Heart on a Trampoline

A Random Tuesday in the Hospital

Welcome to another installment of The Bittersweet, where I share my search for a richer perspective on the Bittersweet moments that make up modern life.

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In an era where you have access to every word ever written, I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to read mine.

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Hello Friends,

Something pretty weird happened this past Tuesday…

I took my daughter Tatum to a toddler storytime and the library. I sat on the floor while she pulled books off the shelves, and I put them back on. She let me read every fourth or fifth one. As I put a book about shapes back on the shelf, I felt my heart flip inside my chest. I've had heart palpitations for most of my adult life, so the feeling was familiar. I put my hand over my heart like I was saying The Pledge of Allegiance, took a deep breath and waited for it to pass… it didn’t.

These palpitations usually last a few seconds, but this went on for about a minute, maybe more. When it stopped, I checked out our books, drove home, and fed my daughter lunch, all the while, my heart flipped every few minutes. Sometimes, it was just a quick skip, and others would last longer. Each time I registered the feeling, I thought, “I don’t have time for this.”

While I was cleaning up from lunch, I noticed the palpitations were getting longer and closer together, like labor, but without a baby at the end.

I set Tatum up on the couch and turned on a movie to distract her, and then I called my husband, Nick. “I don’t feel good,” I said. This is what I usually say when I’m having a panic attack, and maybe that’s all this was, but it just didn’t feel like a panic attack. I explained what was going on, and he asked if I wanted to go to the doctor.

My first thought was about everything that wouldn’t get done if I said yes. For one, I had a chiropractor appointment in 30 minutes, which I was really looking forward to. Also, Tatum would need a nap soon, and then the kids would get out of school and need to go to their various practices, and I hadn’t even considered what I’d make for dinner yet. Going to the doctor just seemed like a hassle I didn’t need. All this went through my head while my heart bounced on a trampoline.

“How about I call you in 30 minutes,” he said. The instant I got off the phone, I regretted it. I’ve spent a large chunk of my life worrying, “What if…” when I had no evidence that anything was wrong, and now I actually do have evidence, and I was trying to talk myself out of seeking help.

A few years back, I heard a story about a mother with infant twins who died from the flu because she kept putting off going to the doctor. I remember thinking how easily that could happen to me. I’ve hosted family for dinner days after giving birth. When sick, I simply power through, ignoring my symptoms and refusing to rest. I was exhausted for a year straight, chalking it up to “just being a mom.” It turns out I was anemic and had hypothyroidism… Sometimes, I wear the badge of caregiver at my peril. What if this was one of those times?

I called Nick right back, “I need to go to the doctor.” I said. “Ok, I’m on my way home.” “No, I need to call 911.” I hung up the phone, dialed, and explained to the operator what was going on.

I want to say I wasn’t worried about making a mountain out of a molehill and that I wasn’t preemptively embarrassed I was wasting everyone’s time, but I was.

The dispatcher was young and kind. He asked if the front door was locked, and I got up to unlock it. I thought it was strange that I was able to walk around while my heart did backflips like Simone Biles. He told me help was on the way.

I sat back on the couch and took my blood pressure.

102/65, heart rate 60 bpm. Pretty normal for me. I hit the button again. I don’t remember my blood pressure, but I do remember my heart rate jumped to 99 bpm in a matter of seconds without moving a muscle. “Well, that’s weird,” I said to the dispatcher. By now, I could hear the sirens. I started to feel like I might pass out. My breath got shorter and shorter, and my palms started sweating.

I lay on the couch, feet up, waiting for another responsible adult to walk through the door while my daughter sat at the other end, mercifully distracted by Trolls, the movie. I thought about how horrible it would be if part of her story included her mother unconscious next to her, followed by strangers entering her house.

Thankfully, my thoughts were interrupted by two young paramedics walking through the front door. One started asking questions while the other hooked me up to a monitor she had set up on the floor.

I was answering one of his questions when I noticed he wasn’t really paying attention. He got real quiet and stared intently at the monitor.

“Huh,” he said.

“Huh?” I said back. “I don't like that sound of that.” He told his partner to print the readout and run it again. This time, he was kneeling on the floor, next to the machine and right next to my face.

This is when Nick walked in. “Dada!” Tatum said, and she stretched her arms up to him. Now that Nick was home, I felt I had permission to release all the fear I’d been holding in trying to be a mom while in some kind of medical… what? Emergency? I didn’t know yet…

Nick said to me, “You’re safe, honey.” I said, “It’s not good.”

I asked the medic, “Am I having a heart attack?” He said, “It's not life-threatening, but we should get you to the hospital.”

There are some perks when your husband is a VP at a hospital. They're not the kind of perks you ever want to need, but perks nonetheless. When Aiden was sick, we never waited for a bed at the ER. When I rolled in on Tuesday, I didn’t have to wait, either.

They rolled me into a room that was much larger and had way more equipment than I hoped I would ever need. I realize now that you can never be too cautious when it comes to the heart. After all, you are a heart before you are anything else.

They hooked me up to monitors, took my blood, and asked a ton of questions. I had a chest x-ray and an ultrasound.

The ultrasound tech turned on her monitor, and I saw an inverted cone shape come on the screen; I couldn’t help but think of all the times I watched my babies grow inside me. It doesn’t get much better than the sound of a baby’s first heartbeat: steady like a train, strong like galloping horses, a wash of joy and relief every time… There were those times, too, when there was no heartbeat at all, and Nick and I cried and mourned and hoped my black and white cone-shaped uterus would be filled again.

On Tuesday, my ultrasound had no sound. I watched the flaps of my heart open and close, open and close. She took her measurements and snapped her pictures, and I thought about how futile it was that a few hours ago, I was trying to control my heart like I might control my hands clapping along to The Wheels on the Bus.

After all the tests were done, it was time to wait, and I was left alone. Exhaustion washed over me, and I drifted in and out of sleep for a while.

Eventually, a cardiologist came in, and we both played medical detectives. I searched my memory for everything in my medical history or lifestyle that might explain what happened. My blood work and ultrasound showed no signs of disease, damage, or defect. Could this be caffeine? Hormones? A virus? Did I have a recent surgery? So far, I baffled everyone, and I’m still unsure if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse.

I was admitted overnight for observation, and while my heart returned to a regular rhythm, my anxiety was through the roof. From a medical standpoint, the night was uneventful, but now that the danger was gone, I had time to worry about what could have happened, and that’s where I’ve been since I came home Wednesday afternoon.

Maybe this really was just one of those things, and if I cut back on caffeine, tweak my hormones, or change my diet, I’ll be just fine, but the uncertainty of it all weighs heavy.

I’m wearing a monitor for the next two weeks, and I’ll have a follow-up echo next month. Maybe I’ll get some answers, but maybe not. One thing is clear: I have to get better at asking for and accepting help. These days, I’m the last person on my own list, and that has to change.

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

P.S. I don’t typically share things like this so closely after they happen, so please excuse the sudden and raw nature of these words while I process my thoughts.

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