As Long As We're Swapping Stories...

Song of the Day: Black Sheep by Metric

So this post is mostly for Michael's benefit, since his own tale of medical turmoil led to a mention of my issues, which I have apparently not chronicled here. So here goes THAT fun story.

Once upon a time, I was about 11. I started having trouble exercising (couldn't complete the Pacer Test in gym, got a horrible wheezing cough if I laughed too hard, etc.), and my mom decided we should get it checked out. I went in for an allergy test (because they check for asthma at the same time). They said I had asthma, wrote a prescription for albuterol and sent me on my way.

As the years progressed, it became less and less important that I be able to run for long periods of time. I had a lot of trouble in P.E. in seventh grade, where we had to do the "Fun Run," a mile cross-country circuit of the school. It was timed, and my time was never good. I had to switch frequently between jogging and walking. I usually sprinted the last bit once I could see the finish, and I suffered for it. My throat felt like it was being shredded with every breath I took, my breathing was incredibly heavy, and if it got too bad I occasionally got a coppery (read: bloody) taste in my mouth. After a little bit this would subside and I'd cough sporadically for half an hour or so. Basically this process repeated any time I made myself run.

When I got to high school I was no longer required to take P.E. (because of IB), so it wasn't really a concern. I found that I started wishing I could run; I felt like I'd enjoy going out in the morning or evening and just running by myself. But I couldn't. I walked constantly, for a few hours at a time just to keep myself doing SOMETHING physical; even a steep-ish hill would still make my breathing heavier than any moderate-weight person's should be (I could stand to lose a little, but my BMI is fine and I was exercising regularly with no improvement in my breathing).

The summer when I was 18, my mom made me go to the doctor for a check-up on my back (she sustained pretty permanent back problems from a car accident we were in when I was 12, and is convinced to this day that I did too. I didn't). The doctor was doing all the normal check-up things they do and when she listened to my heart, she said she heard a murmur. I had a heart murmur when I was a baby, but those are common and it went away. But apparently it was back. So she recommended that even though it was faint, I go see a cardiologist.

So I saw the cardiologist. They tested me left and right. Ultrasounds, echo cardiograms, MRIs. Eventually they decided it was "patent ductus arteriosus" and "patent foramen ovale." In non-medical-jargon, that means little holes. Those little holes allow a more-than-normal amount of blood to go to my lungs. I don't mean my lungs are full of blood, I mean the capillaries or whatever are working too hard. At the time, the cardiologist told me to exercise as much as I could but to not aggravate the symptoms (aka not to push myself to the point of seeing little lights before my eyes); he said he couldn't foresee any complications arising unless I got pregnant and went into labor, which might put strain on my heart and make the holes bigger. Obviously that particular issue isn't in my immediate future. But I left slightly ticked that their message was "Yes, there is a problem. Yes, it inconveniences you. No, we're not doing anything about it."

My personal favorite test was the Trans-Esophogial Echo; they knocked me out for about fifteen minutes, shoved a camera down my throat and took a look around (I can only assume it had some sort of X-ray or similar imaging properties, since you can't see the heart through the esophagus). They made me gargle this stuff that made my throat go numb (because I was supposed to be awake to swallow the camera), at which point I begged them to put me to sleep because it felt awful, like I was simultaneously suffocating and gagging. They must have done something because my mom was in the room and said I looked like I was starting to panic and then suddenly just sort of relaxed and looked like my IQ equalled my age.

Upon waking up from that, I threw up (I always do with general anesthesia; I've been told since then that they can give me different stuff that shouldn't make me sick. That pissed me off because I TOLD them I puked the last time I went under). Anyway, I went home, puked on the driveway, and then (feeling much better) I flopped down on my bed and slept off the rest of the drugs. The MRI was actually after this, but they all found the same thing so the order doesn't really matter.

They've told me different things, but I THINK this is the truth: the heart problem and my asthma are two separate problems, but they work together and whatever damage is done by the too-much-blood-in-my-lungs-when-I-exercise thing is irreversible. It's not life-threatening, but it's quality-of-life threatening. I can't run. Hills intimidate me (I climb them anyway because fuck that). The last time my dad and I went hiking the trail was steep and he--my 60+-year-old, slightly overweight father with back problems--was having an easier time than I was. Silly. And they won't even cut me open and give me a proper battle wound for my trouble--if they ever do fix it, they'll go up through a vein in my leg and I'll be left with a tiny scar, if I have one at all.

So yes. My heart problem that practically isn't even a problem. There it is.

I want to buy summer dresses/clothes. Don't ask me why I suddenly give two shits about dresses. They just sound REALLY comfy. Also, warmth. Winter days like today are so beautiful, but it's really been a half-assed winter and if it doesn't plan on snowing, I vote for spring.

I'm going swing dancing (at the school's Swing Club) tonight for the first time in a LONG time, and I'm kind of really intimidated. I haven't danced in a long time and I don't know anybody (Emily will be there, but she's bringing Jake so they'll be doing their thing the whole time). Mike promised to try it next week but is sick tonight and doesn't feel up to going. So I'm making myself go even if I'm uncomfortable. And that is all I have to say.

tl;dr: I wear dresses now--dresses are cool.

Got up before dawn / Went down to the racetrack / Riding with the windows down / Shortly after your first heart attack. -Pale Green Things, The Mountain Goats