This installment is very, extremely overdue and I appreciate your patience. February was an absolute blur and I cannot believe we are well into March. That means winter is over in Florida and about half way done in Boston (kiss). As you may recall in my last entry I was undergoing the cardiac ablation. The good news…is that I am still here to write this blog.

I woke up in the recovery room and Don was there with a big smile. I was so relieved. Someone told me it went well and that is was about 4 hours as the ablation was extensive. I don’t remember much more until I got to my room. I have always been very sensitive to anesthesia so I am not surprised I don’t remember much right after. We learned of this anesthesia issue when I had my wisdom teeth removed. Apparently it took longer to wake me than any patient they had ever had. I recall waking up…seeing my mom and then I apparently dozed for another 20 minutes. Crazy. I always tell the anesthesiologist that whatever they think I need based on my size…plan on less. I don’t need anyone making crazy videos of me passed out or talking nonsense.

I remember being in a room set up for two patients. I was in the interior closer to the window. I decided it was the better spot and was ok sharing. As my head began to clear I was aware of the soreness in my groin but otherwise felt comfortable. And I could take a long deep breath. I knew I wasn’t in AFIB anymore…and I was ecstatic. Shortly after this realization a couple of people walked into the room on the other side of the curtain. They were talking about someone, a relative…maybe a brother. He had been had a procedure about a week ago…I don;t remember what it was but I believe it had something to do with a blockage. They were really concerned as he was in a lot of pain. I turned on the TV and tried to mind my own business. Taking deep breaths and loving them.

I told Don to go home right after I got to my room. I wasn’t uncomfortable and felt pretty certain I could do anything I needed on my own. The nurses seemed nice too. Dinner came around…it wasn’t memorable (sorry Memorial) and shortly thereafter a man was wheeled into the room on the other side of the curtain. I heard the people talking to him and asking him questions. Apparently he needed another procedure stat and I would be happening that night. A nurse came and reviewed the consent with him. There was some discussion that he was Portuguese but he assured her he could read and write English. He consented to the procedure and about an hour later was whisked away. I watched a little TV and fell asleep. When I awoke about 5am I didn’t have a roommate. He never came back. I was sick to my stomach thinking he may not have survived and I would never know. I felt very lucky.

By 8am a series of people were coming to check on me. A nurse, a nurse practitioner, a doctor, a PA (none of whom I had ever seen before mind you…well none that I recall). They all looked at my groin which is where the catheters were inserted for access to my heart…crazy I know. Anyway I kept thinking I was grateful I had the good sense to man scape before the procedure and that the room wasn’t too chilly. Ugh…the way men think. I had these bandages on both sides, blood and bruising and I am worried about my appearance…good grief. I am certain it was a very sad scene. OH! I also had drains in. Super sexy. I had the pleasure of having those removed 30 minutes before discharge. As I was wheeled down the hall a case manger handed me a document that described my “outpatient” procedure and I arrived in the discharge lounge. A few minutes later Shane was there to pick me up. I was sore (the groin) but not bad. I was so relieved. I did ask the nurse at discharge why I was considered outpatient. She told me it was because I was only there for observation and it was under 24 hours. I knew immediately this would prove to be an insurance issue and I suggested to her that I checked in the day before at 7:15am and was leaving after 10am and while not a math major was pretty certain we were talking over 24 hours. She smiled the smile of someone that has heard this before and was not going to engage in a conversation about an issue over her paygrade. I smiled and said but we worry about that later.

I was told to take it easy, no driving for 48 hours and no strenuous activity for at least a week and no lifting over 5lbs for a month. That all seemed like overkill because I felt great. My follow-up was schedule for 30 days as my EKG confirmed my heart was in normal rhythm. I went home and napped most of the day and into the evening looking forward to getting back to normal. The next morning I woke up and felt like I had wires shoved up my groin and the inside of my heart burned! This was going to be more challenging than I first thought.

