Life is cruel in many ways, but in the tiniest moments, life could grant blessings to save a person.
When I was born over fifty years ago, I had an undiscovered hole in my heart. Not a big deal, since around fourteen percent of the population is born with one. I knew I had issues since I was a kid because any cardio type activities caused me to near passing out and shortness of breath. Oh, and dizziness too. Every single time.
My mother never could be bothered to have a thorough exam done because she thought doctors might discover I was being abused. I remember getting strep throat so bad I nearly lost my hearing. Mother was a bit nervous to take me because of her secrets. She did finally take me to the doctor, where the doctor yelled at her for waiting so long.
I was thankful to have been exempted from gym class my freshman year of high school due to a torn ligament in my knee that had to be corrected. Another story, for another day. The injury and subsequent surgery left my knee in such a mess, I got a doctors note every year in high school to exempt me from gym class. It was a blessing in disguise.
My heart really became an issue after my second divorce. I had a huge house to care for which meant tons of mowing and other stresses on my heart. My first ER visit happened in 2007. I thought it was a stroke because my left side felt numb.
Doctors ran tests, determined no stroke sending me home.
My next ER visit happened in 2008 after my daughter and I moved to a new location far from family. Again, felt like a stroke. Neurologist ran CT scans, blood work, MRI, etc…nothing showed signs of stroke. The neurologist suggest I see a cardiologist. I noted it because always knew my heart did not function well.
In October 2010, life came to a grinding halt.
My daughter and I lived in a nice town. I was working full time as a dialysis technician, finishing up a few prerequisites for nursing school, and handling being a single parent.
I noticed in September 2010, my tiredness was more then the usual tired. My breathing was getting harder and more erratic even doing the slightest of things. I was rushed by ambulance October 8, 2010. My daughter, cool as a cucumber, rode in the ambulance with me.
The ER doctors ran all the typical tests, seeing if I was having a heart attack. They kept me overnight for observation. The next day the hospitalist doctor said it was nothing. I was probably experiencing hormonal changes or stress. He decided to discharge me. I rolled my eyes in frustration. I knew something was seriously wrong.
The discharge nurse came in sat on my bed. She looked me straight in the eyes. She told me she saw the results of my CT scan of my heart and it is not good. She implored me to find a cardiologist asap. I told her I had none.
She left the room, came back with a list of cardiologists she highly recommended. I couldn’t thank her enough for believing me and helping me.
A week later, I got in to see my new cardiologist, Doctor Park. We sat in his office a good hour going over my health history. He discussed the results of the findings from the CT scan. He drew a picture of what was happening in my heart.
He diagnosed me with atrial septal defect. The hole in my heart which 14 percent of the population is born with, I am in the 3–4 % where damage can occur. He asked why my parents never checked or if they knew. I shrugged not wanting to go in to details.
The hole in my heart got to damaged from so many years of going undetected. The blood was flowing back into my right atrium and was enlarging my heart. He was blunt and honest. If something wasn’t done very soon, things would from real bad to much worse.
His suggestion was getting me in to a cardiologist that could try to put an implant where the hole was and hopefully it would close. The problem was no one in the area could do the procedure. Only certain hospitals were equipped to handle it. My choice was either Peoria or Chicago. I choose Chicago since I had relatives that lived there and could help.
I asked Doctor Park what would happen to me if the implant didn’t work? He said to me let’s try this first and hope it works. I knew it meant a transplant if this implant didn’t work.
I could not work. Thankfully, I earned some PTO time so I could earn some type of income. I dropped out of school. My poor daughter was a wreck. Her grades were sliding because of her worrying about me. My ex was an ass, but what would I expect from a narcissist.
It was absolute hell from my visit with Doctor Park until my scheduled time for the procedure. I had to drive over hundred miles from where I lived up to Chicago. There were preliminary Echo tests that Doctor Jolley needed done which were at least two car trips. He needed to determine my oxygen flow. I guess I was fortunate I was getting to much oxygen through my body. The opposite effect, my other organs might start shutting down.
Dr. Jolley set up a catheterization procedure November 30, 2010. He would be going in through my groin and scope to see how and if the implant will even take.
My friend from church stepped up and not only drove my daughter and I up the day before the catheterization, her daughter let us stay in her apartment in Chicago. Everything was happening so fast but time was of the essence.
November 30, 2010 bright and early, my friend, my daughter and I, get me checked in at University Chicago Hospital. Dr. Jolley’s assistant doctor comes by and explains what will happen. She tells me the implant will be attempted to be placed at that time. I was dumbfounded.
I asked her how could that be? Dr. Jolley said this was going to be exploratory to see if the implant could even fit. She explains that Dr. Jolley asked a representative from the manufacturer of the implant to fly from Baltimore to Chicago with the implant.
I guess both Dr. Jolley and the company discussed the dire need for me and that I had to travel over a hundred miles to get to the hospital. It was a one shot attempt to alleviate more stress and possible damage. I was both elated and terrified.
The catheterization was horrifying and absolutely painful. I felt every time they tried threading up to my heart and trying to get the implant to stay. What should have taken forty five minutes for the procedure, took over three and a half hours. It sucked because not only did I feel pain, I could hear the doctors talking. I was in twilight but still there.
During a needed break, I heard Dr. Jolley asking the Representative from the implant company for suggestions. He consulted with another doctor from the cardiac pediatric unit. None of them had answers on how to get the implant to stay in the hole in my heart. The Representative suggested maybe another visit. He had possibly another implant they could try. I wanted to cry.
I lie flat, watching as Dr. Jolley stared across the big screen showing my heart. I closed my eyes, praying he not give up. I did not have the strength to come for more visits. Dr. Jolley stood staring while everyone stood silent.
He turned to his team and declared they were giving it one more try. The nurse pumped more morphine to ease the excruciating pain. I moaned and felt as he threaded up in through my groin to my heart.
He let out a yelp. It took! The implant finally went in place and did not move. Finally.
I lost so much blood during the procedure, that when it was time for me to walk around, my blood pressure crashed. They stabilized me. I got discharged the next day.
I felt the difference. I could breathe easier, my color returned and I was healing.
I ended up losing my job because even though the implant worked, the back flow of blood from the damage still made laborious things difficult. A cardiologist nurse told me it would take at least six months to function and heal. I was thirty nine when I finally got my defect fixed.
For the next couple of years after the procedure, Dr. Jolley monitored me. On one of my visits, his colleague came in the examining room saying the damage to my heart is gone. He was perplexed because once a heart is damaged, it stays that way.
Back when I got the implant at the age of thirty nine, life was different. I was a single parent to my eleven year old daughter who needed me to live. If I died back then, she would be forced to live with her dad who abused her. I was given plenty of years for her to grow up and she now lives on her own.
I am thankful I made it for her. I do not know what the future holds for me, or how much time I have left. I have been blessed and fortunate all these years to have survived as long as I did.