As I write this, I have my sleeve pulled back and I can see the enormous bruise on my right forearm.  I have numerous smaller bruises too, and quite extensive bruising on my stomach from shots I was given there, but the bruise on my arm is the one that bothers me the most.  It looks as if someone grabbed me quite brutally and left a mark.  That isn’t, of course, what happened, but in some ways it feels as though it is.

Strange as it seems, it has only been two weeks since I checked in the hospital with an irregular heartbeat.  In that short a space of time it doesn’t seem possible that an entire life could change, yet I think it has.  Not, perhaps, in the outside essentials.  I still have the same job, I still live in the same place, I still wear the same clothes and talk to the same people.  So, in that sense, things are pretty much as they were.

The changes, and there are some, are on the inside.  In a paradoxical sort of way, I’ve come to value myself more.  My body, which I’d always rather disdained as weak and hard to deal with, kept me alive and unharmed in a situation that could have had grave consequences.  I’ve learned to love my body, warts and weaknesses and all, which is a very new feeling for me.  I’ve also learned to expect better for myself, which means I have to be willing to make some demands, or at least some requests, of my friends and family, something that isn’t easy for me.

I think the hardest part of this whole experience has been the bruises that can’t be seen.  The one on my arm, however alarming it may look at the moment, is already starting to change color and fade.  The bruises left by my hospital stay, bruises caused by being alone and scared, by realizing I have a condition which could have serious consequences, and by having to manage things by myself yet again, will take longer to fade.  It doesn’t matter whether the bruises were caused by my insistence on being independent, or by the carelessness of others, they are still there, and they will take time to heal.

If there is a silver lining to all this, and I think there is, it would be this:  I have learned from this experience, and I will make changes in my life.  My version of settling for more has never included settling for being alone.  It was brought home to me in these past weeks that alone is very much what I am.  What is comforting about that fact is the knowledge that being alone is a condition that can be changed and, if I’m serious about settling for more, is one that will be changed. 

As I wrote in my last post, I was recently in the hospital.  One of the things I learned while I as there is how few people, if any, I have in my life that I can really count on.  My Dad came to see me once.  My sister called once.  My aunt in Florida called a few times and e-mailed me daily, but she was in Florida.  Some of my friends called or came by, but I spent a lot of time sitting in a hospital room by myself.  It gave me a lot of time to think.

Most of my life I’ve made not just a virtue, but a religion, out of being independent.  A lot of the reason for my insistance on not needing anyone was that, many times, there was no one there for me to need.  If there were hard things to do, like walking up the steps to meet the lawyers for the school district after I reported a teacher for molesting me, to driving myself to the hospital to check in because I had a potentially life threatening heart condition, I did them myself.  I don’t ask for help and I don’t expect help, and I don’t ever, ever want to appear vulnerable. 

The problem is, however, that I am vulnerable.  When I was in the hospital, and I went into v-fib, which was caused by medication, and it seemed a very real possibility that I would have to have cardioversion (basically shock treatment for my heart) done while I was awake and aware, I wanted more than anything to have a familiar hand to hold.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t one there.  I’m not sure that anyone would have been there had I asked, and because I wasn’t sure, I didn’t take the chance.  It is easier, and somehow less sad, to not ask and have no one there, than to ask and still find there is no one there.   It’s a twisted logic, but it is logic of a sort.

One of the things I’ve come to realize as a result of my experiences is that we all need other people, and that in order to have people in our lives we have to make ourselves vulnerable.  Sometimes we’ll choose the wrong people and they will hurt us or let us down.  My hope is that sometimes, at least in my case, I’ll choose the right people,  and if that happens, when I hold out my hand for help, someone will be there to take it.   To me, believing that feels like a bit of a gamble, but it is one I am willing to take.

On the 11th I wrote that I feared I might have CHF.  It turned out that wasn’t the case.  What I do have is something called atrial fibrillation.  Basically what this means is that my heart has a sort of epilepsy.  A normal heart receives instructions on how to beat from something called the sinus node.  The sinus node sends out impulses and the heart beats and pumps blood.  My heart was receiving impulses from many different places.  It couldn’t sort out the instructions, so instead of beating, the upper chambers just quivered.  It is a pretty dangerous condition, and I had, apparently, been walking around like that for a while.

