What has two thumbs and just ran 8.1 miles?

This guy.

:thumbup:

This PVC/PAC stuff can be, if not conquered, at least mastered.

Six years ago I was having 5-10,000 PVCs, every single day for a year.

I'm about 10 minutes post-run, I lost about 5 pounds of water weight in the run, just scarfed down two large pears and a dozen strawberries and a quart or so of water, heart rate at about 78 bpm, a few PACs on inhale here and there, but that's about it. All good.

Pretty soon I'm gonna look like those shirtless guys on muscle beach. :flex:

Can I say that each time I visit the site's home page and scroll down and see the half-naked picture of me in the left sidebar, I freak a little? Aaaah! What's that!

Oh. Just me.:bag:

Traveling. And barfing. Got a stomach virus. Probably good for weight loss, but not much else.

I haven't forgotten about anybody. Just working back to full strength, that's all.

Is there really an up side?

Anyway - I've been working out like a man possessed lately - lots of cardio work at least 5 days a week, and just started mixing in weights.

And then my right knee came a-calling. In my right knee I have a medial meniscus that looks like a pumpkin about two weeks after Halloween: misshapen and ugly. It's been in various stages of decay since I was about 18, but it hadn't been bothering me for at least two years. Until yesterday.

I have a very fancy custom knee brace that helps, taking the pressure off that side of my knee, reducing bone-on-bone contact and giving what's left of that part of the meniscus room to breathe and maybe even heal. But I hate wearing it. Reminds me that I'm getting old.

The knee doesn't take anywhere near the pounding on my recumbent stationary bike as it does running, but I hate riding that thing, too.

The sacrifices we make for health and beauty. :laugh: Looks like the recumbent bike and I are going to become good friends. :squinch:

Call it a mid-life crisis. Call it a grand cardiovascular experiment. Call it a middle-age guy growing tired of waiting until next year before he finally gets off his ass and starts making himself trim and healthy.

You can even call it a benefit of popping antidepressants like Tic-Tacs (ok, I don't really do that, but you get the idea).

Whatever you call it, I'm getting myself into shape, and for those of you who've seen the Rocky movies, I feel like Rocky in Rock IV. The one where he trains in Russia with the simplest of methods and, quite literally, farm equipment.

Last year at this time, please pardon my french (not this French) I was scared shitless. I was having these brief bursts of something. I didn't know what. Felt like my heart was racing then stopping, twisting itself into a pretzel, and then just when I though I was going to keel over, it'd pop itself back into a normal rhythm.

I was scared to do anything. I'd still get on the treadmill, but I'd warm up so slowly that you'd think I was 90 years old and exercising at a rehab clinic. And I'd never get my heart rate up over about 135.

Fast forward to February of this year, and I'd had another battery of tests, blood work and en event monitor, and I got a diagnosis. PAT, aka PSVT. I also had a few couplets and triplets thrown in there for good measure. But none of it was life threatening. My cardio assured me that the scariest of my symptoms were simply not able to kill me. Couldn't do it. I could have that rhythm for days and not affect my life expectancy.

I was hesitant at first, but I believed her.

In Spring I got back into my work routine and would have days of virtually non-stop PVCs, bigeminy, trigeminy, you name it. But I knew from my decade worth of experience that I was still feeling the effects of truckloads of stress on my mind and body. The antidepressants I took were slowly changing my outlook and approach to much of my daily life. The pharmacists told me I'd have to wait for at least two weeks to feel the full effect.

I think that the changes they can create can actually take months.

Because here I am, one year removed from being pretty sure I was going to need an ICD or an ablation or some kind of heart procedure, and I'm exercising. Hard. And the beauty of it is, I don't even know how hard. In the last two months I've run either on a treadmill or on the roads in my neighborhood an average of 3 miles a day. Every day. Most days it's 5 miles.

...more in a bit....

Some days I wish I'd been a bit more disciplined like Jodie, and become a cardiologist (Jodie's not a cardiologist, but she IS more disciplined than I am). Over the last few months I have found myself completely intrigued by ECG tracings and the vast amount of information they can provide. Every single millimeter of that squiggly line can provide valuable information about the health status of your heart.

But sometimes I'm not sure if I go too far. I'm corresponding with a single mom from Romania right now (not sure if she lives in Romania or was born there) who's son has been having a multitude of cardiological tests to determine a diagnosis and decide on a course of treatment. One doctor says he needs ablation. Another says he's fine and doesn't need anything. In the meantime, she's watching her son slowly deteriorate, getting pale, tired all the time.

Enter me, with possibly more guts than brains, but learning to read ECGs and wanting to help. How can you not want to help a single mom with a son with medical issues? So I'm doing the very best that I can, researching what I can through my reference materials and scouring the web, providing her completely amateur medical opinions, but hoping it will help her to at least ask appropriate questions, and from those questions she can decide on the best course of treatment for her son.

