.

Oh my gosh, I had felt like I had indigestion too, on many different, numerous occasions, but I always felt better.

And then there was that time a month before my surgery when I woke up and my RIGHT side of my chest was hurting.  My RIGHT side, not my left. Even though it was a sharp, stabbing pain I wasn’t too concerned, but with my husband’s persistence, I had called my regular doctor anyway. By the time the nurse called back, the pain had totally gone away. To be on the safe side I was instructed to go into the ER and get an EKG and the blood work just to check things out.

I did, and all had come back just fine.

So when and how did this happen?

When I had spoken to my Cleveland doc while I was in the hospital with stay #2, we agreed that I would send him copies of my records and test footage from these last two hospital stays.

I called, but my records had not made it to Cleveland yet.

I then had my husband drive me to the hospital so I could personally get copies of all the files and paper reports and I mailed them myself, through the snail mail route.

The waiting for answers seemed like forever.

I received a call from my local cardiology department, and the EP doctor could fit me in within a couple of days. The appointment, however, happened to fall within the day and time slot of my prescheduled regular cardiology visit. They collectively deemed it was more important at this point to see the EP doctor first.

I went in with a list of questions.

He was very patient with me, and took the time to answer each one thoroughly and to the best of his knowledge.

He did explain that there seemed to be an area, according to the written report, of scarring showing up on the MRI.

He explained that although heart scarring was usually the result of a heart attack, and even mentioned a “silent heart attack,” he really felt like this probably wouldn’t be the case in my situation as my heart cath back in October showed no signs of any types of blockages.

He wanted to get a cardiologist who was experienced in reading MRI’s to compare that MRI to the one I had back in October prior to surgery.

More waiting.

In the meantime, I was to start my cardiac rehab therapy the following week. Before giving me the ok on starting rehab, I was scheduled for a treadmill stress test to be done the day before, just to make sure all would be well with me starting an exercise program.

I went in and, according to the “stress testers,” I seemed to do well. Ultimately, though, it was up to the doctors to read the EKG strips and decide.

What was that line from that Bill Murray movie, “What About Bob?,”

“Baby steps??”

I had no choice but to take them…

Each day, each moment and each event, as they came. One step at a time.