I made this graphic (using WordArt) because I wanted to see how many positive words I could think of when thinking about my heart defect. So I just made a random list of words that sprang to mind when thinking about it, put them in a heart-shaped word cloud and categorized them using colour. As you can probably tell, the black ones have negative connotations, the blue ones are (sort of) neutral and the red ones have more positive connotations – all according to my subjective viewpoint, of course.
Once I’d finished the word cloud I realised how childish it is: the use of the word ‘tablets’ instead of ‘medication’ (or even medicine); ‘teddy’, ‘pricking’ (this refers to my sternal wires pricking me inside my chest – it happened a lot in my teens/twenties; not so much since the old wires were removed when I had surgery in 2008). You might be wondering why ‘picnics’ is in there. This is because when I was a child we always went to Harefield Hospital for my annual check up in the school summer holidays, and we always took a packed lunch and ate it outside. The ‘birds’ come from that, too – I remember the sparrows used to come and peck at our sandwich crumbs. I guess the childishness is explained by the fact that a lot of my thoughts to do with my heart defect are also to do with my childhood.
I think it’s quite encouraging that I managed to list so many positive or at least neutral words. When I first made the cloud I thought it was overtly negative, but then I realised lots of the words in the list are simply things that are just there – they are merely part of the experience of having a heart defect; not bad, not particularly good either, just there (bedpans, tests, screens, wires (although wires are bad if they hurt you)). Some words are a bit ambiguous – e.g. ‘parents’. I made them blue even though it is not really the case that they are ‘just there’ (and I’ve just realised I forgot to add ‘guilt’ to my cloud), partly because it seems the most diplomatic thing to do. ‘London’ is there because it’s always been the background to the story of my heart. When I was in hospital in 2008 I drew a picture of the skyline I could see from my window (hence also ‘drawing’) and at night when I couldn’t sleep I pretended the shapes I could see were animals instead of cranes and tower blocks.
I put ‘waiting’ in black, because I’m impatient. I think the other black words are self-explanatory, although some things like catheters and stitches are not really bad in themselves (they are there to help us) they are not very pleasant to experience.
“But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes. The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is a misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things.”
― Carson McCullers, The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories
This is a picture of a picture of me in our then garden when I was about four:
In case you didn’t know, I hate having my photo taken and I almost never wear make up. A few weeks ago I decided it would be a good idea to volunteer to have my picture taken for the Somerville Foundation’s second Scarred for Life exhibition. This involved having my photo taken and wearing make up…and having my hair cut (a bit) and straightened (which I actually like). I was nervous about the process of having my photo taken, but it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t really feel like ‘normal me’ because my hair looked so different, so I didn’t feel like I wanted to hide like I usually do when face to face with a camera. I did, however, find it more of an emotional experience than I expected. I had…
I went to the dentist today to have my teeth scaled and polished (‘cleaned’) and then have a filling. It was not fun. There was a needle. I don’t like needles. There were loud high-pitched whirring noises. I don’t like loud high-pitched whirring noises. There were people standing over me with face masks on. You get the drift. I held the dental nurse’s hand. I gripped on to myself. I took deep slow breaths. I cried. I’m 39.
I have terrible teeth [in my terrible jaws – have I read The Gruffalo too many times?]. Not in terms of them being decayed (thank goodness), just in terms of their alignment, or rather lack of. They are very wonky – crooked, to go with my crooked back. It’s fun. (It’s not). It means I have to go to the dental hygienist to get them cleaned every six months, especially as, because I have heart condition, I have to be careful about infection, particularly in the mouth. I had endocartitis as a child and it was Not Good (as my daughter would say).
My teeth are crooked because I never had a brace. I was offered one, but I declined, because I didn’t think (aged 14?) that I could cope with the repeated trips to the dentist and fiddling about with my teeth that having one would have entailed. Or perhaps it was a matter of (for once) having the choice to be left alone or not, and I took the being left alone option, which I think is understandable.
Of course I regret it now. I know my teeth are horrible and I’m very self-concious about them, to the point where I will avoid smiling properly in photos. When I meet people I think about them thinking about how awful my teeth are – of course they may not be thinking this, but how do I know? And think of how many dental appointments I could actually have avoided if I’d had a brace so they were easier to clean.
The above is printed in the front of Migraine, by Oliver Sacks. I’m reading this book for the second time. The first time I read it I was in my late? teenage years (a long time ago), and I remember that I actually started having a migraine while I was reading it. The irony (or something). It is a most fascinating tome, mainly because migraines are fascinating things but also because Sacks writes well and accessibly. But I’m not really planning to write about migraines or even Migraine today. This is really just a little note about the above quotation. I had two thoughts about it when I read it the other day:
Whoever…sees in illness a vital expression of the organism will no longer see it as an enemy…
Both thoughts have to do with my acceptance (or not) of my heart condition. I have seen my heart condition as my enemy, to be fought against. I have not seen it as a “vital expression of [my] organism. But…
…the disease is the creation of the patient…
I don’t think Groddeck means that the patient is inventing the illness; I’m taking this to mean that the illness is ‘just’ a part of the person, in the same way that the person’s walk, speech, facial expressions, etc., are a part of her/him. My heart condition is a part of me, so (a) in fighting against it I’ve been fighting against myself (very tiring) and (b) I think I have been seeing it as something separate from myself, like an external enemy that might go away if I try hard enough. But it’s not going to go away. [In this week’s counselling session I realised that I’ve been holding on to a fantasy that one day my heart defect would just go away! This probably sounds ridiculous but when I said it I realised it was true, and might go some way to explain the non-acceptance of it.] I need to accept my “creation” as me. I’m not sure I need to like it, but I need to find a way of seeing it in the same way that I see my [trying to think of something I like] handwriting; not as something external to me, but just part of my whole self/person.
Basically, my heart is about the same as it was last year, apart from the changes in its electrics, which is good. Although the heart muscle function is impaired, the impairment hasn’t got any worse since last year – the echo pictures look basically the same. I’m currently feeling less tired than I was the last time I had my MOT, which is also good, but we don’t really know whether this is due to reducing the dosage of beta-blockers, having a day ‘off’ a week or improved diet. So, the plan is to carry on as we are and then re-test everything as usual next year.
She asked me if I had any questions, so I asked about my long term prospects. These are OK at the moment. I will probably need my valve replacing at some point in the next few years, but we hope this can be done percutaneously (this is not a word, according to WordPress spellcheck!) rather than by open heart surgery. I might never have to have open heart surgery again! One can only hope. Also, if my heart muscle function gets worse they will add in some medication and will probably change my pacemaker to more modern one (bi-ventricular?). I will probably start feeling palpitations more and more as I get older, but these can be treated with meds and/or ablation.
As you can see, there are a quite a few ‘probablys’. It’s hard to predict what will happen – my heart could remain stable at this level of (dys)function (actually not too bad, considering) forever or it could get worse, in which case see above. If it ever gets really bad, things like transplant and mechanical hearts are an option, but my cardiologist doesn’t think it will ever get to that stage. Let us hope not.
I went went for my pacing check last Monday. All was well. In fact, my heart is actually working better than it was before. For some reason (unknown), the node that wasn’t working, which meant that the lower ventricle of my heart was being paced all the time as I had complete heart block, is now working quite well. The technician has now changed the algorithm so that my heart will work on its own as much as possible, but the pacemaker will still stop my heart rate less than 60 bpm. The technician this change in the node’s behaviour was “mind blowing”. I said it was weird. But, either way, it is good.