24 hours ago, getting a magnetic resonance
image of my brain was not on my agenda. But here I am inside this tube with a
brace around my head, listening to the strangest assortment of sounds I’ve ever
heard, at least in a medical setting. I don’t know if you have any personal
experience with a MRI machine, but it is a claustrophobic nightmare. And it’s
loud.
They shoved me into a white tube where I
have to lay perfectly still for about half an hour. I’m hearing an assortment of
loud, metallic noises. The closest thing I can compare them to is a series of
jackhammers, each with a slightly different pitch. In between the jackhammers I
hear some grinding, shuddering noises as well.
There is an odd disconnect between the
reality of what’s happening to me and the sounds I’m hearing. On the one hand,
I’m inside a machine that represents the highest level of medical imaging
available in the 21st century. On the other hand, it sounds like the
thing was built by guys with hard hats and rivet guns. It’s kind of a
retro-industrial experience, you might say.
A tight, unfamiliar space. Serious looking
medical people injecting me with some kind of dye. Strange noises that don’t
seem to fit the setting. I’m out of my element, and my life is in the hands of
strangers. Yeah, this is definitely not what I had in mind for Tuesday
afternoon. Then again, I hadn’t planned on Monday either. Let me back up a bit.
I’ve been having some odd symptoms recently,
the most notable is memory loss. I’ve always been a little absent minded, a
little calendar challenged, that sort of thing. This is on beyond that. I’m not
remembering conversations and events that took place a week or so before. My
wife has noticed it. So have my daughters.
I had some tests that revealed some rather
extreme hormonal imbalances. When they were taking my blood pressure, the nurse
said, “Wow, your heart rate is very slow. Like 43 beats a minute.”
“That’s impossible,” I said, putting my finger
alongside my windpipe to feel my pulse.
Lub-dub…[long pause]…lub dub.
“Okay, that’s weird,” I thought. “I have the
heart rate of an Olympic wrestler.”
But I’m no wrestler. I’m more of a
bespectacled, doughnut-eating, writer type guy. My heart should be a LOT faster
than that.
The doctor came to take a look. He frowned and
said something to the nurse. There was a bustle of movement around the table,
and suddenly I was hooked up to an EKG machine. After looking at the readout,
the doctor told me that I had an irregular heartbeat. I would have normal
heartbeats interspersed with weak beats that you couldn’t hear. That’s why it
sounded like 43 beats a minute. Some were too slight to be easily detected.
I’ve never had even a hint of a heart problem.
My heart normally beats like a metronome. You could set your watch by it. And
then today the old ticker goes spastic on me.
You can’t count on much in this life. Many
things are erratic and unexpected, but most of us have a gut-level trust in our
hearts. They beat away, doing their job, and we pretty much leave that to them.
It’s quite unnerving to listen to your own heart hesitate, like it’s unsure of
what to do next. My confidence in my own body was seriously shaken, and I spent
the rest of Monday walking slowly and trying to take smooth, even breaths.
Occasionally I would take my own pulse, hoping that it would be normal.
Sometimes it would be normal, then I would get the long pauses again. The doc
said I didn’t need to worry about having a heart attack, but it seemed like I
could feel my heart inside my chest. I kept thinking it felt sore. Suddenly my
heart had become a fragile thing, a tired muscle getting erratic instructions
from my addled brain.
Speaking of my brain, the doctor said he wanted
a closer look at it, specifically at my pituitary gland. Hence the MRI. The
doctor says there has to be a reason for the sudden drop in hormones and onset
of an arrhythmic heartbeat. That's what the doctor says, and whatever the doctor
says immediately becomes my new reality. I have given that guy some serious
power. He can alter my worldview with a word or two and a raised eyebrow.
And that brings me to today. I’m not afraid.
Medical news has always been good for yours truly. Nothing has ever been
seriously wrong with me. So I can’t comprehend what it would mean for some part
of my body to be broken or malfunctioning. I have no frame of reference for that
sort of thing. And yet, I know that I’m nobody special. I don’t have any
guarantees or personal dispensations. I’m here on the earth, taking my chances
just like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry.
Taking my chances, listening to my heart, and
waiting for someone to tell me what is going on.
rlp
