This was written a long time ago… things are going so much better since and I’m extremely grateful that things turned out the way they did. Here goes nothing:
Just one week ago Frédérique (vraiment un gros merci chérie) drove me to St-François d’Assise hospital in Québec City. I’m not a big fan of hospitals.
My mom, who I was talking with on the phone, would not have allowed me to stay home given the symptoms I was trying to describe to her. Mothers will always be mothers. You can’t ask a mom to not be overprotective or to not want the best for her children. Turns out that her advice was right on and that she knew what was best for me from the start. Thanks Mom. Really.
Thankfully the nurse in charge of sorting that night quickly realizes that this 23 year old male showing cardiac arrest symptoms and who just so happened to be in the best shape of his life was not the typical patient stopping by the hospital to inquire about a runny nose. She immediately gets me to see a doctor, sending me off to room 6. I walk by all the nurses, naturally holding my chest and left arm alternatively. They are all so friendly. I can’t help but appreciate their presence and feel safe. The doctor walks in wearing Crocs… so cliché I figure. He does his primary examinations, asks his typical questions and for some reason has trouble believing that I’ve not taken any drugs in a while. He gives me a couple of pills. I take them and end up falling asleep on the paper covered bed. When I wake up the pain is gone. All is well that ends well. He announces that my pains are just muscular and that they will pass. I come back at him, mentioning the pains in my left arm. He stops, ponders and decides that maybe I should get some blood tests done. Thankfully he did, because my cardiac enzyme level ended up being comparable to someone who had just fallen into cardiac arrest. Life’s surprises, exposed.
First time getting blood tests. First time getting ECGs done. First time in an emergency room with a couple of young overworked nurses running around on their night shifts. First time actually thinking that I may be dying… and the worst part is, it didn’t even scare me all that much. No nurse or doctor seemed to have a clue about what was happening to my heart and why it was producing enzymes overtime. This didn’t necessarily help make me feel very comfortable with what was going on. The hypothesized before me: heart malformation, perforated lung, a few too many diagnoses which I did not understand nor care for. I just wanted to see a familiar face next to my hospital bed… everything is put into perspective when you get the impression that you are possibly dying. I know that sounds extremely dramatic and exaggerated… I have tendencies towards both. Nevertheless, being alone in a hospital, with a painful heart condition is pretty scary. Simply put.
I actually got some sleep that night. Somehow.
The next morning I passed a handful of tests. None hardly as scary as they sound. The verdict: viral myocarditis. That link is definitely worth checking out.
Chanceux dans sa malchance… I’m alive and doing relatively well. It’s been a week now. My last surge of unbearable pain dates back to two nights ago. Since then, I’ve been sleeping well. If everything goes smoothly, I should be back in business in another week or so.
So the plot has unfolded. No story comes without an underlying theme, a moral, a happy ending.
Life is precious; so many realize it too late. We are born to die but we will never be ready to accept its coming unless we’ve lived our lives without regret. It’s easy to forget about this. It’s easy to get caught up in our work, in our routine.
me | 
07 16th, 2008| 
