Georgina Rose...

Having been greatly encouraged to name my pacemaker on several fronts, I chose: Georgina Rose, whose nickname is Georgie!

Why a variant of George? Well, it was St. George who battled dragons, and Becky helped me put words to this ... feature ... of the pacemaker I find disconcerting.

Poking the Dragon:  After having run for a while, the pacemaker conducts an efficiency assessment and adjusts how it paces my heart. Twice now, the dragon has been poked. An extended period in which the pacemaker stretches, flexes its muscles, rapid fires its weapons, and shows the beast who's in charge. It feels electrical, mechanical, and totally foreign. But at least, now, I know that my heart is not actually having a coronary event, but rather a pissing match is going on between it and the pacemaker as to who gets to be in charge.

Standing on the sidelines, I haven't yet decided whose colors I want to be waving in support. The cardiologist told me he can turn off the feature. I definitely want efficiency and longer battery life. But Poking the Dragon is rather distressing to have going on inside your body.

That really, I thought, was going to be the most difficult part of having a pacemaker.  Difficult after getting past all the difficulties in the hospital.  However, this day has found me descending ever deeper into discouragement because equally disturbing is when Georgie paces me down from a high heart rate.  It feels as if my heart is being squeezed and jolted and it is difficult to breath during the pacing.  Thus far, today, it has happened eight times.

When Georgie paces me off the low heart rate, I feel it, but only mildly so.  I stop and pause and then try to breathe and relax.  This quivery sort of prodding, I think, is how I would describe it.  When Georgie paces the arrhythmias, I barely notice, if at all.  In the hospital, the nurses would often point out when I was being paced and I felt nothing.  It was those moments that made me feel as if I could live with a pacemaker quite easily.

The first Poking the Dragon (self-assessment) happened around 1:00 AM Friday morning.  I was worried, since I was sitting, and the nurse fetched the strips from the records room to show to my cardiologist.  Later that morning was when he explained the feature.  The goal being to extend battery life to its fullest.  He said that he could turn it off, if I wanted.  But knowing what is happening makes such gyrations taking place within less concerning, less disturbing.  I told him we could keep it for now.

I came home.  I started getting up from sitting down, from laying down, standing for much, much, much longer than a short trip from the hospital bed to the bathroom, and ... and the top rate of my pacing suddenly became an issue.  Each time it has happened, I have found it more ... disturbing.  I cannot fathom ever getting used to what I feel as Georgie is forcing my heart to lower its rate of beating.  

In the hospital, each time I went to the bathroom, my monitor would beep, because my heart rate was rising, but I do not believe it ever got as high as it has been at home.  Thus far, the highest I have seen is 151.  My rate window is set from 60-120.  So, I spike and Georgie goes to work.

Fiercely.
Relentlessly.
Thoroughly.

As the day has worn on, I find that I am most reluctant to get up.  I have started thinking things like:  I am not really hungry.  Drinking is not all that important.  Both activities would lead to getting up, the latter many times.

I admit that I felt the pacing when I got up with Becky here, but with Becky here all is easier, brighter, better.  I could shove aside my fear to be brave in front of her, especially because I think that Becky saw plenty of fear in the past few days.  She didn't need any more.  Plus, I was already grumpy Saturday morning because I fainted when I first got out of bed.  I knew that Georgie did not come to live with me because of the fainting, but I had not fainted in the hospital ... being on a raised bed and all.  SIGH.

Being alone again, today, each time Georgie goes to battle, I find myself longing to go hide in a closet ... or take to my bed with "vapors," never to rise again.

Being alone, also, makes it more difficult to avoid thinking about the times I melted down in the hospital.  The whys and wherefores and what was left of me in those moments.  I am not ready, I think, to absorb those meltdowns and find a way to reframe them as anything other than failure on my part to ... rise above.

At least Amos does not mind my desire to remain in the GREEN chair.  He's been recovering from his trauma of separation by taking copious naps draped atop my person.  I missed my little Fluffernutter greatly.  I, too, am not yet caught up on holding him, twinning my fingers in his curls, and savoring his snores.