I'm nervous to be doing this. But I'm also excited at the prospect of helping.

Last week I stopped into my cardiologist's office to pick up the EKGs from my event monitor back in February. I picked them up because Jsuter69 was stressing about some increases in her heart rate that I thought were due to vagus nerve activity, and I knew I had captured some of that during my monitoring. I wanted to show her to confirm for her that it was normal, and that it was OK.

Ambivalent is a good word to explain how I felt about picking up those records. I was happy to be able to help Julie, and I thought that being able to scan in and post some of the other arrhythmia I had on my EKGs would be great teaching tools on the site. That was all good. But kind of like how you don't want to know how they prepare the chicken at your local restaurant, I was pretty sure I didn't want to know how my cardiologist came to the conclusion that all was OK and my arrhtyhmias were benign.

Because I know me, and I know I would not be able to keep myself from looking over every tracing, going over every detail, and I knew I was going to find things I didn't want to find.

And I did. To this point I knew I'd had several million PVCs in my life, but never thought I'd experienced any PVC couplets or triplets. But apparently I have, as I found both in the 50 pages worth of EKGs. The good news is, I believe there was only one couplet and one triplet recorded over that entire month.

But there's also a new arrhythmia I'd never even heard of before: PNC. Premature Nodal Contraction occurs when the AV node fires before it receives the signal from the SA node to do so. This generates a wimpy QRS complex, a normal T wave, then back to the heart's regularly scheduled programming. I had a hard time evern finding any information about this type of premature contraction on the web - so hopefully that means it's also benign in nature.

So this morning I'm a little less confident in my ticker as I was just before I picked up those EKGs, and part of me wishes I hadn't even picked them up. But I'm trying to get back to that place where I was just a few days ago; trusting my cardiologist, knowing she got to see the worst that my heart has to offer, and her determining that what it was doing was not a cause for alarm.

And I know there's lots of people living with benign NSVT, and so far my heart hasn't produced that (that I know of), but I have to consider the possibility that down the road I'll be dealing with that extra acronym on my arrhythmia resumé. So I'll have to remember people like Mary, who has benign NSVT and is doing well, and Connie, who had NSVT for years before she had an ablation that more or less cured her.

And I'm getting there. Slowly.

When this site was launched I wanted to be able to have a steady flow of informative and well-referenced articles to help people wade through what's fact and what's fiction when it comes to their heart health.

But I've been bogged down lately and haven't finished a decent article in a couple weeks. Why? Getting it right takes a lot more work on some of these articles than I thought it would. For example, I'm finishing up an article about Aloe Vera and whether it can help treat palpitations. It's taken me nearly a week worth of evenings, finding relevant studies, but also checking the credentials of those who recommend it. And that can be more work than the article itself! Finding out if a doctor is actually a doctor, if their practice is where they say it is, if their claims about their experience are accurate or wildly exaggerated.

It's tough. Well, more time consuming than tough.

So, my apologies for not having more articles out there, but know that I'm pounding away on the keyboard here, with 50+ tabs open at a time in my Firefox browser, trying to get all the facts straight before I share them with you.

Jeff

I'm not sure there are too many benefits to having lived through years of PVCs, but if there's at least one, it's got to be finding coping mechanisms and tactics to reduce or eliminate them.

Those of you who are just experiencing your first bout with palpitations, skipped beats and extra beats, I envy you a little (because your "bad day" is probably what I'd call "Tuesday"), but my heart also goes out to you, because like you, there was a great deal of fear instilled in me that first day I suffered through some premature ventricular contractions.

One of my de-stressing and coping mechanisms when I'm having lots of PVCs is to go outside on a clear night and look at the stars. I'm not an astronomy buff, but I do own a telescope and have been fascinated with space since I was very young.

As I sit on one of our patio chairs, eyes trained on the heavens, I think about all that's going on up there. Is that Jupiter I see to the West? A storm bigger than Earth has been rolling around Jupiter's surface for at least 400 years. And Mars currently has some small, roving robots scouring it's surface, courtesy of the NASA. So much undiscovered history there.

And is that the Pleiades star cluster? I wonder if there are planets orbiting those stars. Probably. I wonder if any of those planets have some odd, tiny little bug crawling around on them. Or maybe a little plant. And in a hundred millennia, that little plant's great granddaughter might be something like an Oak tree.

All these amazing things, out in space. And here I am, one little human, worried about an upcoming project or the mortgage on our home. In the truly grand scheme of things, my worries are pretty small by comparison.

So small in fact, that I'm not as worried about them. And what do you know? My PVCs are starting to fade away.

I posted last night that I was sending some good vibes one person's way. Recently she had her medical file sent to Dr. Andrea Natale, an electrophysiologist that has been called a "rock star" in the field of cardiac electrophysiology for his ability to solve very complex heart rhythm problems, and for his success rates, innovations in the field and his teachings. Every year Dr. Natale spends time teaching other doctors how to use the most advanced equipment available and utilize the newest techniques to help their arrhythmia patients.

