I've been hiding in my healing bubble. In case you didn't know, my heart broke. Not in the theme of a love story, but in the way you end up in hospital.
A few weeks ago, I woke up with a racing heart. I could feel it, pounding through my whole body, it was overtaking me. Yelling at me. If it could speak it would've been saying
"Ange, something is wrong. Help me."
But I ignored it.
I thought, maybe I was having some sort of anxiety attack? Quite a few of my clients suffer with anxiety and I was having a first hand experience. Now I understand what they're feeling! I thought. So I went about my morning as though everything was fine.
I called my best friend/naturopath and as soon as I told her about my heart she told me to get my ass to the doctor. I hesitated, almost didn't, but ultimately listened to her.
What seemed like moments later, I was being asked if anyone was near by who could take me to Emergency or did I need an ambulance? Luckily my mum was close by and sped right over, bundled me up and whisked me away.
Once there I went from thinking this was all slightly dramatic to sobbing hysterically as they injected me with a drug that made me briefly feel like my body was having the life sucked out of it. My heart didn't enjoy that and sped up to 280bmp, four times my resting heart rate.
I don't remember much after that. My mum was taken away for what seemed like hours while they used electricity to bring my heart back to a normal rhythm. Of course they were kind enough to give me the drug that makes you forget that one, I'm sure it wouldn't have been fun to remember.
I came to and, of course, cried. I wanted my husband and baby. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to go home. I wanted to stay. I just wanted to be safe and told that this was totally normal and it happens to everyone. I wanted the lights off, they were too bright. I wanted everyone to go away and stop touching me. I wanted the needle out of my arm. I wanted to control everything that I couldn't because I was too scared to tune into my body because it was breaking.
I saw my husband and watched him hold back his tears. I knew I was a mess. Oxygen mask, needles in my arm, wires all over my chest. Puffy and red from crying. I couldn't even hug him properly because there was too much stuff in the way. I needed him to know I was ok so I smiled. After what my poor mum had just experienced plus the fear he must have felt on his way to me I knew I needed to be strong for them because they would've been just as terrified as I was.
I laughed at the mess of it all. If I didn't laugh I would've lost it. I would be the healthiest person in my family and here I was, like this.
My incredible Cardiologist came in and explained a whole bunch of stuff that made no sense to me. I smiled and nodded. I was booked in for a procedure to fix it first thing the next morning. Atrial flutter. Not so bad. Mostly happens to people over 60 who smoke and drink but occasionally hits young healthy people for no reason. So now this had a name and a fix. I was happy, exhausted and no longer scared.
I stayed in hospital that night and battled a migraine that was a clear sign that my body was stressed. The next morning I kissed my family goodbye and I went into the procedure with trust and faith in the people looking after my heart.
I woke up and wanted food. I mean, really, hospital food sucks and I had been fasting since the night before and it was now well into lunchtime. Once I finally was rolled into the special part of the hospital where the heart patients get to sleep I was fed roasted vegetables and pasta and got to hang out with my family for the afternoon.
That evening, when I was able to walk again, I attempted to escape. The wires were a little obvious and I didn't get very far.
So this is where the story should end.. But it didn't and I know the attention span of the average reader is about as much as my tolerance for time on the computer. Watch this space, part two coming next week.