Matters of the heart...

I have six blog entries sitting there waiting for me to hit "publish." I am simply afraid of them. So, here I sit instead writing of something that I wish to capture but believe just reveals more of my weakness.  It is another silly Myrtle fear:  My heart

I hate that I am so aware of my heartbeat. I can feel it when it slows.  I can feel the force of each single beat when it is trying to compensate for the orthostatic hypotension. Sometimes, I cannot sleep for it hammering in my chest, even when my heart rate is not high, per se. Other times, sleep is barred by the deafening whooshing of my heart filling my ears.  Weirdly enough, it is worse when I lie on my left side than when I lie on my right.  However, I sleep best whilst lying on my left side.  Therein lies the rub.

I can also feel it when it is irregular, when the pace is quickened slightly or a lull happens for but a moment.  I know that hearts can be a tad irregular here and there and I know that I can feel it because it of the neurological dysfunction within my body. I just wish I did not. Feel it. 

Right now, my heartrate is about 48. It is this slow thud. At such times, the world seems less...present. Or perhaps I am less here. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

And it terrifies me.

Funny that the tachycardia scared me so when I ended up at the hospital because of that blasted drug tomapax. Maybe 48 is not technically bradycardia, but, oh, how does it ever feel so very wrong to me.  I believe I would much rather race along in the 130s or 140s, as I am wont to do in compensating for standing than to lie here feeling as if I or the world is slipping away.

I need to slip off the pulse oximeter and somehow focus on something else.  I do.  Very much so.  Only I do not know how to ignore the physicality of what is happening when there is a part of me that knows I should not even be aware of this autonomic function of my body.  It is altogether harrowing and rather horrid.

I am afraid.

I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!