Adrienne sounds like she's at the end of her rope after a long, difficult struggle with her numerous rhythm issues, and has pinned what's left of her hopes on Dr. Natale taking on her case and trying to help her. But since her cardiologist that has been treating her has more or less backed away from her, since he doesn't know what to do to help her now, Adrienne is prepared for the worst, that Dr. Natale will decide not to take on her case.

Because Adrienne's been such a caring, helpful person in holding the hands of other frightened arrhythmia sufferers, it seemed wrong for me to just sit there and let fate play it's hand.

So I sent an email to Dr. Natale, explaining how Adrienne is such a gift to the people she's touched, and that she deserves better, and that I hoped he would take her case. To my utter amazement, within the hour I had a return email from Dr. Natale. He said he would do his best to make her better, and that he would let me know when he saw her.

?

With all you hear of doctors and their egos, in this field that is so crowded with brilliant people, one of those who stand at the top of the pile was there, Saturday night, responding to an email from someone he'd never met, promising to do what he could to help.

I'm feeling pretty good about all this right about now, and especially about Adrienne and Dr. Natale.

I've got another woman in my thoughts tonight.

Not an affair. I love my wife. This woman's name is Adrienne, and she's a registered nurse. But more than that, until recently she's been very involved in another website, helping people understand their arrhythmias, treatment options and prognoses. She has such a long history of arrhythmia and treatments that she carries with her about the most street cred a person could have. And even when she's suffering, she's found a way to help others.

Until recently, when her EP cardiologist and local cardiologist have run out of ideas for how to treat her. She's had 5 ablations, taken just about every anti-arrhythmic known to man, yet she still is having very serious, dangerous arrhythmias. Her file has been forwarded to Dr. Andrea Natale who is among the best of the best in electrophysiology, and I just sent him an email, urging him to take on her case. If he doesn't I worry about what will become of this wife, mother, and genuinely good soul.

So I'm thinking about her today. I hope my note has some influence on Dr. Natale and that he takes her case and finds a solution to her rhythm troubles. She deserves at least that much.

I had my event monitor (first one) beginning in late January, and I had it for 30 days. It was one of the stranger experiences of my life.

If you don't already know from having read my posts, stress is my main trigger for PVCs (and now PAT / PSVT). Stress had been piling on since about October, and when late January came around I was just about non-functional.

When I went in to have it connected for the first time, I was very nervous. As the nurse was explaining the King of Hearts monitor to me I was watching the readout as it jumped from 70 bpm to 90, 70 to 100, all while I was just sitting there, talking to the nurse. I saw the flashing "record" icon on the lcd display and I thought it was like my Polar heart monitor that only flashed when it felt a heartbeat. This one didn't, which freaked me out a bit more, making my heart rate skitter around even more.

But I got home, and it took me a couple days before I filled it up with the first five recordings of my arrhythmia. One of those first five was a brief moment of panic when I glanced at the monitor and saw it reading 190 bpm. Then I realized it was a flaw in the monitor (see video).

In a span of just a few days I found myself needing that stupid little monitor but hating it at the same time. I needed it because it gave me the sense that somebody was watching over me and my heart, which I found to be reassuring. But I hated it because I was worried that: 1) I'd have the thing on for a month and never capture the arrhythmia I'd experienced pre-monitor, or 2) I'd experience lots of the arrhythmia and be able to capture it on the monitor.

And transmitting the data made me sick to my stomach. Why? The way the king of hearts works is once it's filled with recordings you have to call in by phone to transmit the data - you place the receiver on the device and it transmits the recordings via sound.

And it's the most awful sound I'd ever heard.

Sounded like Yoko Ono getting a colonoscopy. And transmission of NSR wasn't bad, it was the transmission of the arrhythmias that was bad - the sounds that little device made sounded like my heart was about to deflate in exhaustion, never to start again.

I got to the point where as soon as I started transmission, I would leave the room, walking around with my fingers in my ears, humming to myself so I couldn't hear the monitor.

And THEN! 30 days was up and I had to turn the thing in, and crazy of crazies, I didn't want to. This nausea-inducing arrhythmia monitor had become my connection to professional medical help, from both the cardiologist reviewing my case and the nurses who took my transmissions (and snuck me some info about what they were seeing, even though I don't think they were supposed to). Taking off those sticky pads for the last time, bundling up the monitor and wires into the blue lunchbox they called home felt like someone had just told the circus helpers below the tightrope to remove the net, just before I was due to go across.

A week later the cardiologist's assistant called and went over the results with me - nothing serious, they would put me on a low-dose beta blocker if the symptoms were really bothering me, but that they were fine with me not taking anything if I didn't want to.

