A few times a week, I would get the sensation that my heart stopped beating for a second, followed by a series of quick beats, as if it were making up for the missed beats. Each time it would I happen I would panic briefly then forget about it and move on. But now they were happening more frequently and seemingly more intensely. And since the last health scare had passed, this one now had its turn in the spotlight. I started to focus on them more which caused me notice them more. Noticing them caused me to become more anxious about them, which in turn resulted in more palpitations. And the snowball effect took over once again.
After the palpitations continued for some time, I decided to see my children’s pediatrician who I usually see for basic things like the flu or strep. He listened to my heart and checked my blood pressure but could not see hear anything that concerned him. When I pressed him, he suggested that I come back when I was actually having palpitations, or he could refer me to a cardiologist. Somewhat relieved by the fact that he was not concerned and because going to a cardiologist was not a practical option at the time, I left the matter alone.
The palpitations subsided somewhat, but a flare-up a few months later got me all worked up again. This time, I decided to call a local general practitioner who I felt would be better suited for examining and diagnosing an adult. When I called to make an appointment, the receptionist asked me what the appointment was for. When I told her that my concern was heart palpitations, she suggested that I see the cardiologist who worked at the practice two days a week. How convenient. I made the appointment since it was something I could do on my lunch break.
When the day of my appointment arrived, I went into a panic. What if the cardiologist finds something serious or life-threatening? What if I’m going to need medication for the rest of my life? What if I need open heart surgery?
Before going in to see the doctor, a nurse technician took my vitals and, not surprisingly, my blood pressure was through the roof as a result of my anxiety. And, of course, my high blood pressure reading only served to increase my anxiety. I could feel my heart beating like a drum. It didn’t help when the technician said “wow, that’s high” with a concerned expression on her face.
The panic increased while I was in the exam room waiting for the doctor to come. A defibrillator in the room only increased my anxiety tenfold. I began to pace the room. By the time the doctor walked in, I was a nervous wreck. Luckily, he had a very soothing tone and asked me some basic questions about myself, my lifestyle and health history. He then asked me to describe the reason for my visit and simply typed it into his computer without skipping a beat, no pun intended. The fact that he simply documented the information I provided without even twitching an eyelid or telling me to rush to the nearest emergency room calmed me somewhat.
As a true hypochondriac, I had my symptoms typed up on a sheet of paper so that I don’t forget something and then kick myself after the appointment, thinking that if the doctor knew about that too, perhaps he would be able to better diagnose or treat me. I read my list of symptoms, possible causes, triggers, preventatives, solutions, coping mechanisms and possible diagnoses. I watched the doctor’s expression, waiting to see some cues to indicate that he was very concerned, but when I was done reading my laundry list he simply said calmly, “is that all?”
“Yes,” I answered him. “Should I be worried? Does it sound serious? Is it something you’ve heard of before? Am I going to live?”
“Palpitations are normal. Some people get them and they are usually not serious, unless they are indicative of an underlying condition.”
“How will I know if they are being caused by something serious?”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he said with a smile.
He told me to lie down on the examination table, and informed me that he would check my blood pressure, do an EKG and a sonogram of my heart to see if there was anything wrong with my heart rhythm or if there were any structural abnormalities.
My blood pressure was still high, which he said was not alarming and was normal due to my anxiety about being with a cardiologist. The EKG was perfectly normal, and also indicated that the high blood pressure reading did not appear to be an ongoing issue. He then did an ultrasound which showed a perfectly structured heart, beating normally.
He said that the excellent examination caused him to not be concerned. However, since I appeared to still be worried, he said he would give me a Holter monitor to wear for 24 hours to see if it would pick up the palpitations.
A technician hooked me up to the monitor and I was sent home with a little event diary to document the times that I felt the palpitations to allow them to look more closely at what was occurring at those times. Now all I had to figure out was what to tell my wife.
I walked into my house with the Holter hidden under my shirt and debated with myself whether to tell my wife about it or not. Perhaps I could just keep my torso covered for the next 24 hours and she’ll never be the wiser. But, I thought, if she were to want to be intimate or if she would discover it some other way, she would be even more upset that I went behind her back and hid the whole thing from her, and that would be a lot worse than anything else.
So I decided to just come clean. “I have to tell you something,” I said, “but you have to promise you won’t be upset.”
“Oh, no, what is it this time?” she said, rolling her eyes.
I smiled embarrassedly. Here I was, a young, good-looking, in-shape, put-together guy, worrying about the most ridiculous health issues that belonged to the chronically ill and the elderly. And, worse, I was hooked up to a ridiculous-looking contraption. I felt stupid and pathetic. I felt like a failure. Here was my young, beautiful wife who married a young, handsome guy who, instead of staying young and active has chosen to fret about nonsense and to panic and worry about the most obscure, inapplicable health concerns, running to doctors and undergoing tests and monitoring like a senior – all of this while taking much-needed attention and devotion away from my wife and four young children who needed every bit of me.
“You know how I’ve told you that I’ve been having palpitations?” I said sheepishly. “Well, they’ve been coming more and more lately, so I decided to finally see a doctor, and when I heard that there was a cardiologist on staff right in the neighborhood, I decided to see him. And…and…well, he did an exam and decided that he wants me to wear a Holter monitor for 24 hours to see if they could see the palpitations and what could be causing them…”
I never saw my wife’s face drop like it did when she heard that. “You have four kids and a wife at home and you – a young, healthy guy – are running to cardiologists like an old man. Anyway, what does it look like?” she asked snidely.
Embarrassedly, I lifted my shirt and showed her the wires stuck to various parts of my chest with little glue balls. I also showed her the pocket-size monitor that it all connected to. At that moment, I regretted ever going to the cardiologist in the first place, and for agreeing to wear the monitor. I was mostly ashamed because I felt like I had failed my wife and kids. They had a young, good-looking father in his twenties, and here he was living the self-imposed life of an old man.
“Well this had better be the last thing,” she said with a tone of despair in her voice, “because you’re going down the path your mother did and you know how that ended up. There’s nothing wrong with you and it’s very possible that there was nothing wrong with her either, but she became swallowed up in the world of doctors, tests, medications and procedures that she was so miserable.”
My mother. Where do I even start?
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