When I ran out of gas on the freeway of love yesterday, I chose the easy way out. Keeping in mind that ONE of the topics I have chosen to keep a running report on, here, is that of my on-going struggle/dance/relationship/affair/work with Atrial Fibrillation. In case you are just joining us, I have it. And I have it good. I have it all the time. I have a pacemaker installed in my chest to regulate the beating of my heart. I also have Bradycardia, a condition where the heart beats too slow. It has taken some time getting used to having a resting heart rate almost twice that of my pre-procedure rate. The side effects of this and the anticoagulant medication taken daily, and, of course, my stubborn instance that all of this is to provide a foundation for growth, is a challenge.
My very first question asked of the talented staff at University of Washington Medical Center when I ‘enlisted’ into their care in 2014 was If I have the procedure, will I be able to continue to train and race?
Yes, they said, without qualification.
I can go as hard as I want? Yes.
I can go as long as I want? Yes.
I can add as much intensity as I want? Yes.
Turns out I may have asked the wrong question. Or that something else has changed. Maybe, perhaps, all the physical weirdness I have experienced, coupled with the mental, emotional and physiological roller-coaster ride through mental fog so dense it would embarrass San Francisco, is nothing more than the manifestation of the aging process. Maybe, perhaps, this is what every 66 year old with AFib goes through and I am simply a whiny brat unwilling to deal with the reality of sarcopenia and parts wearing out (and no longer under warranty.)
I don’t know. One of the things we, the AFib community, and those dedicated to its on-going research struggle with, is the search for triggers. What causes all this trauma? We know that DNA is high on the list, if you have a family history of heart issues, the chances exponentially increase that you will too. Age is another. If you are over 55 and white, odds increase. Smoking, alcohol use, obesity and other life style choices, all begin to stack the deck against you holding a winning hand (with lots of hearts.)
Yesterday was another experiment. Yielding more data as the result of another failure. The latest trend is that one of MY triggers is exercise induced. My worse nightmare. I can safely execute a ‘civilized’ 2x20 set (steady state sub threshold at 80-85% of FTP) but when I add the intensity of sprint intervals designed specifically to reach peak power, BOOM. I can watch my heart rate bounce like a ping pong ball from 80 to 220. There are other factors involved. Yesterday I was coming off Sunday’s 45 minute run, the foot-strike vibrations of which always set the arrhythmia gears in motion and I had two morning spin classes. Half way through the second session, I knew I was in for a rough day. Your serve Mr Afib.
After the second set and a shower I hurried home to get in a therapeutic nap. If I lay quietly and take my relaxation to its deepest level, sometimes I can get my heart rate so low that the pacer kicks in and valiantly does battle with the electric nodes in my atria who, for unknown reasons, are acting like fireflies in a mason jar. This technique didn’t work yesterday leaving me with no choice but to deal with the symptoms as best I could. Sadly, I am used to this. It’s like having to go to work with a monster hangover.
It was a long day. Sometime soon I will expand but for now, please accept the fact that by the time my official chores were done, I was a tired Jose, deep in AFib, ready for a restorative round of REM.
Today, doubling as both a log of events and an attempt at reconciliation of experience, let me offer the advice I always give when asked about AFib. Two things:
1) Ask your Dad. And ask Dad about HIS Dad. Mom too. Is there a family history?
2) Get a good diagnosis. A good and EARLY diagnosis. There are tests available that will provide results necessary to determine your likelihood of joining the approximately 5 million of us learning on a daily basis just how fragile we humans really are.
No matter how tough we may think we are.
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