The days and weeks leading up to the procedure where fairly uneventful and I managed to keep my anxiety at bay. I chose Wednesday the 19th. I would have to stay over one night and that would give me two days at home alone to recover. I know from past procedures that I am comforted having Don with me the day of the procedure but I want to be mostly alone for my recovery. I like to be alone when I don’t feel well. I can be a grumpy patient. We decided that Don would spend the day with me on Wednesday but our dear friend Shane would pick me up the next day. Shane was a good call I figured because if I was grumpy with him at discharge he didn’t have to live with me. Also he is strong and fit enough to help me if I was a real mess. Recall that I was in much worse shape than anyone expected after my back surgery so I was planning for the worst.

The day before was our work holiday celebration. We had a feast at a nearby Argentinian Steakhouse. Afterwards we returned to the office to exchange gifts, further indulge in a homemade coffee cake and share our Christmas and New Year plans. It was a fun and busy day. Perfect. It wasn’t until later that night, when I climbed into bed, that I starting getting a little anxious about the procedure. I had given Sharla a big hug the prior morning before she left for school but regretted not insisting on a kiss. Kasey and I had spoken a few days prior but I should have made a point to see him before the surgery. I held Don a little closer that night. I am sure he noticed but he would never complain. His embrace quiets and calms me in a way I have not experienced in the past. It is truly my favorite place to be. Surprisingly I quickly drifted off to sleep.

I woke early…a few minutes before the alarm. As a teen and young adult I set an alarm each night only to wake 5 minutes before it sounded in the morning. But in the last 10-15 years I have rarely set an alarm at all. My internal clock wakes me most mornings within the same 5-10 minute span. On the odd chance I need to set an alarm, predictably I am up 5 minutes earlier. Perhaps well directed anxiety?

We had to register by 7:30 and checked in a few minutes after 7. The next 30-60 minutes was a flurry of activity and before I knew it I was in a gown in pre-op. MANY people, nurses, PA’s, doctors, and other scrub clad folks visited with me and asked my name and DOB. There was NO possible way to have the wrong guy with that protocol! My vitals were taken and blood drawn for labs. We had a bit of a delay waiting for one of the labs and it seemed from what I overheard my doctor was a bit peeved. However my anesthesiologist was very firm she was not doing anything until that lab was back. I think it had to do with whether I had ever had a blood transfusion. I knew immediately we had a green light by the huge smile on the nurse’s face after getting a call from the lab. Don gave me a kiss and headed to the waiting area.

I was wheeled down a short hall into a huge room FULL of very complicated looking equipment. The nurse on my left ( I think both of the people with me at that point were nurses) seemed to know what I was thinking an assured me that all that equipment was not for me. They asked me to transfer onto a very narrow bed. It was padded but the sides curved up to cradle the patient. I wondered if my butt would fit. It did…barely. The male nurse on my right gave me some mice warm sheets. As I looked at them I noted that they were both very attractive people. Not the worst last faces to see if I was going to die, I thought to myself. The nurse on my left told me she was going to give me the medicine to make me sleepy. I said ok and almost immediately got teary. I apologized for getting emotional. I asked them to take good care of me because I had a lot of people depending on me. They each held one of my hands and told me not to worry. I felt better and drifted to sleep.

As promised you will finally learn who is in the will. Sorry you didn’t make the cut. As it turns out the process was relatively simple. I put it off for years (I know…bad parent) thinking it would be very labor intensive. But as it turns out not having many assets really stream lines the process lol.

First and foremost I needed to make arrangements for Sharla should something happen to me. My will names my ex, Donny, as her guardian in the event of my passing and establishes a trust for her benefit. It also establishes a trust for Kasey. In both cases Donny is the trustee of the funds. The will also make provisions for my wonderful hubby, also Don, and my mom. The actual mechanics were pretty easy and I thank my handsome attorney friend Troy for assisting me.

The strangest part about writing the will is imaging the lives of the people you love..without you. It also made me wonder what connections people would maintain. Would Donny keep Don is Sharla’s life? When Don inevitably met someone else (way less awesome than me) would they have a relationship with Sharla. What about Kasey? He is not good about investing in relationships. If I wasn’t around would he stay connected to everyone else…or would he drift away? Some of the scenarios made me sad to consider. Oddly I also worried about how the information would be disclosed. If I died during the procedure would it be announced via Facebook? What if my last post was totally stupid…how embarrassing to have my final post be a meme or rant about dumbass Trump.

