What every crime fighter will be wearing soon.

My heart does not beat to a different drum or flutters with excitement.

It races and takes my breath away.

Literally.

In 2012, my heart beat so fast, it drained the blood from my face. I couldn’t breathe and I was taken away in ambulance for a not so lovely stay in a hospital cardiac unit. It ended up being an overnight stay because as soon as I arrived to the hospital it stopped and didn’t act up for a few weeks.

Money and time combined to give me the perfect reason not to follow up. Even thought my symptoms were very real, I feared the next doctor I saw would be like the first cardiologist and tell me it was all in my head that I wanted to be ill. A line I have heard before while working through my depression.

So I didn’t go back and then, it happened again. And again.  Thankfully, it wasn’t to the point where I was hospitalized again, but it was just enough that I didn’t to live with it anymore. There has to be a better way.

My heart monitor. One month of being sticky in a most unpleasant way.

And now I have a doctor who is patient and caring. A doctor who isn’t going to treat me as if I don’t matter or couldn’t possibility have heart issues at “such a young age” never mind the fact a good friend of mine suffered a heartache at age 29 and I am currently 37.

I suppose I could be making it all up.

But, why? I have a ton of things going well in my life. Blood Child is nearly complete. I have pushed through the last of the edits and it is off to be formatted.  A lifelong dream is about to come true.

Plus, I am on the verge of being able to take care of some old debts thanks to teaching ESOL at night.  I am finally exercising daily.  Today, I made my goal of walking three miles a day.  Luke is exhausted and I had to take a long nap, but I did it.

In November, I had my stress test as well as an echo cardiogram, which sadly didn’t yield anything definitive on what is going on. The echo still had to be examined in depth. I think my doctor was genuinely disappointed when he couldn’t give me the answers I came to him for. He signed me up for a nuclear stress test.  I had the pleasure of stewing in radioactive isotopes for about four hours.

Four hours with this in my arm and nuclear isotopes flowing around in my veins.

So I go back. And this time I won’t stop a.k.a. chicken out until there is an answer as to why my heart that can love so much and so passionately goes off beat.

The week before Christmas an answer came.  I have aortic valve prolapse which is very similar to mitrol value prolapse or at least that is my understanding. To be honest, I am still figuring it all out.  Now as for the treatment, I have more tests to endure before that can be determined.   Again, I am blessed to have a doctor that both believes me and doesn’t want to throw pills at the problem. Still, there is an answer; an explanation that made both my mom and me giddy.

I am not crazy.

It isn’t all in my head.

I cannot begin to explain the relieve that comes with this diagnosis.

But, it is there. And it is the change I need to happen to move  all of the things that have been damming up my mind and life.  Because if this can be solved or at least resolved then other things can be as well and life will get better.

And yes, I still clap my hands together so that Tinkerbell will live every time I watch Peter Pan.  That’s just how I roll.