2009

It was just a lit­tle dizzi­ness.  Or maybe I was just light­headed.  But it wouldn’t go away.  Maybe it was my ear infec­tion (I’ve had two this year, what’s with that?!), or the med­ica­tion for the ear infec­tion.  But after a week, I’d had enough.  My doc­tor was quick to rec­og­nize the symp­toms… a virus he and the other doc­tor in the office had both had within the month.  But he was alarmed by my heart rate and con­cerned about my low blood pressure.

I slept for five min­utes, then came the test.  It’s sim­ple, isn’t it?  Blood pres­sure and pulse while lying down.  Blood pres­sure and pulse while sit­ting up.  Blood pres­sure and pulse while stand­ing.  Not so sim­ple when you col­lapse onto the nurse and can’t feel your limbs.  Not so sim­ple when you’re black­ing out and your ears are ring­ing.  Beyond not so sim­ple… Nurse Jo called it dreadful.

I was apolo­getic.  I told her I thought I shouldn’t have come… that it’s just my POTS flar­ing up.  But now it was her turn to be alarmed.  She didn’t know I had POTS.  She put her hands on my shoul­ders, looked me in the eyes, and told me I was intel­li­gent for com­ing.  Then she left me alone.

I fell asleep/passed out.  Can’t remem­ber.  She pulled my doc­tor from another room and they whis­pered.  Then I was off to an EKG and to get blood drawn.  Poor phle­botomist.  I was black­ing out before I got there.  But I did it.  Then I sat.  For an hour.  Wait­ing.  Finally I was given two pre­scrip­tions and told what I’m always told* when I leave a doctor’s office.  Mom and Juanita took me to lunch.  I don’t remem­ber any of it.

Actu­ally I do.  I remem­ber the dead fish in the fish tank.  So strange… for such a nice restau­rant.  I think I ruined the wait­ress’ day when I pointed it out.  But that has noth­ing to do with what I was talk­ing about.

Back to the POTS.  And four days forward.

I was lay­ing in bed try­ing to fall asleep, but my heart-beat was pound­ing so loud in my ears I couldn’t relax.  I’m pretty sure a foley artist was work­ing on a hor­ror movie… in my head.  I was nearly done with the antivi­ral med­ica­tion, and the dizzi­ness had only increased.  And now I had this pound­ing heart issue.  Def­i­nitely worth a call to Nurse Jo.  I should have been feel­ing better.

Nurse Jo wasn’t in the office yet.  I got up from my chair and began to pace the first-floor.  The oper­a­tor was talk­ing, but I don’t know what about.  My mouth was doing the constant-spit cycle that inevitab­ley comes before the “woof your cook­ies” cycle.  Not good.

“Ma’am.  I need to go.  I’m going to be ill.  I’m sorry.  So sorry.  I will call back.  Sure.  Yeah.  Sorry.  I need to go.”

Awful.  I felt awful.  And then I had to call back.  How embarrassing.

“Don’t feel bad.  Well, you already do.  But it’s okay.  That stunt got you to the top of the list.  She’ll call you as soon as she’s in.”

Four hours later I had an appoint­ment for the next morn­ing.  And 24 hours after that I had a very-concerned doc­tor, ring­ing ears, a pow­er­ful med­ica­tion, hope, and a goal.  Finally.