The process was also a bit of a rude awakening. At 46 I am VERY likely at least half way though this journey on Earth and while it seems sensible to write a will in the unlikely event something happen during my ablation…someday something will happen. I’ll die. That sucks.

Writing the will also highlighted the fact that I really don’t have the assets I would have liked to have by now. With six figure student loan debt from law school my net worth is pretty sad. And thank goodness I secured some decent life insurances policies a few years back because I am not sure, given my heart issues, I will be eligible for much more. Tip. GET Life insurance while you are healthy…OH and disability insurance too. More on that in another blog.

Another realization that came from the process was that I really don’t care much about my stuff. Don’t get me wrong I have a favorite print, framed pictures, decor items and a box (a large box of momentos) from over the years. There a some great photos in there….that include many of you from our …shall I say ” less responsible” days. In the end these are items that serve to bring me pleasure, remind me of good times or simply add beauty to my life. I don’t care what happens to them when I am gone. So sorry the reading of the will is going to be lame.

I feel like this post is a little more meandering than my others. But as always I appreciate your interest in my thoughts. Several of you have reached out to know if I am doing ok since the procedure. Spoiler alert. I didn’t die. Next time details on the ablation procedure and subsequent developments.

PSA – Be kind to your loved ones. Write a will.

If you have been following closely you are expecting me to blog about writing my Will this time. HOWEVER I felt compelled to share some information I reviewed on Friday regarding my cardiac ablation.

I had the procedure on December 19th and as of Friday had not received any sort of bill or statement. I decided to login into my health insurance portal and poke around to see what I could find. There lurking under “recent billing” I found several statements related to the procedure. One was from the physician’s group, another from anesthesia and another from some third party pre-op group ( I have no idea who that was) but those totals were reasonable and all paid by my insurance. But then I saw the hospital’s bill. Guess. I want you to think about how much they “billed” for 24 hours of observation and my cardiac ablation. This is considered outpatient. Do you have a number? $25K? $50k? $100K? Nope. It was $133,000!!! That is more than $5,000 PER HOUR of my stay. More than double the US median household income. I am going to request the detailed statement because I am very curious to know the breakdown especially since I was sleeping for at least 8 of those hours.

Before you set up a gofundme…I have good insurance. The negotiated rate was $47,000 and my responsibility was $3,000 ( I have gap insurance to cover that as well). To be clear; I am not whining about my insurance or obviously my share of the costs. BUT I am shocked that we have a health care system that allows billing of $133k or even $47k for an outpatient procedure. A procedure BTW that only has about a 70% success rate of working the first time for someone with my diagnosis. A person without insurance could not afford this procedure and would just slip into cardiac decline. My medical care this year alone between the testing, meds, cardio version (the shock) and cardiac ablation was over $150,000. I am incredibly grateful I can access quality care and have the ability to afford good insurance but am reminded of the millions of people in the US that remain uninsured or painfully underinsured. We have all heard that health crisis drive many US families into bankruptcy and every one if us has seen a health care related gofundme pop up on our news feed. Can you imagine having to ask social media for help to stay alive? It is an incredibly sad trend and statement about our current approach to health care in the US.

It does seem that the demand for universal health care has some traction, especially among younger voters so I am hopeful. But it makes me crazy when I hear people screaming about socialism being a slippery slope when many of them are happily collecting social security or medicare. The US has the means to ensure that all of our people have good medical care…but overall we seem to be lacking the will. We merely have to look at any number of other industrialized nations to see template for success. Take the best parts from each and launch our own health care system that leaves no one behind. We can do better.

Ugh. I’m all worked up right now so I better go. I haven’t decided how political I want to be in this blog. So for now I pause on this issue and we will get back on track next post. Just a teaser…tune in for my next post and see if you made it in the Will. Ha!

I have never been shy about the fact that I have attended therapy in the past. It started in college with coming out issues….funny story actually. One beautiful day I was sitting on the college green with a guy, named Guy. He was THE “out” student on campus. Despite our liberal arts curriculum and differently coeducational mantra he was the only person I knew on campus that was openly gay. He was also awesome. Guy was in his early 30’s , a non-traditional student at Wheaton for sure, African American and gay. He was a writer, handsome and I thought very sophisticated.

