I Heart You - The Saga Continues

A while back I wrote an entry about my MVP and the fact that it had been "acting up".  I went to the doc, did an echo, wore a holter, and thought all was well because I hadn't heard from them.  Well, guess what....I was wrong.  Damn.  I got a phone call (right after I found out my position with the school district had been cut and I will be heading back to the classroom...WHAT?!?)  saying that my heart monitor testing showed ventricular fibrillation.  Again, WHAT?!?  They then said I needed to come in for a stress test.  Gee, my career is changing and I just Googled ventricular fibrillation - I don't need a stress test to tell me I'm stressed.

The stress test was interesting.  First, they checked me in and put in an IV for the dye they'd need.  I got my first shot of dye and then cooled my jets in the waiting room for 30 minutes while the dye did its thing.  (Aside...don't read Dad Is Fat by Jim Gaffigan while in a quiet waiting room.  You will laugh out loud and old people will stare at you...and not in a good way.)

Then it was time for pictures.  There seemed to be a lot of concern about how long I had to lay there with my arms over my head.  Really?  I have to lay her for 15 minutes?  No problem!  It was like a vacay!  

Then I got another injection of dye and went in for the treadmill test.  Let me tell you this, wearing a sports bra in the hope that you can leave it on and they can work around it is futile.  Off went everything above the waist and on went the dumb paper gown, open in the front.  Um....wait.  You want me to RUN on the treadmill while in a paper gown, braless.  Seriously?  And this is a STRESS test?  I asked that.  They laughed.  Then said yes.  Sigh.  So up on the treadmill I went.  Things were fine but my heart rate wouldn't increase so they upped the incline.  Then upped it again.  Then again.  at 18% things were moving right along and I was huffing and puffing, all while one medtech stood to my left watching my blood pressure and one stood on my right watching my heart rate.  So.  Much.  Fun.  

After that it was time for more pics.  Then I was outta there.  

I got a call a couple of days later.  You know that call the one where they say "Doctor would like you
to come in to discuss your test results".  Me:  "Can't you tell me?"  Them:  "No, Doctor would like to tell you".  Crap.

Seems I had an episode of ventricular tachycardia during my stress test.  Sigh.  Ok, what does that mean?  Well, what it means is my MVP is affecting my heartbeat to the point where it could cause damage to my heart.  They will replace my valve if it ever gives out.  I said, replace it now.  They said that wasn't a choice.  I had to wait until it stopped working.  Hmmm.  Logic, to me, would be to replace it when I am 46 rather than 86 but I am just a lowly person who is not in the medical field.  Oh well, right?  In addition, to c

ontrol the heartbeats on a daily basis I was put on beta blockers.   I HATE THEM.  I am exhausted and out of breath...well out of breath for the first two weeks.  That is sort of tapering off.  But it is really obvious when I work out that my heartrate is not rising (the meds are designed to keep the beat steady).  I feel awful when I'm on the treadmill.  I hate that!  

The second part of the follow up to the stress test was a heart cath.  Doctor wanted to make sure, because I am so young, that there is no blockage etc.  Ok.  In the TMI portion of this blog let me tell you that no amount of personal grooming will stop the razor wielding nurse from coming at you.  'Nuff said.  So they wheel me into the operating room and put a sterile drop on my hip.  They  "numb" the area and give me Versed.  Then they start the procedure. 

Me:  Am I supposed to be feeling all of this?

Them:  NO.  You don't feel this.

Me.  Uh, yes I do.

Them:  Give her more Versed.

Me:  Still feeling it.  (And let me just tell you that it hurt like a son of a bitch...I wish I was lying.)

Them:  Well, we are done now.

I had a cavity about a year ago that had to be filled.  The dentist had to give me 11 shots of novocaine to numb my mouth.  That, together with this incident, tells me that I might have a problem with getting knocked out/numbing for pain.  Good gravy!  OUCH!

The rest of the process was ridiculous.  Honestly, the doctors and nurses I'd had up to this point were great.  The second shift, not so much.  First, when you have had this procedure, you have to lie flat for a specified amount of time and the nurses come in and press on the puncture to make sure it is clotting.  After a while, they move the bed up a little and repeat.  Basically they don't want the artery they just went into to open up.  Neither did I.  Duh.  The problem was the nurse and her verbiage:

Her:  Now when you go home if you start to spurt, call 911.

Me:  What?

Her:  You know, spurt, gush blood.  Call 911 because you can bleed out.

Did you really just say that?  She loved the word spurt.  Used it over and over for th
e next hour.  My son's face when she said it the first time was priceless.  Still makes me laugh.  We played the online version of Cards Against Humanity to pass the time.  Fun.

The last little treat I had before leaving was the removal of the IV.  I have to say that I am needlephobic.  IVs were the worst part of having babies.  I really don't like them.  To that end, it was time to take it out.  I was sitting in a chair and Spurt Lady just sort of yanked the tape off and pulled out the IV in one swoop.  

Her:   Oh, you ARE a spurter.

Me:  What?!

Her:  (Pushing on my hand that is now bleeding all over the place)  I guess I should have laid you down to do this.

Me:  (breathing deeply, trying not to pass ou.......)  Damn.

All in all, with what others have to do this was a piece of cake.  I don't ever want to do it again, but if I have to will advocate for more pain meds and a better nurse.  The kids were great.  

The message that I want to leave women with is this:  I am glad I went to the doctor to get things checked out.  Who knows what would have happened if I had let it go.  We, as a gender, are known for putting up with health annoyances and concerns because we are too busy or are great at putting our heads in the sand.  Don't be a statistic.  If you think something is wrong, go get it checked out.  Better to be safe than sorry.