A broken heart is a sign that something is broken

“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.”― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

On any given winter Saturday, you'll find me there.  At the edge of a forest, skis in hand.On this particular Saturday, an Aeropress coffee had been consumed as usual. It was followed quickly by a second Aeropress coffee.  I'm a (somewhat rigid) creature of habit.  I had stopped to pick up a friend.  Less than an hour later, we were at our starting point, clipped into our cross-country skis ready to glide.Ten minutes of easy skiing later, the fun was over.  An assumed caffeine rush quickly turned into a racing heart rate that quickly stopped me dead in my tracks, literally.  I managed to say, "I have to stop" before - WHOOSH! - down I went.  Thank god for friends who catch you when you fall.  I came to quickly but was barely there.  As I knelt in the snow on the side of the trail, I couldn't help but notice two things: 1) snow is cold, and 2) I was suddenly having a bad day.

The kindness of friends

There was no cell service.  There was no calling 911.  We had no choice but to ski back to the car.  It was a slow go.  I seem to remember we were passed by a small child.  Every time I would raise my heart rate, I would feel lightheaded and we would have to stop.  I didn't want to risk another impersonation by me of a sack of potatoes.My trip to the emergency room had several steps. The first was another friend's house.  They lived nearby, came with soup and concern and, apparently, a whole slew of neighbouring people in the medical field.  The ER doc who lived nearby was, unfortunately, but not surprisingly, working in the ER that day.  We checked wait times at the various hospitals.  Yes, there's an app for that.  My ski buddy drove me to the hospital in my own car.  She hadn't driven a stick in almost a decade.  She was a pro under pressure.The second step was triage. No, I hadn't recently traveled to an exotic country.The third was the ER.  I've never had my vitals checked so often in my life.  An hour became several hours.  I passed the time joking with my friend who, to her credit, kept me perfectly distracted.  She gave up her time including dinner with friends to stay with me.  For that, I will be eternally grateful.

ER

ER highlights included a ride on a stretcher, a shouting stint by a patient in a nearby room, and the moment when I set off an alarm.  The last thing you want to hear while you're in the ER for a presumed cardiovascular event is the sound of a heart rate monitor alarm.  Did they want to give me a heart attack?My broken heart was in a precarious state.  If it wasn't for my friend, I would have been scared.  Good friends help make light of the situation.  It's important to take things seriously, but not to take yourself seriously.  We were especially entertained by my attitude when, during a conversation with the cardiology resident, I questioned her take on the whole situation.(Did I mention I also fainted the morning before after getting out of bed?)

Agree to disagree

Resident: "We're more concerned about your sudden fainting spell yesterday morning.  It was unprovoked and came without warning."

Me: "Funny, because I'm more concerned with today's events.  I'm fit and active and usually do way more physical activity before anything close to a fainting spell happens. I can explain yesterday's fainting spell; jump out of bed, quickly reach for something on a top shelf, goodnight."

Resident: "There are millions of people who get out of bed every morning and don't faint, Kim."

Me: "Touché, Doctor. Touché."

My friend: "She is the cardiologist." (Yeah, but I'm me.  I know me.  None of this was normal.)

I couldn't argue one hard fact, though: I was not, and never will be, a cardiologist.  Given this hard truth, I agreed to be admitted to the cardiology unit that night.The fun was over.  Life just got real.

A change in perspective

My friend told the story of a young active woman who found out she needed a pacemaker.  She went on to run the Boston Marathon.  In my head, I was preparing myself for this possibility.  If she could do it, so could I.  Forget about the fact that I like running as much as I like the idea of my dog dying.  I made the decision then and there that whatever the outcome I would continue to ski, ride and, god forbid, run no matter the news about my broken heart.My internal pep talk only lasted so long.  When I was finally alone in my cardiology room, reality set in.  Loneliness set in.  Life suddenly seemed very precarious.

Nothing of concern doesn't mean there's nothing to be concerned about. 

The next day results from the x-ray, stress test, heart rate monitoring and carotid artery ultrasound showed that my broken heart wasn't in fact broken.  There would be no need for the implementation of a drastic running training schedule just yet.  I wasn't convinced though.

A broken heart reframe

Being admitted to cardiology was a sign that something needed to change.A health scare can be linked to poor mental health.  Stress and anxiety can wreak havoc on our health; pay attention to yours.  There is no reason or excuse to put up with stress in your relationships, whether friendships or family or, and especially, at work.If your mental health is poor, take care before it affects your physical health.  The last thing you want is for it to lead to a broken heart.x KM---P.S. Whoever said socialized health care is terrible doesn't know what they're talking about.  Thank you, Canada.

Photo credit: @RoryTucker