Somehow we wound up sitting together on the green, we called it the Dimple at Wheaton, having a real heart to heart. He told me his coming out story. And for the first time someone was explaining to me feelings that I recognized. As he continued to share I realized that the feelings I had weren’t merely physical attractions to other men. I was gay…or for certain bisexual, I don’t recall the entire conversation but I do know I made a beeline from the dimple to the counseling center when our conversation was over. A older woman was sittng at the front desk (in truth she was likely only in her 40’s) and I told her I needed to see a counselor. She looked at me over the rim of her glasses and said “is everything ok?” I remember leaning in and saying in almost a whisper. “Yes, but I think I might be gay.” She nodded and looked even more concerned. I recall quickly adding, “And I am ok with that…its just, well… I’m going to have to tell my girlfriend.” She scheduled me the next day. And there you have it; my first meaningful foray into therapy. AND I LOVED IT!

Since then I have mostly sought therapy around relationship issues. Mostly to get support when considering leaving. A therapist can be a real ally in making a big decision especially if they only have your side of the story. (being super honest right there).

Fast forward to a month or so ago. This time was different. I had become incredibly anxious about invasive medical procedures since my back surgery. Even having blood drawn became a cause for anxiety. Driving by the hospital made my stomach weak and if I spoke about my experience I would get teary-eyed. Even now as I write this I can feel that I’m welling up. (its going to be a process for sure). I really needed to address this anxiety before my cardiac ablation procedure.

I started with the therapists in my health plan. I initially looked for a woman but after leaving several messages and waiting several days none called me back. So then I called a husband and wife practice. They were both listed as LGBT friendly and had experience with treating anxiety and medical issues, among other things. I left a message for the wife. She called me back and after talking suggested that her husband was probably a better fit for me. I was really ready to get a session on the calendar so I agree a little reluctantly wondering if this older, straight man would be someone I would feel comfortable with. I reflected that I had very few relationships with older straight men that I felt were supportive in my lifetime. Maybe this would be unexpectedly positive?

With some trepidation I headed to an 8am appointment about a week later. He was very tall, thin and old. Old enough that I was surprised he was still practicing. The office was old. I literally took a seat on a leather couch ( I was not about to lay down…way too dramatic), and we began. I am not one that needs much time to warm up. I explained why I was there and what I needed from him. He listened. I talked. He listened. I talked. He told me that I had every reason to be afraid and that I had gone through a terrible ordeal. I argued a little with him that I should be happy my back was fixed and I have insurance and there are people with real problems. He told me I was allowed to be scared and sad. I needed to hear that. He agreed that going to a different facility seemed to make sense. He also agreed that having a will would cover some of my other concerns. The session ended and we schedule another the day before my procedure.

On the way out I told him I had to give up alcohol and was not sure I could do that. And that I needed to lose weight so I had to give up much of the food I enjoy. And that these changes would wreck my social life and wasn’t sure how to cope. He told me that we would address all of it in time. I wondered to myself if he would be around long enough. It seems we had a LOT to cover.

After several days of ignoring my need to make a plan I began to do a little research. I found a cardiac practice in Hollywood that caught my eye. Good ratings, reviews and reputations as far as I could tell. I reviewed the Dr.’s bios and liked the younger (probably late 30’s of the three). Maybe it was the Boston connection but I liked that he did a residency at Beth Israel. I convinced myself that he was old enough not to be a rookie and young enough to be cutting edge. A little over a week later I was in his office. After the nurse tormented me with the scale and did my vitals he came right in.

Immediately I sensed a kind and warm person. He was casual and good natured. He asked me a variety of questions and whether he was or not he SEEMED concerned. Then he showed me the a computer generated video of the procedure. Honestly it freaked me out a little bit as he explained that the recommended procedure was a cardio ablation. And by ablation they would be BURNING the INSIDE of my heart. Scientifically I understood. There is a place in my heart generating a rogue impulse that is throwing me out of rhythm. So a catheter is inserted in the groin and travels to the heart and somehow locates that rogue electrical impulse. Another catheter (also inserted in my groin, ugh) is used to actually burn that section of the heart. The impulse doesn’t stop rather it is encased in scar tissue from which it cannot escape to disrupt the other impulses. Cool right? BURN THE INSIDE OF MY HEART!

