Want to play Russian Roulette? Join me in Bed?

Have you ever wanted to play Russian Roulette? If so; how about we make a little trade? Last night, in bed, staring at the ceiling, I listened to my heart. That’s because my “resting” heart rate was 142 beats per minute. And it had been for quite some time. That also meant that my “resting” heart rate had increased 10% in just five days.

Everyone has a “resting” heart rate which actually slows with age and the more athletic you are (as your heart gets more efficient at pumping blood) usually between 55-65 bpm. You also have a heart rate for athletic activity as well as a “maximum heart rate” also referred to as the “red line” as you are burning high energy, and straining your heart. Aerobic heart rate zone is 70%-80% of your maximum; this is serious endurance exercise like training for a marathon. Your maximum heart rate is around 220 beats per minute minus your age; I know from my stress test from my LAST heart problem six months ago that I can go up to 192 bpm.

But think about it; your heart rate is 2 to 3 times what it should be, is 70-75% of what your MAXIMUM heart rate should be, and has been that way for several hours, while you have been sitting still or lying down. Now, do you want to go to sleep and HOPE that it doesn’t go up? I mean, 130 is bad enough but now you are within 30 beats per minute of going into oxygen deprivation WHILE SLEEPING.

Now, did I fence yesterday? Yes. For 45 minutes. Yup, down from three hours to a measly 45 minutes. I only did 45 minutes because the doctor on Wednesday said something like “Don’t go fencing” or some other vague term which I couldn’t really understand. And before you go all “geez you should have known better” on me; I run, I train usually 8-9 hours of fencing three times a week, I am trying to do hiking training for a long hike this summer; I cycle with Linda and I don’t have a car. And someone tells you that you might need to sit down…for an unknown period of time. Weeks? Months?

Anyway, I woke up at 7:00 am and checked again (twice) and it was down to 110 bpm, so I said, “Thank God.” and went back to sleep. Of course walking three blocks to the library put it back up to over 140. And chest pains. Woo hoo! My blood and urine tests don’t come back until Monday earliest and if they are all negative can you say, “I’m Screwed!” (because then it will definitely be a heart problem instead an iron deficiency).

If this seems a little obsessive, it is because it is. I walked five blocks and bought a pair of shoes; then I sat down on a bench and wondered if I would be able to get all the way back home? Everywhere I go, Linda or I watch for phones in case of needing to call 911. Our sleep is interrupted by debates about going to ER (L: “You were gasping; do you think you weren’t getting enough oxygen?”; B: “Wait, let’s see if it calms down.”) Call me old fashioned but I try to restrict my ER visits to one a week.

Trying to read about what might be happening doesn’t really cheer me up: “to check the electrical patterns in the heart catheters are inserted into the arteries at the groin…” (this would be the test I’ve ALREADY procrastinated on with P.A.T. – wonder why?).

With all this uncertainty over me, I feel like I should be living every day and minute to the fullest; if I only didn’t feel like crap all the time. I take a pain pill; I do the dishes; I sit down for two hours. Woo hoo! My temptation is to find whatever pain pills it takes to mask the “post race” feeling; the feeling that someone is hanging off my heart, trying to drag it through my chest and then reclaim my life. Maybe it wasn’t that interesting or exciting a life, but I was pretty used to it; more attached to it than I thought actually. And if my body wants to burn itself up while I can’t feel it, well, how very gothic of it I suppose.

I WILL go fencing on Monday. I have a new coach. I am learning things. I will take another 45 minutes of lessons from him. I will fence practice bouts. And I will make sure a cell phone is nearby. Yesterday, while fencing Amanda, I noticed her wincing. She had a blister on one finger. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” I ask her. “You’re wincing.” She plasters on a fake smile. I start to press the issue, tell her to play it smart; to take care of herself. But then I see the ghost of my doctor over her shoulder. Yeah. I shut my mouth.

If those tests come back negative, then I guess that means there are two bullets in my Russian Roulette gun; unless you believe getting TWO different heart conditions in six months is just coincidence. Damn. I wish I had a competition in a week or two, before my conditioning degenerates. I wish.... I wish.... I wish I wasn’t afraid.