The good news is that all of the bad things that could have happened didn’t happen.  I didn’t have a stroke or a heart attack.  I didn’t pass out while driving and crash.  The less good news, or the more challenging news I guess, is that I now have this condition for the rest of my life.  As of right now, my heart is beating normally.  I have medications, and will make lifestyle changes including diet and exercise that will hopefully keep things on an even keel.  There are no guarantees though.  My heart is now a three time loser, and who knows what could happen next.

When I started writing about settling for more, I didn’t really realize what I meant by that phrase.  Now I think I do.  I spent the last week in the hospital with a lot of time to think.  What I realized is that nothing is guaranteed.  I may live a lot more years and be perfectly healthy.  I may live a lot more years in uncertain health.  Anything can happen. 

What I’ve come to realize is that we only get one life.  God, or the Universe, or my Higher Power or whatever I choose to call it, gave me another chance.  It is up to me to decide what I do with that chance.  My heart is still hanging in there, doing the best it can, even though it is a bit battered.  It seems like it would be ungrateful of me to do any less.

Well, I had my pulmonary function test today, and the results were reassuring if not exactly helpful.  My pulse/ox level was 95%, which is good.  My diffusion rate was good. I don’t appear to have asthma.  All positive things.

 What’s not so positive is the fact that there appears to be some enlargement of my heart, as shown on x-rays I had today.  This could be simply a symptom of the ongoing problem or it could mean congestive heart failure.  The funny thing is I’ve been wondering if that is what this could be for a while now.  I didn’t say it aloud because that seemed to be summoning the demon, so to speak.  I guess demons can hear thoughts too.

If it is CHF, there are lots of treatment options.  I’d also have to guess it can’t be that far along, since all my oxygen levels were so good.  So I guess the important thing is to find out what this is and then figure out how to make it better.  You can’t solve a problem if you don’t face it.

Part of me has a lot of anger at my body, and has had for quite some time.  It seems my body has never worked right.  I’ve decided it is time to stop that sort of thinking though.  My body is what it is, and it is doing the best job it can.  I have to accept that and work within whatever parameters are available.  That’s the only way to stay sane.

I’m not really sure what I wanted to say here, to be honest.  I guess I’ll have to think about it a little and see if I can come back with some philosophical post.  I guess I just wanted to tell someone, and this seemed the place to do that.

I haven’t written here in over a month.   I’ve been ill, and exhausted.  I’ve got some kind of breathing difficulty which makes it difficult to sleep.  Lack of sleep makes everything else an effort.  Add to that my tendancy to never ask for help or tell people when I’m scared and need comforting and it’s been a rough couple of months.

 The latest problem I’m facing is being scared to go to sleep.  I’ve been using an inhaler and last night I had a bad reaction.  I couldn’t breathe and I was coughing up (actually more like vomiting up) huge amounts of phlegm.   I couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t sleep and was scared out of my mind.  I called in sick to work,  so at least I was smart enough to know I couldn’t drive.  I debated whether I should go to the emergency room, but then realized, tired as I was, I couldn’t drive myself, and I couldn’t think of anyone to call.  So I waited it out, and it eventually got better. 

 I’m breathing fairly well now.  The only residual problem is that I’m afraid to let myself go to sleep.  Every time I lay down to sleep I tighten up.  I’m not sure what I’m afraid of,  but something is telling me, against all rationality that sleeping is dangerous.  I think it’s mostly because there isn’t anyone else here.  If something did happen, I have to deal with it.  There doesn’t feel like there is anyone I can ask for help.

Most of my life,  partly from necessity and partly from persnality, I’ve prided myself on being able to handle things.  When I was weak and needed help, I generally didn’t get it, so I learned to rely on myself.  Last night and certianly this morning there were people I could have called to take me to the emergency room.  I just wouldn’t let myself do it.  I don’t reveal weakness and I don’t reveal fear, you see.  Things seem safer that way.

I don’t really think they are though.  I’m sitting here in my second night of no sleep, largely because I can’t relax enough to go to sleep.  I want to cry or scream or something, but I won’t let myself, because there wouldn’t be anyone to hear me or comfort me if I did.

Things kind of suck right now.  The only thing giving me hope is that I have a test tomorrow which will hopefully tell us what the problem is with the breathing.  Once we get that fixed, hopefully I can start working on the other parts of my life.

Cross your fingers for me.