You know you are taking too much medication when you start WANTING to take it. For example, I began to be a bit concerned when I started liking things like the taste of aspirin. Its true, I admit it- chewed aspirin tastes sweet to me. Like candy. If you asked me to pick between a couple of aspirin and a toffee sweet I would be hard-pressed which to choose.
I thought at first that this might be some physiological indicator of tastebud dysfuntion or some other biological error but no- my loving psychology-trained friend explained that this is a psychological effect. Its not addiction but its in the same family. Your body is so happy you are giving it something that is going to make it feel better, it gives you some fun sensation right away just to encourage you. A type of Pavlovian conditioning if you will. I don't exactly drool at the sight of the aspirin bottle but...
This effect may also explain my smiling acceptance of the "nitro headache" as "worth it." Anyone with angina knows the drill. You get the chest pain, you take the nitro and as soon as the "nitro headache" comes you know the remission of the chest pain is close behind. After awhile the headache becomes something you don't just accept, but anticipate. Its not sweet like aspirin but...
It seems that we are capable of so many strange adaptations and morphings. I often marvel at the way the "old me" morphed into the "new me"
Today I went for a walk around my neighborhood after not walking for a few days. Since I have been relatively pain-free for the last few days, I was disappointed to come home after 3 blocks to chest pain that required nitro and rest. I suppose I should not be upset about something I have been living with for 4 years now but a part of me always longs for the old me who was a runner and a cyclist. The old me who lifted weights, moved her own furniture and thought nothing of running up stairs any chance I got. The new me considers a pain-free walk around the block an accomplishment.
The old me ran for her health. The new me drinks fresca (a beverage which contains something called "wood resin"???!!!) for her health. Why do I drink fresca? I will tell you. I discovered in reading about the calcium channel blocker I take that grapefruit juice INCREASES the effectiveness of it! So, that's right- drinking fresca is actually GOOD for heart patients. And if you are a diabetic heart patient, good news: no sugar. Heehee.
So its true- this heart patient's idea of a good time is 2 aspirin, 2 squirts nitro and a tall glass of fresca with a pinch of giggle. The way I figure it, if am pain-free and laughing, I can't be stressed and I consider that success.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Introductions
After my most recent heart attack, I decided I needed a sign that read “Don’t Stress Out the Heart Patient.” I figured I would unfurl it as the need arose. Just a little reminder for all my insensitive family members, co-workers, and friends. Do I sound bitter? Cranky? Obnoxious? Maybe I’m just jaded after four years? My girlfriend says I’m sassy.
Doctors have described me as “argumentative” “frustrated” and “anxious” on paper. Off paper, I suspect their descriptions have been more colorful. What I am is a “difficult patient,” which is another way of saying that survival and quality of life mean more to me than respecting authority. White coats don’t impress me. Logic, the scientific method, problem solving, and workable healing strategies do.
Another sign I considered constructing to unfurl when necessary was one with a simple question: “Got Help?” Sometimes things need to be broken down to their most basic components. I usually try to explain things accurately in great detail. But during one of my worst doctor’s visits, I recall saying loudly over and over again to the doctor (trying to be heard over his yelling) that I was suffering and needed help. This was a big move for me. Two moves really. 1) Admitting that I was suffering; 2) Asking unequivocably for help. My bold new move was lost on Dr. T whose one big passion was convincing me that I did NOT have a heart problem. I just thought I did. Hmmm. Interesting theory. Apparently there is a whole bevy of women out there who imagine they have heart problems. They imagine chest pains, shortness of breath, nausea, dizzy spells. On occasion they imagine heart attacks, strokes. Why? Because heart disease is a man’s disease. We must be jealous. Or something….
I am a 41-year old woman of color who has recently been diagnosed with Ischemic heart disease. It took four years and far too many doctors to get this diagnosis. It also took 3 visits to the ER, at least 4 heart attacks and a trip to the Mayo Clinic. It would be an understatement for me to say I am a bit angry. Fortunately my anger is eclipsed (if only slightly) by my desire to do something about this. I don’t want other women to go through what I have. This madness must end. This blog is one woman’s attempt to change the way women are treated by the medical establishment. And to reach out to the women who have been mistreated.
Doctors have described me as “argumentative” “frustrated” and “anxious” on paper. Off paper, I suspect their descriptions have been more colorful. What I am is a “difficult patient,” which is another way of saying that survival and quality of life mean more to me than respecting authority. White coats don’t impress me. Logic, the scientific method, problem solving, and workable healing strategies do.
Another sign I considered constructing to unfurl when necessary was one with a simple question: “Got Help?” Sometimes things need to be broken down to their most basic components. I usually try to explain things accurately in great detail. But during one of my worst doctor’s visits, I recall saying loudly over and over again to the doctor (trying to be heard over his yelling) that I was suffering and needed help. This was a big move for me. Two moves really. 1) Admitting that I was suffering; 2) Asking unequivocably for help. My bold new move was lost on Dr. T whose one big passion was convincing me that I did NOT have a heart problem. I just thought I did. Hmmm. Interesting theory. Apparently there is a whole bevy of women out there who imagine they have heart problems. They imagine chest pains, shortness of breath, nausea, dizzy spells. On occasion they imagine heart attacks, strokes. Why? Because heart disease is a man’s disease. We must be jealous. Or something….
I am a 41-year old woman of color who has recently been diagnosed with Ischemic heart disease. It took four years and far too many doctors to get this diagnosis. It also took 3 visits to the ER, at least 4 heart attacks and a trip to the Mayo Clinic. It would be an understatement for me to say I am a bit angry. Fortunately my anger is eclipsed (if only slightly) by my desire to do something about this. I don’t want other women to go through what I have. This madness must end. This blog is one woman’s attempt to change the way women are treated by the medical establishment. And to reach out to the women who have been mistreated.
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