Where to from here?

On Saturday morning, I go and have the blood tests that have been ordered for me.

Then on Monday, I'm at the heart clinic.  I fill out the form for new patients and sit down amongst some elderly folk, until a nurse calls: "Allison?"  I know this is me, because my first name  is Allissande.  Being known by my second name has the bane of my life.  I must always be careful to ensure that airline bookings are made in my full name (matching my photo ID), or they will not let me on the plane.

So I have learned to answer to "Allison".

I explain that my name is Shelley.  I circled it on the form.  The nurse apologizes awkwardly.

"Have you had a good day?"
"It has been fine - just a standard sort of day".  I seriously hope that you are not going to ruin it for me.

At her instruction, I put on a medical gown that doesn't cover much, as it is open at the front.  For the ultrasound, I lie down on the bed on my left side.  She applies pieces of duct tape to my chest and spreads gooey gel onto my skin.

"My heart is really pounding."
"Oh, is it?"  She sounds surprised.
"I feel a little anxious".
"Have you had this test before?"
No.  No, I have not.  I am worried about the test.  

I close my eyes and try to relax.  I use long slow breaths to slow my heart rate.  She asks me repeatedly to breathe in and hold my breath, while she takes photos of whatever monstrosity lies beneath my left breast.  From time to time the amplified sound of my pulsating heart reverberates around the examination room, like theatrical sound-effects.

This process takes a long time.  The nurse leaves the room and returns with a trolley bearing an ECG machine.  She asks me to lie on my back.

"Are you feeling better now?"
"Yes, I have calmed down a bit".
"Oh, have you been racing around today?'
No, I have not.  I have been sitting in my office trying to do my work, whilst simultaneously wondering what is wrong with me.  I am anxious about the test.

She does not seem to understand this at all.

"Was it a routine examination that brought you here?"
"No.  My heart was racing".  As my doctor wrote on the referral form, "Palpitations".

"Have you had this test before?"
"No, I haven't had any of it before".  Grrrr.  I don't even know what I'm doing here.  Do I look like a heart patient?  Or do people of my age normally have these tests for their own amusement?

She wheels the contraption out of the room, saying "Get dressed and wait in Reception, and I will ask the doctor if you are allowed to go".  Or if I have a serious heart condition.

Last week I was on holidays in Russia, walking for miles and climbing steps.  I never felt breathless.  What is wrong with me?

Again, I wait, and after a while a cardiologist calls me in.  So, I am not allowed to go home.

He says, reproachfully "There is a lot of leakage from one of your heart valves.  One of the leaflets seems to have become detached."

Which means what, exactly?  What have I done to cause this?  How many of these leaflets are there?  Does a detached one matter very much?  Do they re-grow?  What are you really telling me?

He tells me to visit my local doctor tomorrow, and I must come back and see him again on Thursday, "to discuss where to, from here."

Where do people with leaky heart valves go to, exactly?

In an effort to participate in the conversation, I punctuate his monologue with contributions like "That is quite concerning"; "Sounds a bit scary".

I am trying to communicate my anxiety.

He offers me no words of reassurance; gazes at me impassively, his face inscrutable.

When I get home, my husband is already there.  I walk through the door and I drop the bombshell.  If I keep quiet about it I'm not sure how I'll broach the subject later.  He's a doctor.

"What do they do for leaky heart valves?"
"You can have a valve replacement".
"How are valves replaced?"
"It's a major operation.  They have to crack your chest open."

But such operations are rare, he adds.  This is both good and bad.  If they are rare, maybe I won't need one.  But if I'm going to have an operation, I'd prefer it to be one that is performed frequently.

Please, I really would prefer not to undergo open heart surgery in the near future.  Or at all.

I don't want to be stopped from doing what I want to do.

I don't want a big scar down my front.  I want to wear nice dresses that show cleavage.

Also, I have a vague recollection of someone who had some sort of heart operation, and after that he couldn't sing any more.  I don't want that.

But I don't want to suddenly drop dead, or become incapacitated.

I want to sing, and I want to do it in Rio.

My doctor and I are going to talk about "where to from here".  I will get answers to my questions.

I want to hear answers that I like.

That evening, I have to go and give a presentation at a public speaking course for my Toastmasters Club.  I arrive a bit late, but then I settle in and deliver what I've promised to do.

By the time I get home, I'm thinking more rationally.  They won't operate on a whim.  Either I'll get the problem fixed, or I'll manage my condition until I need an operation.  Nothing else has changed since this morning.  I go out for a walk and gulp in the fresh, cold, night air.