Post 36: Moaning and groaning.
Vital Statistics
Mood: Frustrated with my weakness’
Anything else: Bi-weekly AFib returns with a vengeance.
I didn’t help myself by getting into bed after midnight last night, following a marathon blog edit—but with all the heart-related alarms going off on my mobile this morning, I know today has already started badly.
I noticed that my heart was beating faster than usual, with the typical irregularities, after waking for the usual bladder unload, at stupid o’clock, it was still dark.
Although frustrating, I thought, it’ll be gone soon.
My cancer-chemo plan going forward is underway—both in the new treatment strategy and second opinion.
My clots are presumably busted (as much as they’re ever going to be), so I’m good with all that medical stuff. Worrying less.
But it’s the old, palpitations that’s now tipping me over the edge.
To those uninitiated, AFib is when your heart is beating badly. Every heart has two pumps joined in series, side by side, circulating blood through two separate systems in the body. The upper and lower halves of each create the pumping action.
When Atrial Fibrillation occurs, the left pump speeds up its timing and randomly spasms, causing blood flow to drop and your ribcage to hammer with the misbeats (ectopics). Which leads to dizzyness and in the worst cases clots; and I don’t need any more of them thank you very much.
I prefer to call my heart “the twins,” and when I’m suffering with palpitations or ectopic beats, that’s when the twins are arguing.
When the twins are arguing, it’s best for the sufferer—me—to keep still. Maybe lie down. Avoid any sudden rushing about. Stay away from stairs and close to a seat or bed.
That said, after five years, it all seemed second nature. Survival is key—don’t fall and make things worse.
I get AFib events regularly, at fortnightly intervals, and they were normally less than two hours in duration and often when I slept.
That is it used to be like that; before the chemo fueled pulmonary embolisms (PE).
It’s been 14 days since my last AFib event, but this one feels like it’s going to be a long one. The PE has changed everything.
Even though I’ve already taken another beta-blocker to rein it in, it hasn’t helped yet.
I really hope things settle down soon.
But I can’t help wondering what’ll happen when I’m back on the remaining five chemo tricycles.
How will my body—specifically my heart—cope?
So many questions and worries. I’m turning into a Nervous Nerys!
(Ref: Only Fools and Horses—the one where Rodders tries to act cool and impress his new “bird,” Nerys, by taking her for a short but terrifying drive in the famous yellow three-wheeler…)
Enough said.
———
My Darling’s giving me the third degree about pills, rest, and water—as per usual.
I’ve returned to the sanctuary of the bedroom and the TV remote. But before she leaves me, I retaliate (gently) and ask her about her blood pressure.
She tells me it’s 155 this morning.
I tell her she needs to book to see her GP, just for a check-up.
It remains to be seen if she does. I’ll remind her later. At least she’s collecting the daily data.
Another worry, Nerys.
———
It’s now after two p.m., and nothing’s changed with the AFib. The twins are still raging.
My Darling’s back from a walk into town for a bit of shopping.
I heard the front door creak open and hollered downstairs, “Glad you’re back—are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m OK. I’ll do lunch now,” floated back to the bedroom.
She has a hair appointment later, and judging by the lovely smells percolating up here from down there, she’s made me a hot early lunch.
I’m still trying to humour her water strategy, but it only leads to a diminished appetite and endless trips to the lav.
I’ll do my best with lunch, of course—it looks good and tasted fab. A homemade, fully-loaded pizza. Yum. (See photo.)
———
Back to the axe grinding…
The trouble is—and this might sound pretty immature and nonsensical to you other prostate cancer travellers—I’m really worried about my heart.
Bugger the cancer.
The AFib this morning reminded me of the stress of my new heart condition five years ago, in fact it was two weeks before the Covid lockdown (twenty-sixth of March two thousand and twenty—as if anyone could forget).
Back then, I’d already started taking anticoagulants and beta-blockers, and my new world was scary. I suddenly didn’t know my own body or what the hell this AFib thing was.
In the months that followed I learnt it’s not much more than a wart on your bum—in most cases.
But like autism, there’s a spectrum of severity.
Mine was “wart on bum” level.
And for the last few years, I’ve enjoyed it being on the back burner—rarely noticeable.
Until today.
So forgive me, netizens, for this selfish, non cancerous and slightly tangential rant today.
I’m not in tears—not yet—but I’m teetering.
I get up and pad along the landing—six paces—and head for the loo. I sit and pee, and my head spins. It’s all part of the AFib fun.
I sit long enough for the spinning to stop, wash up, and pad back to bed with a pain across my forehead telling me to stop that padding and lie down.
It’s really not fair. It really isn’t.
You readers and travellers out there have enough to worry about without me adding to it. But as I’ve said before, I’m lying here, confined to bed, wishing I was holding My Darling’s hand on a short walk around the block.
Doing anything, together—normal stuff, outside or in; if only the twins would pack up their fight.
———
It’s been ten hours since the episode started at 5 am this morning, and my watch and phone have now stopped warning me about heart issues.
(Note: this data will be used as evidence at next week’s oncology hearing.)
As debilitating as all my prostate cancer treatment and the associated physical changes have been, having palpitations for this long today adds a new layer of tiredness and distress.
I didn’t think it could get worse after the last few weeks—but here I am, wishing someone would burst through the door with a magic wand and give me a new body.
I need some rest. Please let me sleep.
Self-medicating the beta-blocker, as I’ve done for years, is fine when nothing much changes—but next week, I’d prefer to talk to a cardiologist, not my oncologist.
———
Don’t panic.
I’m just shooting my mouth off.
If the AFib carries on much longer, I’ll email or ring the GP. If it’s worse, I’ll go to A&E.
My Darling’s here too—she’s the necessary adult.
There’s no need for me to get out of bed, so I won’t. I’ll be OK right here.
It’s just one of those days.
We all have them.
I’ll be OK tomorrow, I promise.
TTFN
Where’s the TV remote…
———
PS
Today’s blog is a good example of the complexity of the human condition.
Layers of problems are sent to try us.
Without our loved ones—or one—we are nothing.
Hold each other tightly and travel together.
