Five years ago
For my thirty-sixth birthday, I spent the week in the hospital. I had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure, different than coronary heart sickness which is a narrowing of the blood vessels generally because of stout and other elements clogging those blood vessels. No, congestive heart failure meant my heart was having distress pumping sufficient blood to the rest of my body. It caused shortness of breath, tiredness and sometimes swelling in my ankles.
My cardiologist made a tiny incision in my leg and ran a miniature camera at the conclusion of a tube up through an artery and directly into my heart. It’s called a heart catheterization. I was awake for the entire thing and got to see the interior of my heart on a video screen. It wasn’t fun but it wasn’t really any worse than a evil trip to the dentist.
After that I was place on lots of medication.
I lost weight. I changed what I ate. I made certain to get a small exercise every day.
It wasn’t sufficient.
Two weeks ago
Though I felt honest, my condition worsened thanks to an overlarge heart I had inherited.
I had to go into the hospital again, but this time fair for a couple of days. The procedure this time was much more invasive and traumatic, at minimum to me.
An ICD, an implantible cardioverter defibrillator, was placed within my chest. You know those defibrillators you see on television shows, the ones with the two paddles some doctor or nurse uses to zap someone back to life? I have a miniature one of those (without the paddles, of course) now interior my chest. Three wires run from the device directly into my heart.
The ICD interior my chest performs two functions. It keeps the defeat of my heart regulated as apparently I had a sloppy heart that wasn’t beating in the accurate rhythm. Secondly, the ICD monitors my heart and whether I’m approximately to go into cardiac arrest, the device gives me a jolt to keep me alive.
I’ve felt that jolt three times. Not because I’ve gone into cardiac arrest. But because my doctors had to test the ICD once it was implanted in my chest.
It packs a wallop. A largewallop. Assume a enormous, muscular man standing over you with a giant baseball bat or a sledge hammer. Then assume he slams you in the chest with that hammer. Several times. That’s what it was like for my to be shocked by my own ICD. It’s very scary. I even feared I was dying for a few seconds there. But then it’s over, you capture your breath and go on, possibly feeling a small sore and bruised as whether you’ve fair been in a minor car accident.
Now
I’m back residence. My scar is healing fine. There’s a large lump in my chest above my heart where the ICD is implanted. I was in fairly a bit of pain for the first few days, but nothing I couldn’t tolerate with the assist of some pain pills. I still have a twinge from time to time, but nothing cruel. For the next couple of months I have to attempt and keep from raising my left arm above my chest. And I’m not supposed to use a cell or other cordless phone on my left ear because the phone could intrude upon the capabilities of the device in my chest.
Then a few days ago I got in the mail a brilliant large box from the company that if my ICD.
Interior the box was an electronic weight scale, an electronic blood pressure monitor and another monitor, a mysterious device that seemingly had no purpose.
Until I peruse the directions.
This additional monitor is hooked directly into my phone line. Wirelessly it reads my weight from my modern electronic weight scale. It too reads my blood pressure. Once a week it forwards that information electronically directly to my cardiologist’s office.
This monitor too keeps track of my heart and my ICD. Whether my ICD should malfunction in any way, or whether my heart should be acting dangerously, an electronic alert is immediately sent to my doctor’s office and to the creators of my ICD. Of course for this to work I have to be within twenty feet of the monitor, but keeping it next to my bed helps with this.
I’ll be back
So, now I’ve got this hunk of metal and wiring in my chest. But I feel stronger than ever. I feel like a cyborg, like a Terminator.
And I’m hooked up to this monitor that lets other people know where I’m at and what’s going on with the insides of my body. At minimum while I’m within twenty feet of the monitor. This makes me feel like I’m part of Skynet, constantly being monitored while on the prowl.
No, I’m not pleased approximately having to deal with all this, but I’m surviving, I’m pushing ahead. Any other option isn’t really an option, at minimum not for me.
Related link: You can outlive heart sickness: One tale