A few weeks after that I was able to believe that good news. Not sure what took so long - but that month and a half felt like a lifetime to me. So I can empathize with anyone who is so very worried about their upcoming event monitor, but I can also say with at least a little street cred that having that monitor and being able to catch your very worst symptoms, and then having those EKG tracings reviewed by a cardiologist is VERY reassuring. Certainly worth the $300 per hour or whatever it is they charge. :stars-confused:

While I think that the power of faith in God can be a source of great comfort in times of need, right now I’m thinking more about the power of faith in my doctor. My cardiologist, to be exact.

As I read through posts on this site and others about people’s fear and even panic about the state of their hearts, I can remember a time just a few months ago when I felt the very same way – afraid of dying, but too afraid to live.

Wondering if I was going to drop dead on my next trip to the grocery store.

Trying unsuccessfully to make peace with that idea.

Then I had my tests. Blood tests. Event monitor. And I got to have a once-over from a cardiologist. I remember being impressed with her experience and ability to assess my situation. And even after I got the final phonecall from her office walking me through all the results, reassuring me that it was not possible to fall over dead from the heart condition she saw on my tests, it still took awhile for it all to sink in.

For the first time I had felt confident that I had captured the very worst symptoms my heart and it's arrhythmia had to offer, and I had faith in that doctor, but I still had a gripping fear that outweighed all of that.

At least for a little while.

Then a few days passed and I was still alive. I had a burst of PAT that scared me at first, but I mentally recovered much more quickly than I had in the recent past.

Pretty soon I began to trust what my cardiologist had told me - this wasn't going to kill me. And once that crutch was strong enough to hold all the weight of my fear, I started re-engaging in all those things I'd withdrawn from over the previous months.

I was ready to exercise.

I was ready to work. Hard.

So I guess what I'm saying is, if you're really scared like I was, go get tested - and don't stop until you know the worst has been captured and a trained specialist can look over the results and either put you an a treatment plan to save your life, or more often, tell you that you'll be just fine.

And then trust what the doctor tells you. Have a little faith.

I was sending emails back and forth lately with someone who suffers with a lot of PVCs every day, trying to help her to cope with them. The things she was feeling as her heart was flip-flopping in her chest read like it came straight from my own head.

You ask yourself "Can I die from PVCs? How will my family go on without me?"

It can be a constant reminder that something is wrong. And I mean every few seconds, all day long constant. But now, a little over 10 years since I had mt first PVC, and almost three years since I was having 10,000+ PVCs every single day for eight months, I'm able to cope with it far better than I did when I only had a few in a day.

And it was that really awful time in 2006, when as much as 20% of my heartbeats were PVCs, that gives me strength now. I had what most anyone would consider a lot of PVCs, for a long time, and they didn't kill me. Didn't even make me take a nap at an inappropriate time. I never felt weak or short of breath, even while working my physically demanding job.

And now that I've put nearly three years of distance between myself and that period, I'm even stronger for it, because if I have a string of incessant PVCs for a few days, I remember that I had that for 8 months straight, and when they subsided I was PVC free for months afterward, and in general, the last three years since then I've only had 50 or so "bad" days.

If there was some way I could convince someone that they really didn't need to worry about their PVCs, I'd do it. But I think that ultimately only you can convince yourself that you won't die from your skipped heartbeats. And you can only do that after you've had them for awhile, in lots of different situations and lived to tell about it.

Until then, I'll be here to lend a shoulder.

Today I had a short burst of PAT - the kind that used to really scare me. Out of nowhere, my heart just started to giddyup, going from about 60bpm to around 110 or so.

A couple months ago that would have ruined my day. Maybe my week. But now? It makes me thankful.

Sounds crazy, but it does. I still can't help but to reflect a little on my life when I have these short bursts, but instead of being terrified that death is imminent, I remember what my cardiologist told me.

That my heart was still firing as it should, just that it was going fast.

That my heart was still pumping oxygenated blood through my body.

That I could go on for days with a heart rhythm like this without there being any lasting effects.

That I could not die from this.

And then I remember how great I have it - I have a wonderful wife, two kids that I love very, very much. We have a great house and a big yard, and though the economic times now are not making things easy on us, we're still doing ok.

But it also serves as a reminder that life is short.

Nando Parrado was one of the real-life survivors portrayed in the movie "Alive," a story about a group of passengers whose plane crashed in the Andes mountains, where they were forced to eat some of their fellow (deceased) passengers to survive.

One of Nando's most famous quotes, and I guess it's a common one where he lives, is "Eat every sandwich. Kiss every girl."

There's another one from the movie Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

I usually think about both after I have those short bursts of PAT. Reminds me that my stay here is not guaranteed, so I'd better get to the business of devouring every minute.

So, yeah. I'm thankful that I get these reminders to make the most of what I have.