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| Painting by Cody Stewart |
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But finally it was decided
that yes, I do have a PFO. And yes, I also have migraines, which are causing
symptoms like mini strokes. And no, migraines do not always resolve into
headaches. And no, it is probably not a stroke because the symptoms are so
similar during each episode and affecting the same body parts. And no, nobody
knows why people have migraines. And yes, PFOs might be causing the symptoms,
but no, no one can be sure. And yes, it is probably better not to have a procedure on the heart to close the hole by
going through a vein in the groin and up into the chamber and inserting a
balloon-mesh object between the walls of my heart because I am only 31, and
this procedure is still a procedure on the heart, and it will cause the need
for blood-thinners for several months.
And yes, I should probably
take a baby aspirin a day, just in case. And yes, since it is a migraine
prognosis, I am probably just experiencing psychogenic symptoms, which means
that it is all in my head and I might really just need to go to a head doctor.
Needless to say, this was all
very stressful and I can’t be certain that the rigmarole of the tests, and the
time spent waiting for the tests and fretting over the results, didn’t simply
add more unneeded stress to my already stressed heart!
And it must be said that my
heart has been quite particular since mi madre passed in 2006. Never before had I awoken with panic
attacks, nor had I had excessive heart palpitations. But something happens when
you lose someone who is part of the core and foundation of existence as you
know it. You lose that piece of solid ground, no matter how gritty it was, that
seemed always to have existed.
When life-as-you-know-it
changes, your body reacts, with or without your permission, or understanding.
It’s as though you are hanging on with one hand and being spun, your body
flailing, on some sort of ride that has no end. It is as though you are
falling, suddenly, from a 20-story building, or looking over the edge of a
tower.
And my body came under
extreme physical distress. I allowed much of it to happen, willed it actually.
I almost willed too much destruction to myself before pulling myself up by my
bootstraps and getting a viable grip.
I knew that if I didn’t get a
hold of the anxiety, depression, and feelings of guilt and disappointment over
the loss of mi madre, I would not
be able to come back from the abyss. And I was on the precipice, with much
damage already self-imposed, before I determined the reason why it matters that
you stay sane when you lose another. For me it has to do with not wanting to
live this life as a shell of a being. It has to do with the fact that life
keeps going and you’re going to be living it, so damn it, do it, and do it
well. And if you’re on the edge already, why not just give it your all. You’ve
got nothing left to lose really; just strive.
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