Warning the following reads like a whodunnit, but it's actually a whogaveit:-)
Last Tuesday, my boyfriend urged me to go to the doctor because I didn't "sound like myself." He lives 300-plus miles away, but he still manged to put his foot down in a major way. At first, I refused, dismissing my increasingly noticeable symptoms to my iron-deficiency anemia--I couldn't have been more wrong.
"Now, I'm glad that he did because he may have saved my life."
Since December, I had been having some interesting symptoms: chronic fatigue; severe shortness of breath; palpitations; a super-fast heartbeat; dizziness; light-headedness; heaviness in the chest; numbness and tingling in my left arm and feet; swelling in my ankles; and feeling like I was going to pass out--especially upon the slightest exertion, like making my bed. Something was definitely wrong.
Oh, by the way, I'm only thirty-something.
In December, having the same symptoms, my boyfriend put his foot down. This time, however, he drove me to the doctor. Diagnosis? My iron was low and my previously well-controlled Type II Diabetes was now out of control. I was given my usual prescription for Chromagen-Forte (iron) and Metformin (diabetes) and sent on my way with some doctor-knows-best-advice on the importance of diet and exercise.
I thought everything was good.
After a few weeks on the Chromagen-Forte (iron), strangely enough, my symptoms didn't get better. Instead, they got progressively worse.
And, what's more, any time I tried to exercise, I couldn't do more than five to ten minutes without severe shortness of breath. Even something simple, like walking to the kitchen to get water, was taxing.
Again, something was wrong.
So, against my will, I did as I promised my boyfriend I would do and made an after-hours appointment for 8:30 p.m. that night.
When I finally was taken back to the see the physician's assistant, the shortness of breath was worse. After describing the symptoms to her, I went on to dismiss them to my iron again. Usually, my self-diagnosis would be confirmed with the CBC results.
Not this time.
This time, the physician's assistant said, "your CBC shocked me." My iron was actually high. By the look on her face, she was definitely concerned. Because my pulse was 119 and becuase of the other symptoms, she decided to do an EKG, even though my blood pressure was 120/80. Along with my iron, my white blood count was also elevated.
That's when I got scared.
After the EKG was done, she said, "I need you to go to the ER, right now. I would call for an ambulance, but the hospital is right next door, and I need you to go now." It would take the ambulance longer to get there than it would for me drive over. I obeyed. After all, my EKG read: myocardial ischemia. For some reason, my heart was oxygen deprived.
When I was finally taken back to the ER, blood was drawn, a chest x-ray was done and a second EKG was given.
Diagnosis confirmed: I definitely had a heart problem.
After being treated, I was referred to a local cardiologist, who diagnosed me with a "thick heart."
Say what? "A thick heart, " he said.
"What does that mean," I said.
"Just like you are thick, " he said, "your heart is thick."
But what does that really mean? Well, I have an inherited heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, also known as an enlarged heart or a thick heart. However, this condition is better known for causing the untimely deaths of young athletes: high school, collegiate, and professional, during or immediately after participating in a sport.
Imagine my surprise. Now, everything made sense, except who did I inherit this condition from?
The answer was coming.
Yesterday, coincidentally, I received the answer to that mysterious question: my grandmother's death certificate arrived in the mail. One of the causes of death: hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
When the cardiologist gave me the diagnosis, he also gave me some advice, "no exercise." Understandably, of course.
Later this week, I'll be undergoing some further testing to determine the extent of the condition and what my treatment plan will be. While that's still up in the air, at least I know what's wrong. No. Scratch that--what has been wrong for a long time--and it definitely wasn't the anemia.
I'm lucky. For many people with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, the first presention of the illness is sudden cariac death. They die unaware that the even had the disease. Others, however, go on to live long, asymptomatic lives.
Thank God for my attentive boyfriend. God, I love that man!
For now, at least, I'm going to stop playing doctor with myself and listen to my body, and go to the doctor when something doesn't feel right. I'm leaving the practicing of medicine to the doctors. I hope you do the same.
Thanks grams! Mystery solved.
