Is there an echo in here? Oh wait, that's me.

I had an echocardiogram today. The purpose was to assess my heart function (duh) since my visit to the ER.

On Monday, my cardiologist called me. I’ve been wearing a heart monitor for about two weeks, and my brother asked me on Sunday if I knew if it was being monitored remotely. I didn’t know, and didn’t think it was. He told me a story about a friend of his who was wearing one and who got a call from his cardiologist, who told him to go to the emergency room immediately.

I’m actually glad that I didn’t know mine was being monitored remotely, but on Monday, I found out that it is (“Andy was right” was a family text that got a lot of likes) when my cardiologist called me. He told me that my monitor has recorded more episodes of a fast heart beat, and he told me to increase my medication. He said that there may be signs of atrial fibrillation (in my initial appointment with him he scoffed at the ER doctor who diagnosed a-fib and told me I “only” had atrial tachycardia). I reminded him that I was scheduled for an echocardiogram on Wednesday, which of course I’m sure he already knew. He talked to me generally about my options but said he would know more after the echocardiogram. I’m scheduled to meet with him (a video appointment) in early July, but he wants to make it an in-person appointment. Okie dokie, Doc, whatever you say. So I guess the thing to do now is just wait for the results of the echocardiogram, however long that takes.

I’ve had a sonogram before, and the echocardiogram is similar to that, because it uses sound. I’m no genius: the woman performing the exam told me this. Except instead of the joy of getting to hear your teeny-tiny baby, you get to hear… your own heart, which I guess is also kind of joyful: hey, it’s working!

My apparently newly lopsided heart wasn’t audible for the entire test, which is probably a good thing. The exam itself wasn’t that bad, but it is uncomfortable. I had to strip from the waist up, put on a gown (open to the front; why is this always so traumatic?), and lie on an exam table. The technician turned down the lights in the room (“Do you have any questions,” she asked. “Yes. Why did you turn off the lights,” I said. “Because this test needs dim light.” I thought it was to help me relax, but okay, that makes sense). She used this hard plastic wand thing and some gel and rubbed it around on me, mostly around my upper left chest area. At the end she placed it lower, near my stomach. I don’t know why. She used quite a bit of pressure but it wasn’t painful. She would periodically instruct me to stop breathing, and then, a few seconds later, to breathe.

I had to roll onto my left side. I am assuming my boobs were in the way but there may be another anatomical reason for this. She covered me with a white terry cloth towel. With her arm leaning over me, she created kind of a warm little cocoon for me, which I appreciated, though I don’t think that was on purpose. She wasn’t motherly or warm in her manner. She wasn’t cold either; she was just doing her job. Making me feel safe wasn’t part of the bargain. The joke’s on one of us, though, because she kind of did it inadvertently anyway.

She told me before we started that the test would take about 10-15 minutes, and she must be right, but I kind of of lost track of time. Maybe that’s the other purpose for the dark room. Every once in a while she would click her keyboard and tell me to stop breathing or breathe, and I could hear my heart beating.

It doesn’t sound like a ticking clock or a metronome. It’s a whoosh-y kind of rhythmic sound. When it was my baby, I told people it sounded like a washing machine. I think that’s still close. I was listening for anomalies, which of course I would have no way of recognizing. My heart didn’t sound normal, but how would I know?

I was thinking about this the other day. It’s not meant to be deep or anything, it’s just that it occurred to me, maybe for the first time since all this happened. We can make ourselves stop breathing, but the heart (you know the words) goes on. I mean, it does its thing until it can’t do it anymore, and if you’re not paying attention, you might not even notice when it stops. YOU just stop. And until then, you just GO. Now all of a sudden I’m aware of this thing in my chest, beating away, beating too fast or irregularly. And that at some point it’s going to stop.

I’ve felt my heart break, but that’s emotions. What is this? Mechanical?

My doctor hasn’t really talked to me yet about things I can do to help myself (diet and exercise, for example). On the phone he mentioned some options but until he looks at the echocardiogram, those options are just theoretical at this point. They were, to increase my current medication (which we did); to try different medication (which have side effects). He also mentioned something called “ablation,” and I guess that’s surgical. Again: this part was theoretical and doesn’t necessarily reflect my actual treatment plan. But when it comes to that point I hope me and this guy make a good decision.

I’m not scared. Ha ha, yes I am.