CHECKING INTO THE HEARTBREAK HOTEL

There are lots of things you don’t want to hear in an emergency room. "Hold on a minute – the residents have got to see this!" and "Did you bring the other arm with you?"

I, however, have found something else I don’t want to hear: "We’re going to admit you to the cardio floor."

It all started the other day when I woke up and it felt like my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. It didn’t hurt so much as it was uncomfortable. So, being a guy, I went to work and let people feel my heart rate. "Uh, is that normal?" was the common question. "Don’t think so," I would say. Naturally, I assumed this was just one of the human body’s fun little games, and it would all pass soon.

When I got home that evening, the heart was still beating like I had just ingested 74 Pixie sticks. I asked my wife to see what she thought. I knew it was kind of a bad sign when she put her ear to my chest and immediately jerked it away and said, "That is disgusting! Are you making it do that!?!?!?!"

I decided I would drive myself to the emergency room and have them take a look. I know you are probably wondering why I drove myself, rather than having someone else drive me. There are three reasons: (1) I wasn’t feeling that bad and I didn’t think it was anything serious (2) my daughter had a cold, and I wanted my wife to stay with her and (3) I am a guy.

When I finally got into the emergency room, a nurse hooked me up to a heart monitor. It took about 10 seconds of heart monitoring to move me into the cardiac room, complete with bigger and louder heart monitors. A doctor came in and told me that I was having what is known as Atrial Fibrillation. Basically, two of the chambers of my heart decided to get out of sync and go off on some random beat of their own. Somewhat common, a nurse told me. Later I found out it is common for people in their 70s and for crack addicts. Pretty sure I don’t fit in either category.

I was put on an IV drip of some heart medicine and some blood thinner (to prevent potential blood clots and stroke). I was moved up into the cardiac ward, where people who had just had massive heart surgery stayed. I’m pretty sure I’m one of the younger residents there, because several nurses came in my room and did a double-take, perhaps wondering if a knee surgery patient had wandered to the wrong room.

Overnight, while I was asleep, my heart converted back to its normal rate. My wife said that the monitor showed a nice and fluid heart beat, unlike the night before, when it more resembled an Etch-a-Sketch drawing.

Later in the morning, a cardiologist came in the room and gave me the low-down. Sometimes, he said, these things just happen. Granted, we need to wait a few weeks before we determine if that was it, but I’m certainly voting for that option. He sent me home, and I have to go back and see him in a few weeks. In the meantime, I have to cut out caffeine, alcohol, and exercise. The way I see it, if I can’t go two weeks without those three, my heart is the least of my worries.

I know to some of you experienced patients out there, this may seem like no big deal. But I’m 28 years old. I’m still on the foolish side of invincible. I have a five-month old daughter. I’d like to see her hit a few birthdays. Add to the fact that this is the first time I have ever been in the hospital, and you’ve got the makings of something as fun and exciting as a PBS fund drive.

So here I am on day one of my no-caffeine, no-alcohol, no-fun lifestyle. The doctor said that, assuming things go normally for the next few weeks, I can climb off of those two wagons. I’m sure people at work will appreciate it when I can resume coffee consumption. It was not a fun experience, but, thankfully, everything seems to have come out OK. Sure, I may have been a young cardio patient. But it could have been worse. A lot worse. For one thing, they could have called the residents in to take a look.