After the video he explained that since my Afib was persistent there was a 70-75% chance my rhythm would be corrected by the procedure. He noted that many people with my condition need more than one ablation. Me being prone to being the oddball asked worst case scenario, “what if we cant fix it?” He took a deep breath and reassured me that is unlikely but I pressed him. He explained that Afib is hard on the heart. While it won’t necessarily significantly shorten your life it could have a serious impact on the quality. He shared that over time the heart will lose strength and will not be as effective. He explained that one would be more and more tired as the heart grows weaker. In my minds eye I imaged Don sprinting up a nature trail in our retirement while I sat in a wheelchair at base camp.

The Dr. informed me that he had a couple of spots available over the next several weeks (before Christmas) if I wanted to schedule it. I thanked him sincerely and explained that I had a 3rd opinion and preferred to wait. He understood and wished me well.

The next day I was antsy. My third opinion was a week away. I was worried that if I waited too long I may not be able to get the procedure with Dr. #2 before the New Year and I really wanted this done in 2018. Additionally I had placed many babies from that hospital and always felt my expectant moms, babies and Adoptive parents were treated well. I called the nurse and booked the procedure for December 19th, about a month away. It’s crazy but I thought the 19th would be ok because if I died that day on the operating table the cremation and service could take place before Christmas and no one would have to change their holiday plans. Sometimes I think strange things…I know. So dramatic.

The following week I had my third consult. The Dr. was a older guy with a New York accent. He asked me what I did for work as small talk. After I told him he shared that he and his wife adopted a child and they were so lucky because so many adopted kids have problems and that so many agencies and birth parents were scammers. I smiled and told him that was not my experience. He shifted to the issue at hand and sounded like a cross between a medical genius and a car salesman. I knew 5 minutes in that this man was NOT performing my procedure. He offered to set it up . I told him I needed to think about it.

On the way out of the office he jokingly directed a nurse not to mess up my file, apparently she had placed it outside the wrong exam room, or he would “put her back on the other side of the wall.” She laughed and looked away. I couldn’t believe he would say that to her. I was stunned and walked out into the waiting room. I was thinking about asking to see the nurse to apologize for not speaking up and tell her the Dr. was a POS but I heard a “hi Rob” from the waiting area. There sat one of my clients (the actual child I helped place for adoption) now a teenager who was accompanying her grandmother to the cardiologist. Grandma is Cuban with a think accent…I hated the Dr. even more thinking her might be unkind to her. But since I hand’t gone public with my medical issue I made polite small talk and quickly headed out.

Before I got to my car I knew I was keeping the December 19th date for the procedure. But over the next day or two I became incredibly anxious remembering the horrible recovery from the back surgery, recalling the first time I realized I could have died that day. I would have left my kids without a plan and the love of my life with nothing. I recalled all of the pain and how much I hated feeling week and dependent. I needed to address this. Once back in my office I made a list with just 2 items.

Therapist

Will

I called the cardiologist the Monday after I went back into AFib. Wow you didn’t even stay in rhythm 48 hours. He recommended I see a cardiac electrophysiologist (yes he said wow.) He suggested one in his group and I set up an appointment several weeks out. I was going on a first anniversary Italy/Greek cruise with my love and decided not to focus on the AFib for a few weeks. I would see him when I returned.

The anniversary and trip were amazing. The AFib and medication meant I needed to nap more than I would like but our cabin was very quiet, comfortable and had an amazing view. We walked all over Italy and Greece tracking over 20 miles in one day. I felt ok, enjoyed some wine in moderation and put the AFib out of my mind for the most part.

Shortly after returning home I met the cardiac electrophysiologist, well initally with his resident. He was very cute and awkward. The resident was in his late 20’s tall, thin with an angular but pretty face. I would guess his family was from India. He had a nice voice and demeanor but stared at the floor while trying to recite my medical history from memory. I thought to myself he would get an A for memorization but a C for bedside manner. He quickly was demoted to a D or F when he asked if I understood that my testing showed heart failure. I said no I did not understand that. He explained that usually he doesn’t use that term because it “makes people nervous” but essentially that is what is happening to me.

