The girl with the heart condition

I'm never blogged about it in depth before, but I have a heart condition called supraventricular tachycardia. I was diagnosed with it when I was 16. The way my doctor explained tachycardia to me then was that we all have a spot in our heart that regulates our pulse. Those of us with tachycardia have a bad spot that wants the heart to beat much faster -- in my case, 200+ beats a minute (often even higher than 230) faster. Occasionally, that spot takes over for a while, resulting in an "episode."

The doc said I'll have more frequent episodes as I age, and that they'll last longer. I can opt to have surgery where doctors insert tubes into my veins through my hip and shoulder to electrocute and kill the "bad spot." But it's not a serious condition -- just something that might annoy me enough someday to have the surgery.

He seemed pretty unconcerned about the condition (his wife even has it!), so I never worried about it. I'd have episodes from time to time, but they're really just a temporary inconvenience. I compare them to asthma, although the episodes are not as serious: I will always have symptoms from time to time.

When I have an episode, it's harder for me to catch my breath. It's never even close to something to panic about. I just take really really really deep breaths. Episodes can last as little as a few seconds, and once as long as several hours (that was the longest by FAR). It's instantly clear when an episode starts because of how hard my heart starts beating -- so hard you can see it through my shirt (heck, even through a band uniform). My doctor had told me the way to get an episode to stop is to stand on my head (no lie), so I'll usually try to find somewhere to lie down and put my legs over my head.

When the episodes last a long time, I start feeling pretty tired. If they last longer (like 30+ minutes), my left arm can start to feel tingly, and every once in a while my chest will hurt. As soon as the episode is done, though, the tiredness and tingly arm go away. (Once when I was in college, I had an episode start when I was in the car with my boyfriend. I said, "My pulse started," so he waited until the last minute to stop at a stoplight. I thought we were going to rear-end the car in front of us, which kickstarted my pulse and made it go back to normal. It worked, but it actually hurt like hell. It felt like my heart was twisting or something.)

My doctor in Dallas seemed a little more concerned with my condition. I've had ultrasounds on my heart, and EKGs ... I've even worn a Holter monitor for a few days. Everything always comes back normal. My Dallas doctor gave me two options (since I think the surgery is unnecessary): 1) I have to stop whatever I'm doing when I have an episode until it's done. 2) I could take beta blockers to alleviate symptoms. They would make me fatigued quicker, and I would have a steady, slow pulse at all times -- whether I'm on a roller coaster, working out, or sitting on the couch watching TV. That sounded so lame to me. Like not living.

I like feeling my heart beating like crazy when I'm sprinting or toughing out my kettlebell class. I remember how hard and fast my heart started beating when I found out about my kickball friend last month. None of these are episodes, but normal reactions to life. It makes me feel alive.

To be honest, I never thought about tachycardia often until lately. I never thought of it as a limitation, but as an extra little hurdle I have to deal with from time to time. 

But then, just 4 days after running my marathon last November, I got turned away from donating blood because of tachycardia. And last week, I got denied for placement on the bone marrow donor registry because of it. Even if I have the surgery or take beta blockers, both of those would disqualify me for the donation as well. 

I don't have episodes very often, but every month or two I'll go through a phase where I have a few pretty close together before another dry spell. I'm in an episode phase right now.

I had my first episode in a while on Wednesday at a kickball scrimmage. As I laid with my legs up in the air, hidden behind trees so the other kickballers wouldn't make a fuss (pretty sure none of them know I have a condition), one of my teammates was arriving. Naturally, she asked what I was doing, so I mumbled something about a minor heart condition and getting it to stop. Another episode came when we were on the field, so I had to tell my team I needed to sit out. I hollered for an outfielder to take my spot at 3rd base.

As I walked off the field, someone said, "Did you get stung by a bee again?" (True story: I got stung by a bee during our game last week.)

"No."

"Is it your knees?" someone else asked.

"No."

"Is it your heart?" my teammate who'd caught me stopping the earlier episode asked.

"Yeah." Someone cracked a joke about my many problems. It wasn't meant in a rude way or to call me weak or anything like that, but it's exactly why I don't tell anyone about the heart condition (unless an episode happens around them) and probably why I don't think much of it. It's one thing to be the girl with the shitty knees. But the girl with shitty knees AND a heart condition? No thanks.

And last night at kettlebell, another episode. Right at the start of the last song. Do you know how hard it is for me to tough out a hardcore class like that for 52 minutes, only to leave in the last 3? It f*ing sucked.

Part of the reason I had never thought of tachycardia as a weakness is because most of the time, it doesn't keep me from doing normal things. I can go on about my business without most people knowing I even have it. I can pretend I don't.

Until lately, with the blood donation and the bone marrow donation, the only times I had had to accept that it is a weakness was when an episode was happening -- from the humbling, frustrating second it begins to the relieving moment it ends.