Heart Skips Beats…
So…it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve updated. I’ve actually been really sick. My bronchitis was worse than I thought. I just finished up my third course of antibiotics yesterday. I was put on a second course (longer) of steroids, and I still have prescription cough syrup I have needed to take almost daily at work. I’m not entirely certain when my cough will finally go away actually…
More disturbingly, and more importantly – I discovered that I am having issues with my heart. I went to see my doctor as a follow up for why I wasn’t feeling any better and to get my leave of absence paperwork filled out for work, and I decided to tell him all of how I was feeling. Everything. Including how for months I would get a sense of just not feeling right, feeling heavy limbed, and how I would not only get random pains in my chest, but that I was super conscious of my heartbeat.
With the first set of medications I was on (including an albuteral inhaler which I’ve been on before) I was feeling constantly like my heart was beating out of my chest. I was also always cold, sweating profusely, and I was having loss of sensation in my hands and feet.
Well, if I could have taken a picture of my doctor’s face as I was describing my symptoms, I would have. He knows how stubborn I am about seeking medical treatment and asking for help for anything…he’s the one who had to tell me I needed to go see an orthopedic surgeon a week after I broke my hand in the 7th grade to go get it rebroken so it could set and heal properly because I just didn’t want my parents to bring me to a doctor. (Yes, I know that sounds incredibly insane. I’ve never liked doctors and I have a shockingly high pain tolerance…it works out pretty well with my love of tattoos though.)
He listened to my heart with his stethoscope, and immediately called for the PA to bring in an EKG. He repeated the EKG several times. All abnormal. Off the charts abnormal. To the point he was strongly suggesting I not go to work and I take my self to the ER to be on a constant monitor and get chest X-rays to make sure my heart wasn’t enlargened. I was able to convince him that if I felt any worse than I already did I would have someone go to the ER with me, but that since I was terrified I would lose my job if I missed another day of work, I really needed to go back. He only agreed to sign off on the paperwork because my blood pressure was normal. He completely changed all of my meds for the bronchitis and told me to avoid stimulants and stress (uhm, yeah…ok.) as much as possible.
I went back a week later for a follow up EKG. It was better, but still not normal. He wasn’t sure if it still might have been medication related or not. So I went back again a few days after for a 30 minute monitor. 27 minutes were normal. 3 were decidedly not. I go back in a month for another 30 minute monitor. If that one is also not clear, he wants me to wear a 24 hour monitor. I have to go see a cardiologist regardless at this point once I’m feeling better and can exert myself physically without coughing up a lung and have a stress test done. Plus I get to have more blood panels done on a regular basis to monitor my health.
This is already on top of seeing my neurologist for my migraines and my blood work every six months for that, the blood work I need to have in February once I’ve been off birth control for three months to see if my body has stopped producing testosterone and that’s why I completely lost my sex drive, and my annual full blood panels to check my overall health. Keep in mind, over the years various doctors have tested me for just about everything at this point, and I’ve always had no issues show up in my blood. Not even when my appendix burst and I was slowly starting to go into septic shock in the ER when I was 14.
I guess the one good thing out of this whole experience continues to be that I’m learning how to open up to people about what is going on with me. I just haven’t been able to keep this shit locked up inside me. It’s fucking scary. I ignored it for months when I would mention that I just didn’t feel right. Sometimes I would be told it was all in my head, and I started believing it. I started feeling like I was slowly going insane, and it was stressing me out so much. I mean, after the break up, I quit drinking the Monsters cold turkey because I thought they, combined with my emotions, were causing my heart and body to feel the way they were feeling. It still hasn’t helped.
As much as I’m still hurting and feeling like a fool about my relationship…as much as I’m struggling to understand how I could have been so wrong about someone that I thought I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with – it’s almost like none of that really matters now that I’m faced with the potential of a very serious health problem. Part of me wonders if she knew what I was going through right now, what she would say…if she would accuse me of lying about all of this like she did about me having to cancel her engagement ring (that really still stings…no, it wasn’t going to be ready in a day or in a week, but I put a deposit on a main stone and was working with a designer), or if she would maybe stop and realize I wasn’t kidding all those times I tried to articulate that I just didn’t feel right.