Immediately I thought, “Has this guy even been practicing long enough to “usually” do or not do something? And if he usually doesn’t use that language, why the hell did he tell me? I asked when the doctor was coming. Perhaps sensing my dismay he bounded out of the room in search of the doctor. They returned about 5 minutes later. The doctor asked me about the night I went back into AFib. I explained that we had dinner with friends and I had one glass of wine (which was true). Up to that point I had been told to cut down on my drinking, not stop. He suggested that I stop it altogether and recommended that the next step was a cardiac ablation. The Doctor explained the whole process to me but it was kind of a blur. I was stuck on heart failure.

I also knew that there was NO way I was having any invasive procedure done at that hospital. I had a tremendous amount of anxiety having the cardioversion there as an outpatient. Some of you may recall that 3 years ago I had a spinal fusion. ( I know I’m a wreck) An anticipated 4 hour surgery took more than double that and I was in the hospital for several days. There were failures along that way that lead to a most miserable hospital experience and a painful and long recovery. I will share more about that experience and the fall out, that effects me still today in another post.

On my way to the office I started to cry. I was overwhelmed and for the moment didn’t have a next step, never mind a solution. I didn’t really understand the ablation procedure, the likelihood of success, if my heart was going to continue its decline or who was going to help me. It was a lot for me to absorb. I went to the office and didn’t talk about it. After work I went to my favorite bar, read one of the gay rags and drank too many martinis.

Several weeks passed on the meds without incident. I became tuned in enough to know I was still in AFib. The Dr. suggested that the meds might be enough but I was pretty sure it wasn’t working. I was put on a blood thinner to reduce the chance of a blood clot potentially leading to a stroke and another med that was to help me get into rhythm and to slow my heart a bit. I didn’t feel any difference. If I got my heart rate up and then laid down and was really still I could feel the erratic beat. And I was tired. As it turns out being out of whack is more work for your heart and makes you tired. I was taking naps before the meds (lame I know) but one of the side effects of the meds was drowsiness. Great double whammy.

Finally the next appointment date came around and I had another EKG (which confirmed that I was still in AFib) an echocariogram and some nuclear test (dye injected and then scanned). I also had to come back the next day for a stress test. I wasn’t allowed to do both the same day due to my weight. Hearing that made me feel like crap….worse…fat crap. The day of the stress test the Dr. informed me that I had persistent AFib (there is a more technical term). But essentially, unlike most people that go in and out of AFib, I was in it all the time. However the tests showed I didn’t have any structural issues in my heart and he strongly recommended I have a procedure called a cardioversion. Think paddles to the chest. I would be sedated and they would shock my heart in hopes to get me back into rhythm. It actually sounded reasonable and really didn’t worry me much. And it seemed to work for lots of people.

I suggested we set it up asap because Don and I had a trip to Europe planned just 3 weeks away and it would feel great to be there AFib free and not so damn tired! It was scheduled a week later on a Wednesday. That morning Don brought me to the hospital bright and early. I was prepped, got an IV (on the second stick which is pretty good for me) and I was under. But before I drifted off I realized the erratic beeping I was hearing behind me was actually my heart monitor. Hearing just how irregular my heart beat was creepy. I woke up 30-40 minutes later and immediately heard the changed sound of the monitor. I took a deep effortless breath. I was no longer in AFib. Minutes later Don was back at my side. I got teary when I saw him, a combination of relief and excitement about hearing that nice regular beeping of the heart monitor. After a couple of hours I was discharged home and told to take it easy the rest of the day.

Fast forward to Friday night. We had dinner with friends visiting from Orlando and got home around 8:30. At about 8:45, as I began to sit on the couch, I felt a very strong heart beat…the strongest I have ever felt. It was as if my heart was coming out of my chest. Bam…back in AFib. I was angry and suddenly very concerned. I didn’t really know what was next…but I knew this was more serious than I originally thought.

Don’s reaction was what I expected. He listened, asked a couple of clarifying questions. Hugged me and told me everything would be OK. I thought….”probably right”. I love him. The weekend passed without incident.

