In the beginning my going to London seemed like a backward step in my recovery. The reality was I was scared that they wouldn’t be able to help me.  Having to travel on my own gave me way too much time to think about the consequences of not finding a medication to sustain a normal heart rhythm.  There are several reasons I could spurt about why it wasn’t possible for anyone to fly down with me but it would just be a bunch of poppycock, as my mother would say. Nobody volunteered or expressed interest in doing so. That is so “I’m feeling sorry for myself” but there you have it. I convinced myself it was for the best and “got on with it”. Another of my mom’s long list of popular quips. The flight was fine except for the fact that my heart rhythm would rise and fall on a whim. Staying calm under those circumstances was a challenge but my ever present denial kept me company and things in control.

          Have you ever had one of those moments when someone asked you how you were and you actually told them exactly what was going on? Well, I’m sure

I added a good story to my taxi drivers list of taxi tales. The ride to the hospital was quick. There was no question; my driver did not take any extra time to get more fare that day. He was glad to be rid of me. And then there it was. The last chance hotel.

          Just a reminder that I am a small town girl who’s nearest neighbor lives two miles down the road and you have to take the car to the corner store. It was an experience for me to walk through those doors. However, I could see immediately that this hospital knew how to make things easy on their out of town patients who lived with the wild dogs. Everything was clearly posted and after going through the initiation process, which was relatively painless, I was brought to the first waiting room where I found other somewhat nervous patients. By this time I’m relaxed. There were doctors here and if a passed out on the floor I was pretty sure someone would be there to take care of me. It took a relatively short period of time before I was brought to the second waiting room. There was a very long hallway and more doors to rooms than I could count. By this time I’m exhausted. I do not know how long it took the doctor to come in because I was fast asleep and he had to wake me up. Twenty minutes later I was on my way to admissions. An hour later I had eaten what was left over from the supper crowd and on my way to my first good sleep in a long time.

          Up at six o’clock for meds and breakfast and then a most interesting day began. The entire day was taken up by tests of many kinds. This hospital was fast and efficient. I would just get done with one test and I would be off for another. I had lunch in my wheel chair chatting with other heart patients and feeling well taken care of. Another long day and a long peaceful rest.

My stay lasted seven days. I was started on massive doses of Amiodarone. Sixteen hundred mg every eight hours just so I could get a good kick start. And it worked. By the time I left there I was feeling almost normal.

When all was said and done I was told that I was a very lucky girl. All week interns would come into my room and try to diagnose what was wrong with me. It was quite interesting and I began to have a lot of fun with it.

My diagnosis told me that I had massive tissue damage on the left side of my heart. Because of that my heart was enlarged and two of the electrodes were damaged. That was the cause of most of my tachycardia.  I was lucky that they were not life threatening at that time; however the heart would wear down if the tachycardia was not controlled. Thank you Amiodorone. I have now been taking the drug for twenty one years. The side effects weren’t pretty but I was more than happy to deal with them. My ejection fraction was thirty percent where a normal heart performs at one hundred percent. I have since discovered that a person can have a relatively normal life all the way down to thirteen percent. For the time being my tachycardia was more controlled and I was pleased with the outcome.

My next decision would be: do I get ready to live or get ready to die.

Quotation

The most powerful thing you can do to change the world is to change your own beliefs about the nature of life, people and reality to something more positive…and begin to act accordingly.

Author: Shakti Gawain

          

                   First, I think it’s important to introduce a little prior knowledge about my life as it was at that time so you can see some of the big picture and not just the end result. I had a husband, a lovely man who happened to be born in the wrong century. He might have given up his cowboy hat and boots when he was ten but the Cowboy lives on. Along with two of the most wonderful, exceptional children (I am not being bias in this area I just know it to be a fact!!).

                   We had a mortgage, credit cards (those insidious little plastic pieces that will be the downfall of the monetary system as we know it) and all the stress and hoop-la that come with it. We lived in a fast busy world and both my husband and I worked hard and played hard. There was never enough time in the day or week or month to do the things that needed to be done. Priorities had to be set. It also meant that sleep was at a premium. A condition I am sure that still exists. With the majority of families having two working parents and those who have to make it on their own we all walk that fine line of sanity.

                   My children, who are truly my best friends, were my first priority. After all they didn’t ask to come into this world and they deserved the best that I could give them. Work for me was the second most important thing, for without that, the needs of my children could not be met. Except for the necessary absences from work, (usually for sick children), I was a dependable employee. There was room for advancement and I looked forward to these challenges. I was a lifer and I fully expected a long career and fruitful retirement. My relationship with my husband took the third cue, perhaps that wasn’t one of my wisest choices. My marriage was not exceptional but it was not unbearable either (however that did change in time).

                   I felt happy enough with the choices I had made and the commitment that bound me to them.

                     So, at thirty two I was healthy (or so I thought!) and strong and living the life.

                   It was the night of Wednesday, April 8, 1987.

 Continued……….

 QUOTATION:  “My life consists in my being content to accept many things.“

(Author Unknown)

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