Amy Lu's View

I like to think that as I’m growing older, I’m become a nicer person. Not nice, exactly, but nicER. A little more compassionate and empathetic, and less judgemental. I’m even more open to feeling some feels (and not just when I’ve been drinking).

I feel a little like Mr. Grinch. My heart hasn’t grown three sizes yet, but at least half a size. This is good thing.

However, when I faced the possibility this summer that my heart, or at least a part of it, was literally, physically, a little too big, it was freaky.

Before I got any further and cause any unecessary concern or drama, let me clearly state that MY HEART IS COMPLETELY FINE. NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT. YAY!!! I am extremely grateful and thankful.

But I can’t pass up the opportunity to make the most of some blog material, so I’m going to attempt to chronicle my adventures of trying to discover if there was anything wrong with my heart.

Again, let me say that there are NO PROBLEMS with my heart, and I never had (nor do I have) any symptoms. However, it was recently discovered that there is a heart abnormality that potentially runs in my family: a bicuspid valve (really, seriously, even though it sounds like it has to do with teeth).

So I had an EKG, even though it was assumed that really wouldn’t be able to determine much. But that is a test they can do a the doctor’s office and is apparently the first hurdle to jump through before any other tests can be done. And yes, it didn’t really show anything so I had an echocardiogram. (I’m actually not sure in what order I had these tests and I can’t decipher my online medical recorders, but the takeaway is the same).

This test revealed that I did NOT have the bicuspid valve (awesome!) but that my right atrium was possibly “moderately” enlarged. I needed to see a cardiologist to see if this was “significant.”

Oh yes, quotation marks are judiciously employed here, in an effort to be precise. In my normal world, “moderately” and “signficiant” aren’t really that signficiant. “I’m moderately hungover” or “I find it significant that you didn’t compliment me” don’t actually mean anything important. But how to make sense of these words when the stakes are higher?

The cardiologist I saw assured me that everything was likely fine, and I should pretend that I never heard about the possibility that I had a heart issue, and that I should just keep living my life normally (which meant that I could still keep running and marathon training which was what I was really worried about). BUT that I should have an MRI just to be sure.

WTF?

This seemed very contradictory and confusing to me. And, I kept coming back to the question of what could actually be done if I did have a moderately large atrium? Was getting an MRI just an annoying waste of time and an expensive waste of money? (Yes, luckily, I have insurance but there is still a co-pay, and I can buy a lot of bottles of moderately priced wine with that money).

I also was freaked out by the thought of having an MRI. Not to throw Chad under the bus, but for the almost 30 years we have been together, he has shuddered and muttered “Just shoot me if I ever need one” every time an MRI has been depicted on TV. That power of suggestion was bound to have an effect.

Eventually, though, I realized that although we share a lot, Chad’s fears are not always my fears (see zuchinni, artichoke hearts and the State Fair). For a more balanced perspective, I talked to some friends who had MRIs and thought they were no big whoo (some especially overworked friends thought it was even relaxing).

So after a fair amount of hemming and hawing, I DID have an MRI, and it wasn’t too unpleasant. I wouldn’t call it relaxing, more like annoying (I really got tired of having to hold my breath for the scans) but I didn’t feel claustrophobic and the noise didn’t bother me. The MRI was way less awful than a colonoscopy (yes, thank you, I didn’t blog about that).

And I was really proud of myself (and relieved) because I found the hospital at the University of MN all by myself, found a place to park, found the MRI place, AND found my car after the MRI.

So maybe getting the MRI wasn’t a good decision, and I was duped by the medical-industrial complex, but I’ll take a useless and annoying (and expensive) MRI any day over one where I got my money’s worth.

After months of indecision, ambiguity, and nagging worry (not a full-fledged breakdown or anything but defintiely a weight) I’d like to think I’m also a more grateful person than I used be. More appreciative of my good health and the preciousness of life and thankful that I get to keep marathon training (even while I curse myself for being an idiot).

Not sure there is a gratitude muscle—real or figurative—but hopefully it’s also grown at least half a size.

Now if only my bra size would grow, I’d be really thankful.