Scientific Process

From the part of the scientist, changing one variable in an equation is a logical, reasonable way of deducing an answer. My analytical mind totally understands this.

My human parts, the ones that are frustrated and scared and confused, wonder why this process is so slow and tedious and if there are viable alternatives.

When I started having these symptoms in February, the first doctor I went to suggested we rule out heart issues first. If that produced nothing, we'd look at neurological issues.

After yesterday's test, I can comfortably say there is nothing wrong with my heart.

I'm not sure what to think about this news.

I mean, I'm grateful to have a fully functioning heart. Very grateful.

I'm happy to know what the problem isn't.

But what the heck does that mean?

Like many people in their early twenties, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I used to joke that I was figuring out what I wanted to do by figuring out what I didn't want to do. I quickly realized that this was a very slow way to get nowhere.

I feel this whole experience is a bit like that philosophy. Isn't there a faster way to figure this out?

I feel like Frustrated Dwarf. 

Oh, wait. Maybe that was all the dwarfs when Snow White wouldn't give them the time of day.

I did learn something very valuable yesterday: the importance of being one's own advocate: I asked what my next steps should be while I was at the clinic yesterday. The nurses starred at me blankly.

The hospital staff does not live with my problem.

They don't feel the daily frustrations I do.

It's not that they don't care; it's that they have a zillion other things. 

This whole experience has been frustrating and exhausting and I'm thinking of finding someone to advocate for me because I'm sure I'm missing something. 

And frankly? I'm tired.

And I'm tired of being tired.

So I'm gonna call the doctor.

The Tilt Table Test

After months of not running exercising at all, I still have no real knowledge of what is happening to me.

I walk up steps, or across campus or into the kitchen, and get really light headed. Oh, and I can't breathe. Not in an asthma kind of way. It's more like an "I just ran really far really fast and now I'm out of breath" kind of way. And so I sit down and wait for it to pass. This happens every day. Sometimes several times a day. Fun, no?

I can't go back to boot camp until I get this figured out. I can't go to clinicals until I figure this out. And screw running. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever run again.

(Although I've gotten very fast in my dreams. Which basically means I'm going to die when I can run again.)

Two weeks ago I returned to see the cardiologist for a tilt table test (the only thing I knew about it was that I'd be strapped to a table that moved; it didn't sound hard). A bunch of blue hairs eyeballed me repeatedly (I guess when you reach a certain age discretion goes out the window?) in the waiting room. I felt like raw meat.

Things didn't get better from the waiting room. A tech stuck an INT in my arm (basically, it's IV access with no IV attachment) and then left me alone with the door open while he went to find a tilt table. I could hear the nurse asking if the amiodarone was ready. Two minutes later she asked again. I wondered who else was here and what happened to them that caused a shock state. Two minutes later, the nurse asked again; this time she asked if it was ready for me.

 What the hell kind of test was this and why did they think my heart might stop!?!?!?

At the same moment, the tech came back with a portable EKG, strapped it to my chest and strapped me to the table. The table rose to a vertical position. 

Six sets of straps held me to the table. Wires cris-crossed my chest. A box that housed the wires was strapped to the center of my chest.

I stood there while a doctor, nurse and tech looked at me expectantly. It was awkward to say the least. For twenty minutes, they waited.

And then they remembered that I was a runner.

"Oh, she's not going to faint like this! She's a runner!" said the tech.

"Put this under your tongue and let it melt."said the doctor as she handed me a nitroglycerin tablet.

"Is anything happening yet?" asked the nurse.

"It should have by now..." replied the doctor.

"I'm fi..." my voice trailed off. 

My head exploded inside itself. 

"Heart rate 110" called the tech.

"150. Blood pressure 90 over 60."

"Now 70 over 50. Heart rate 170."

My heart felt like it was vibrating in my chest. I couldn't feel a single individual heartbeat.

I grimaced from the crushing pain in my head and started to feel bile rising in my throat.

"Heart rate 190. And BP.... 47/35... no... 42/33..."

"Stop the test!" cried the doctor.

As the table returned to a horizontal position, the crushing pain in my head subsided.

"Had we continued, you would definitely have fainted."

She continued, "The good news is that we can give you medications to keep your blood pressure up. I just want to see if Dr. Dollar wants to give them now or wait till after your stress test."

I wanted to cry.

42/33? So that's what the amiodarone was for...! 

42/33? That's not a blood pressure. That's more like a football score. No wonder I've felt so awful!

I go for the stress test Monday.

I'm kind of terrified.