“When the Heart Throws a Party,” “Call the Electrician,”

Momma said there’d be days like this, that’s what Momma said.

Now we’re off to the races.

Once a song enters my head, something is usually kicking around behind it. Looks like today we’re back to my health and what’s happening now.

I chug along and all is fine, then my heart decides a few extra beats are just fine. The right and left atria go into full party mode and build atrial fibrillation with all that extra electrical charge, or vibes, you might say when they’re in party mode.

Then the left atrium says, Nope, I can do one better.

Now everyone has joined the party and atrial flutter is born out of the chaos.

While all this is going on, my chest feels like there is a flock of seagulls fighting over Cheetos at the beach. The tiredness begins because I’m running a little low on energy. Apparently I wasn’t really invited to this party, even though it is happening in my house.

RUDE!

Well, only one thing to do. Take the meds and take a nap.

That didn’t work.

After a couple hours of sleep, the party was still raging.

Time to call the doctor.

The nurse practitioner asked me to come in and get an EKG. Well, that’s what we called them back in the day. ECG is a little better. I never understood why electrocardiogram ended up with the letters EKG, although there is a historical reason for it. Still, somewhere along the way somebody finally decided ECG made a little more sense.

Only took a few decades.

The nurse went on to explain the concerns about possible blood clots and why we needed to end this party.

So I was given another pill.

Yep. Yet another pill.

Seems like age comes along with sidenotes in the form of one more pill to swallow.

Well, off to my favorite pharmacy.

Please note the sarcasm there. I do not want it wasted.

I’m standing in line and, oh, for the love of BOB, we now have to sign into another computer in addition to standing in line.

I sigh.

The young pharmacist looks up and says, “Well, things change. I get it.”

Do you really?

I am 64 years old and my brain is fighting to keep roughly 80,000 passwords stored somewhere inside it, and now this one says the password must be sixteen characters?

That’s it.

I am writing a sentence with no spaces.

That sentence will most definitely be rated PG-13.

The pharmacist adds fuel to the fire.

“Sir, you can just use the app on your phone.”

I roll my eyes but give her a little smile that isn’t entirely earnest.

She laughs.

Truth is, I actually like this pharmacist.

She does get it.

Apparently getting older requires medication, identification, verification, authentication, and occasionally remembering which email address you used in 2017.

Finally, I get to sit down and wait.

I listen to Martha Jean telling the cashier her life story, including Great-Aunt Edna Sue’s kidney repair story. Every person seems to be adding their own life story while I wait.

So much fun.

Meanwhile, the party in my chest is cranking up and becoming a RAVE.

Finally, I’m called. I get into line and then have to select my payment method.

Done.

Then the screen goes white and big letters appear:

OOPS. SOMETHING WENT WRONG. CLICK NEXT TO CONTINUE.

Let me guess.

You mean start over.

Yep. Exactly.

I enter everything again and this time it works.

The pharmacist giggles and says, “I’m sorry.”

I sigh and tell her, “I work in healthcare and fight with the EMR all night long, and now man versus machine continues at the pharmacy.”

That broke me.

I started laughing a little too much.

Then the workers started laughing.

Now the entire thing was just ridiculous.

I was handed my medications, told everyone to have a great day, and laughed nearly all the way back to my car.

I finally arrived home, checked the medications, and read the inserts.

Yes, I read the inserts, and you probably should too.

I, however, stop somewhere around page ninety-two.

I took the medication as instructed, which meant taking it for three days and then scheduling another ECG.

Day three arrived.

The party was a little quieter, but it was still going.

I was instructed to come in for yet another ECG.

Well, sure enough, the party was still underway.

Now came the big one.

The FNP-C said, “Well, we need to do a cardioversion.”

That is an electrical shock used to disrupt the abnormal rhythm.

Apparently I was going to need an electrician to fix some faulty wiring.

After a few days of waiting, off I went to the hospital for the cardioversion.

To tell you the truth, I found the whole thing rather shocking.

I was taken to a prep and holding area with a stretcher and told to take off my clothes.

Then somebody stopped me.

“Wait. You can keep your pants and socks on.”

There it was.

My first win of the day.

I took off my shirt, put on the gown, and lay down.

I had been in an arrhythmia for a while and apparently my blood vessels had decided to play shy. It took three sites before they got an IV started.

Yes, an IV.

They needed that so they could sedate me.

I have felt shocks from my internal defibrillator a couple of times in the past, and I definitely had no interest in being awake for this one.

Bring on the medication.

The party in my chest was getting a little hectic. Nervous tension seemed to increase the activity.

I’m pretty sure somebody inside there had started turning over tables.

The RN pulled out those little pads that go on the front and back of the chest, each about the size of a saucer.

I swear they had been stored in a freezer.

Brrrrr.

I jumped a little.

Then this young lady, either out of kindness or because she wanted to shut up the old grumpy man, turned on one of those little heated-air hoses and tucked it underneath my sheet.

Ah, yeah.

That’s the ticket.

Then I was visited by the gas man, otherwise known as the anesthesiologist.

Back in the day, we called him the gas man because different gases were used to calm patients or put them under.

Just a little clarification.

He explained what he was going to give me.

Then the cardiologist came by and didn’t explain much of anything.

That one is on me.

I worked in electrophysiology for fifteen years and he knew it.

So let me say this to anyone reading: ask your questions.

I’m an old war horse who has spent a lot of years around this stuff. Do not use what I say on a page as a substitute for asking your own healthcare team what is happening and why.

Ask your questions.

The moment finally came.

I was taken into the procedure room with all the fancy equipment and parked in position.

The gas man was waiting.

He started the medication through the IV.

It felt cold.

Then it started to hurt a little.

“This may cause a little pain,” he said.

It did.

The cardiologist asked, “You feeling anything yet?”

“Nope. Just that rowdy party.”

He leaned over and said, “Well, the electrician is here, and I’m going to turn off the electrical box for a moment. Then they’ll leave.”

I talked with him for another minute.

Then I started seeing trails when he moved.

I looked at him and said, “Oh yeah. It’s coming.”

I closed my eyes.

The young nurse asked, “Okay, how are you feeling?”

And suddenly…

Wait.

I was already back in my room in the recovery area.

The party had ended.

All those jerks had gone home to sleep.

I could finally rest.

Sometimes healthcare can be taxing. Sometimes it can be scary. But I have found that when I can relax into the moment, understand what is happening, and remember that every person in that room is there doing a job for me, some of that tension eases.

Not all of it.

But some.

And sometimes, when your heart has thrown a party that refuses to end, you just have to call in an electrician.

Thank goodness that’s over.