One thing is for certain, as much as I hate conflict and I try to avoid arguments and do my best to just compromise and appease people and put others’ concerns and emotions before my own, if I am lucky enough to ever find myself in another relationship again I am going to try so much harder to voice myself and explain myself. That is my regret from this past relationship. That is my lesson. I was so focused on trying to keep things steady and build our future and make all the right decisions for that future together that I didn’t articulate me. I froze up. I forgot how to express my feelings. When I tried and I got interrupted (I tend to take pauses while I gather myself and then continue), I would just basically either shut down, or in my least proud moments react with disdain.
I’m not sure I will ever get over the hurt she caused by saying she thought that for months I may have been cheating. I struggle to articulate internally how that accusation makes me feel even. It disgusts me that someone would ever think that of me. I am physically revolted by it. The suggestion stabs through me like a blade. I feel like it was said because she knew me so well that she knew it would be the one thing that would hurt me so deeply that it would crush any love for her in my heart. It didn’t. I still have love for her. I don’t wish her harm or ill will. I can eventually forgive her. I just wish I was respected enough to have the truth. I know that she and I will never be friends. At least not for many, many years. If she even still thinks of me in a decade, who knows. Do I care about her still? Yes. If she was in dire straits and needed help, would I swallow my pride and help her? Most likely, depending on what she needed. I’m not an asshole. I’m not cruel. I do have my limits though.
Yesterday at work, one of my male coworkers and I were in line at the small cafe we have, waiting to pay. I was ahead of him, buying some Vitamin Waters. After I was rung out, he jokingly said I should buy his lunch too. Now, he’s a good guy, and he’d generously listened to me vent about more than a few things over the four years we’ve worked together, so I actually pulled my card out and wordlessly started to hand it over to pay for his food. He got upset a little that I would actually buy his meal. He assured me he was joking, and I told him I knew he was, but I didn’t mind, I like doing nice things for people. He told me he knows I’m one of the few genuinely nice people out there that does put other people before myself, but maybe I need to take a step back and evaluate if this has been to my detriment.
He’s been about the tenth or eleventh person in the past two months that have told me pretty much the same thing. They can see that I really am a genuinely good, nice person…but I need to stop putting everyone else ahead of me so much. And I do. All the time. I always have. If someone I care about needs or wants something, I’ll take care of it, no questions asked. Very rarely do I ask for anything in return. When I have eventually asked for something or felt slighted or felt myself being resentful towards someone, I’m always terribly awkward about it and I don’t know how to react or how to express myself. A very common undercurrent.
I definitely need to keep writing more. The more I write, the more I feel able to get this shit out and actually say it. Writing things down makes them feel less scary somehow. Maybe someday I’ll meet a woman who gets my need to stop and pause and then speak…maybe she’ll stumble upon my writing and won’t think I’m some messed up individual for being afraid of failure and for having such a difficult time sharing my fears and asking for a shoulder or a hug or for help. Maybe she won’t find it weird that I’m 33 and struggle to have any sort of relationship with either parent because I’ve never had a healthy relationship with either of them my whole life.
Maybe she won’t care that I’m 33 and I still do silly shit like have sparkly gauged plugs and cut my hair into a faux hawk again because this is how I felt most confident before. Maybe she’ll think it’s adorable that I’m essentially a functioning introvert who spends 40 hours a week talking on the phone for a living, so when I’m not at work I appreciate the quiet – even though I can very easily fit in with any crowd and become the life of the party. Maybe she’ll find my extensive vocabulary and random knowledge about abstract subjects a turn on. Who fucking knows! I sure don’t.
If there is one thing I wish I could tell the Universe at large about me though, it’s this: I’m not perfect, but I’m loyal.
(Look at that…I managed to do a lot of articulating this evening despite having a sudden onset migraine at 10AM this morning and sleeping most of the day thanks to my Treximet! Go me!)
Naked 