My poor heart

 On October 2017 I had the heart ablation.

The choice was - either you’re going to take arrhythmia medication till the rest of your life, or You can take the procedure and maybe get rid of it for good. It seemed pretty simple.

I was optimistic. When I came to the room and I saw about 10 people in the room, doctors covered in iodine I lost my optimism. I began shaking horribly. The procedure is not under general anesthesia and I think that’s what changed me. Because I was panicking, they gave me fentanyl. I was only able to say yes or no. I was high, but I was still terribly scared. 

The doctor said there was a small chance for me to have a heart attack during the ablation, because of the problematic positioning of the obstruction. I believe it was an obstruction. During the ablation they use electricity to burn the culprit of the arrhythmia.

It hurt. The electrodes went in through my leg and made their way up. I could feel them moving. 

Before they started I could hear the doctors talking to each other “do You have the electrodes for children? Her veins are small” “No, I don’t have them here” “What do we do?” “Let’s try and if it doesn’t work out we will schedule another date”. 

Then the doctors asked the nurses if the defibrillator is ready. I know it’s standard procedure, but I thought “I’m going to die”.

I was super healthy up until I had my heart problems.

Rarely got sick, growing fast good in sports, slept well…I took my health for granted. 

My chest was burning so bad. In the middle of the procedure doctors switched. The first one couldn’t find the source of the problem. The second one worked for another hour and said “it’s been a success, how do you feel?” And I said “I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen this scene, I remember you looking at me like this”. That must have freaked them out!

I was moved to the recovery room. I was shaking, I was scared. For me, it wasn’t over. Until this day it’s not over. The fear, I mean. They fixed my heart.

I was bed bound for 24 hours. A doctor was supposed to come after four hours to pull out the things that opened my veins (I’m sorry, English is not my first language). I waited 12. When she came, I started to have horrible tremors. My muscles tensed up and I couldn’t control my body. The doctor said “if you don’t relax, your blood will shoot to the ceiling”. She had to call for backup, they fed me some calming medication, waited for the effects and pulled it out. To this day I don’t touch that spot.

I haven’t slept that night. Since then I haven’t slept a single night without medication. I have shivers just thinking about it. All the time I’m thinking how my life would be different if I decided to just stick with the medication. It was such a traumatic event for me, that it left me broken.

One month after that I was diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder and a couple months later with chronic insomnia, panic disorder and PTSD. 

My relationship with K was pretty bad to begin with, but that was the nail to the coffin. He couldn’t cope with my state. He moved to the other room. Sometimes we didn’t speak for months. The most was two months in a row. We were just strangers living in the same apartment. 

My parents took care of me. They were the only ones who tried to help me. They didn’t understand what I was going through, but they were there. 

I took medication that made it unsafe to get pregnant. I was sick all the time, changed meds every couple months, sometimes didn’t sleep for months. All this while having a shitty relationship and working full time and still trying to be successful in sports. 

After 1,5 year I started going to therapy. I was recommended to participate in group therapy full time for three months. Every day from 9 am until 3 pm. Psychiatric day ward in a nearby clinic. I cried for days - “I am a failure” “I am going crazy” - those were my thoughts. 

When I started group therapy I said “Hello, my name is Marta and I’m suffering from insomnia, other that that I have a pretty good life”.

It quickly turned out, that my there were underlying issues that caused me to have all these mental problems. Obviously my mother, my relationship problems, my deepest desires to be loved and having a child and so on.

Group therapy is brutal. It’s hard. You’re going to suffer hearing other people’s heartbreaking problems. I cried for weeks. My heart sunk when people told me their opinions about me. They made me realize that K will never marry me and he is stalling because he has a place to live. After one month of group therapy I told him to move out. He waited until the end of therapy to regain control over my thoughts, but I already made up my mind. I was alone again.

More in the next post.