In June 2010, I had my second baby and I've been having heart palpitations very lately, which might or might not be a medical "big deal" but are really unnerving. After I had my first child in September 2008, I developed a condition called postpartum thyroiditis. It apparently can cause palpitations. After two "normal" EKG's, the doctor treated me with beta blockers to control the palpitations until the thyroid condition fixed itself and sent me on my way. Over the course of a few months, I seemed to get better and I weaned myself off of the meds and that was that.
A few months ago, I had a ginormous panic attack and started getting heart palpitations again. I went to the doctor and was prescribed an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication, which made me NUTS-O, and had an EKG that came back with a "non-specific" abnormality. They also took blood to test my thyroid and other stuff, which all came back "normal". So, not postpartum thyroiditis again. Because of the abnormal EKG, I was sent to a cardiologist.
At the initial appointment I had another EKG, which came back normal. She decided to send me to get a stress test, an echocardiogram and to wear a 24-hour Holter monitor. And, now I wait for answers or for "peace of mind," to use the cardiologist's words. I think that given my history, that will be hard to come by. (Yes, I know you aren't supposed to end a sentence with a preposition, but I HAVE to. Nothing else fits).
I'll try to make a long story short and say, my dad died from "sudden cardiac syndrome" when he was 36 and my brother and I were 12 and 10, respectively. And, so, I get palpitations and it scares the bajeezus out of me. I have two babies for whom I need to live (!). I am not sure how I will get peace of mind out of these test results, because there will always be the "what if xy or z" factor. I can Google myself silly and I can hyperlink the hell out of you, but that doesn't change the fact that this horrible event in my life impacted me so severely that I now not only have heart palpitations, but have an undying paranoia about dropping dead.
I hope I get something out of the follow-up appointment I have this week. I hope I have something that showed up on one of the tests that she can point her finger at and say, "that's not going to hurt you." And, while she's at it, I hope her crystal ball is shiny enough to tell me I'll be around long enough that I'll complain that I'll never be able to pay off my daughters' weddings and student loans. Or my own student loans, because I'll have those for a long-ass time as well.
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