Warning the following reads like a whodunnit, but it's actually a whogaveit:-)
Last Tuesday, my boyfriend urged me to go to the doctor because I didn't "sound like myself." He lives 300-plus miles away, but he still manged to put his foot down in a major way. At first, I refused, dismissing my increasingly noticeable symptoms to my iron-deficiency anemia--I couldn't have been more wrong.
"Now, I'm glad that he did because he may have saved my life."
Since December, I had been having some interesting symptoms: chronic fatigue; severe shortness of breath; palpitations; a super-fast heartbeat; dizziness; light-headedness; heaviness in the chest; numbness and tingling in my left arm and feet; swelling in my ankles; and feeling like I was going to pass out--especially upon the slightest exertion, like making my bed. Something was definitely wrong.
Oh, by the way, I'm only thirty-something.
In December, having the same symptoms, my boyfriend put his foot down. This time, however, he drove me to the doctor. Diagnosis? My iron was low and my previously well-controlled Type II Diabetes was now out of control. I was given my usual prescription for Chromagen-Forte (iron) and Metformin (diabetes) and sent on my way with some doctor-knows-best-advice on the importance of diet and exercise.
I thought everything was good.
After a few weeks on the Chromagen-Forte (iron), strangely enough, my symptoms didn't get better. Instead, they got progressively worse.
And, what's more, any time I tried to exercise, I couldn't do more than five to ten minutes without severe shortness of breath. Even something simple, like walking to the kitchen to get water, was taxing.
Again, something was wrong.
So, against my will, I did as I promised my boyfriend I would do and made an after-hours appointment for 8:30 p.m. that night.
When I finally was taken back to the see the physician's assistant, the shortness of breath was worse. After describing the symptoms to her, I went on to dismiss them to my iron again. Usually, my self-diagnosis would be confirmed with the CBC results.
Not this time.
This time, the physician's assistant said, "your CBC shocked me." My iron was actually high. By the look on her face, she was definitely concerned. Because my pulse was 119 and becuase of the other symptoms, she decided to do an EKG, even though my blood pressure was 120/80. Along with my iron, my white blood count was also elevated.
That's when I got scared.
After the EKG was done, she said, "I need you to go to the ER, right now. I would call for an ambulance, but the hospital is right next door, and I need you to go now." It would take the ambulance longer to get there than it would for me drive over. I obeyed. After all, my EKG read: myocardial ischemia. For some reason, my heart was oxygen deprived.
When I was finally taken back to the ER, blood was drawn, a chest x-ray was done and a second EKG was given.
Diagnosis confirmed: I definitely had a heart problem.
After being treated, I was referred to a local cardiologist, who diagnosed me with a "thick heart."
Say what? "A thick heart, " he said.
"What does that mean," I said.
"Just like you are thick, " he said, "your heart is thick."
But what does that really mean? Well, I have an inherited heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, also known as an enlarged heart or a thick heart. However, this condition is better known for causing the untimely deaths of young athletes: high school, collegiate, and professional, during or immediately after participating in a sport.
Imagine my surprise. Now, everything made sense, except who did I inherit this condition from?
The answer was coming.
Yesterday, coincidentally, I received the answer to that mysterious question: my grandmother's death certificate arrived in the mail. One of the causes of death: hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
When the cardiologist gave me the diagnosis, he also gave me some advice, "no exercise." Understandably, of course.
Later this week, I'll be undergoing some further testing to determine the extent of the condition and what my treatment plan will be. While that's still up in the air, at least I know what's wrong. No. Scratch that--what has been wrong for a long time--and it definitely wasn't the anemia.
I'm lucky. For many people with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, the first presention of the illness is sudden cariac death. They die unaware that the even had the disease. Others, however, go on to live long, asymptomatic lives.
Thank God for my attentive boyfriend. God, I love that man!
For now, at least, I'm going to stop playing doctor with myself and listen to my body, and go to the doctor when something doesn't feel right. I'm leaving the practicing of medicine to the doctors. I hope you do the same.
Thanks grams! Mystery solved.