By 8:45am on Monday I was at the Dr.’s office filling out my background forms. The nurse called me and we headed to the scale (At least I didn’t gain over the weekend). I meet with the Dr. and he starts by asking about family history and risk factors stating that its very unusual for someone my age to have AFIB. (I’m thinking, of course, because I was also too young to have my gall bladder out and spinal surgery…ugh). I ask him if this is because I am overweight. He says no. No family history. No high blood pressure. Not a smoker.

BUT do I drink? Yes of course… I’m grown. How many and how often? Maybe 2-3 days per week, two of those being 2 drinks the others more. How much more? It turns out that 5 or more drinks in an occasion is considered binge drinking. For woman its 4 or more. And I certainly was binge drinking once a week. I was really surprised because I guessed that 50% of the people I know drink the same or more than me. (you know who you are lol). And binge drinking is strongly linked to AFIB. Great.

He explained that he wants me to stay on the medicine for 4-6 weeks to see if my heart gets back into rhythm. He also wants me to have a variety of tests done to see if I have any structural issues. After the tests we will figure out what to do next. In the mean time he suggests I cut down on the alcohol. “No problem,”I think to myself.

WELL that brings us to today. Friday the 4th of January. And while I have lots more to say about AFIB and the past several months I am skipping to the present. As the work day was wrapping up I started to feel down. It’s Friday afternoon and I have no plans tonight. I have no plans this weekend. I have no plans next week. I do not have a social event on the calendar until March. Why? I don’t know what people do socially without alcohol. Isn’t that crazy? I mean when people aren’t managing life responsibilities what do they do in their free or what I call “grown-up time?”

I understand that I can still go to happy hour. But truthfully I don’t think I am ready for that. I still feel a tinge of anger that imbibing is no longer an option which makes me worry I won’t be great company. Additionally it would be a temptation I don’t need. I’m not 100% I wouldn’t convince myself that just one wouldn’t hurt and it could.

I feel like I need to add bunch of disclosures including, “I know I have it too good to whine about this.” and “Yes, I realize there are people really suffering out there.” But I’m still sad and a tinge mad. I’ll figure it out… probably. We will have to find out together.

In August I wasn’t feeling bad but not great either. My chest seemed a little tight and I found myself stopping during conversations to take a deep breath. As someone prone to sinus infections (which typically works its way into my chest) I decided to should pop in to my primary and get a script for an antibiotic.

Cornelius wasn’t in. I love the guy. But his partner could see me. The nurse weighed me (my least favorite part of any visit) and I sat up on the examining table. She did my vitals and listened to my chest. Then she asked “Has anyone told you that you have AFIB?” “Nope.” I responded not sure what that was. But she bee-lined out of the exam room and returned with equipment. “I am doing an EKG” she announced. I agree humoring the nurse who I think is being a tad dramatic. She sticks the pads all over my chest (I wince thinking about all the chest hair that will be pulled out with there removal) and she hooks me up to the EKG. Maybe 30 seconds pass and she leaves and promptly returns with the Doctor. He glances at the print out from the EKG, approaches me listens to my heart and asks. “Has anyone ever told you that you have AFIB?” Now I am a little concerned.

“No and I have been coming to this office for the past 5 years so if you all haven’t told me then no one has.” I replied . Then he grabbed a stool and sat. He seemed serious. The next couple of minutes were a bit of a blur. But I do recall him saying he was calling in 2 scripts for me and I MUST have them filled tonight and I MUST see a cardiologist asap. The word stroke kept coming up. I didn’t fully understand how my heart and a stroke could be related but I knew for sure I didn’t want to have one.

I left the office and headed to work still not exactly sure what I was dealing with. But I knew I needed a cardiologist so as soon as I got to my desk I looked up the cardiology practice connected to my primary ( a hospital group) and called to make an appointment. It was Friday late AM and they scheduled me for Monday morning at 9. Now I am a little more concerned. The cardiologist is taking a new patient THIS Monday!? I spent about 5 minutes on google looking up AFIB before I remembered that 100% anything I found online would just make me more anxious. Inevitably google would tell me that AFIB leads to cancer or the plague or who knows what. So I decide no more google and that I would have to wait until Monday to find out more from an actual doctor.

After work I caught up with a friend at happy hour. Nothing crazy a couple of cocktails and chatter, but nothing about AFIB. Afterwards I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up my heart meds and headed home trying to figure out how to share the news with my husband.