Tuesday, February 23, 2016
so this is fun
Because, hey ain't no way to get your house party lit like a portable EKG.
It's no secret I have general anxiety disorder. Also no secret that I am sort of becoming pretty good at dealing with it. I know when to meditate, know when to exercise, know when to do my 6-4-8 breathing, without medicine - it's been life changing, truly.
But last night was hard.
Hearing Rico's diagnosis, reliving my own five-year-old life when we told Yoda, sharing the news with the big kids - it was just a bit much - but I was pretty sure we had this.
"Not so fast, young lady," says premature ventricular contractions.
PVC is just a freaking fantastic little sidekick when paired with anxiety. PVC means the electrical impulses to my heart do not fire at the same time. My heart stops it's usual rhythm, and then catches up to itself. It feels like is a heart attack - several tiny heart attacks all in a row. I've known about it for a few years - it got me ambulanced out of Disneyworld once.
It isn't dangerous, but in an effort to help me keep it even, I get to wear this little robot device for 48 hours straight. So if you see me looking like hell, with red eyes, unshowered, with a small computer protruding from my bra strap, you should probably just do the right thing for both of us. Avoid eye contact, keep your head down, pretend we never saw each other, and next week we can start all over.