When Your Heart Tries to Tell You Something

Well... what a week that was! And not in the direction I expected!

It all started the Sunday before, when I got... well, let's just say the toilet became my new best friend. I spent the next couple of days feeling thoroughly sorry for myself and wondering why I couldn't go out to play for the week ahead.

Little did I know!

Tuesday 3 November

Fast-forward to Tuesday morning. I was still feeling a bit dodgy, but Mr M had to be at work early and I had Alfie to get to school, so up I got.

The morning started fairly normally. Nothing particularly rushed or manic about the walk to school, although it was absolutely freezing, so we were wrapped up well.

About halfway down, though, I started feeling odd. And when I say odd, I'm not entirely sure I can explain it properly even now. I just didn't feel right.

We weren't far from school when I told Alfie I needed to sit down for a minute. We were already about ten minutes early, so he agreed. Now, my boy might only be nine, but the anxiety he gets if he thinks he's going to be even one minute late is very real!  So allowing me to sit for eight minutes was quite a sacrifice on his part!

Once I'd dropped him off, I started making my way home; as I reached the bottom of the hill, things started getting peculiar again.

I also had this awful feeling that I'd somehow ended up back in the Andes with altitude sickness. Every step felt like I was walking through treacle.

But, being a woman, naturally my first thought was... I'm fine. It's just the cold!

FFS. Why do we do this? Why do we so often dismiss what our bodies are telling us instead of stopping and thinking, hang on, this really isn't right?

I got home, put the kettle on and sat down for a few minute, which turned into about ten.

Eventually, I felt a little better, although I was still lightheaded.

I carried on with my day.

Wednesday 4 November

I was determined to get the washing done. The sun was shining, the rain had stopped and I thought I'd make the most of it.

I fed Alfie breakfast, let the chooks out, put the kettle on and started gathering the washing.

I still haven't worked out how washing manages to spread itself across three floors of a house when I have washing bags on every level. It's a mystery!

Anyway, I was brushing my teeth when the pain in my gums and teeth started again. And when I say pain, I mean a very strange sensation that I still struggle to describe. It wasn't quite like ordinary toothache. It was just this horrible, uncomfortable pain.

I carried on gathering clothes and eventually made my way down to the cellar to start the epic washing day.

But the pain was coming in waves. At first, each episode lasted a minute or two, then five minutes. Then the pressure across my chest started again.

I stopped and stood still, wondering what on earth was happening.

It passed, so naturally I carried on. Because apparently that's what I do!

While writing this, I've actually remembered another symptom I'd forgotten about at the time: a burning, tight sensation around my rib cage.

By now, the symptoms were getting stronger. I was pacing around and starting to panic, but I was also trying desperately not to show too much in front of Alfie. The last thing I wanted was to frighten my nine-year-old.

And what was my logical response?

Go upstairs, brush my hair, wash myself, put clean knickers on and get dressed!

Honestly, what was I thinking?

At one point, I even took my bra off because I wondered whether it was too tight and causing the pressure!

Looking back, I really do have to laugh at some of my thought processes.

Eventually, that awful altitude-sickness feeling returned and something in my head finally said, Nope. This isn't right.

I phoned Stuart to ask what he thought. His immediate response was to call the SAMU.

I then did what any sensible person would do and phoned a friend.

Her response?

"Put the bloody phone down and call the SAMU!"

Message received!

So, I called 15, the French medical emergency number.

Now, trying to explain what's happening to your body in French is quite an experience.

Thankfully, with a little Franglais, I managed to get through to a doctor.

After a brief exchange and a series of questions, the doctor told me he was sending an ambulance.

I thanked him, put the phone down and immediately sprang into action.

I put the dog in my bedroom so she couldn't escape, shouted to Alfie to get his socks, shoes and coat on because the SAMU was coming, and opened the front door.

About five minutes later, I heard the sirens. My first thought was, I hope that's not for me!

I looked at Alfie, who had the biggest grin on his face. He's absolutely fascinated by the SAMU, firefighters and gendarmes. I'm not saying that's his career choice at nine, but...

Anyway!

I opened the gate and was greeted by three people asking me questions in French. I was trying to explain that they needed to keep the gate closed because I didn't want the chickens escaping.

Apparently, that was important information!

I was taken into the front room and told to sit down. Then I looked around and realised there were NINE paramedics standing in my living room.

Nine!

I was mortified. Overwhelmed doesn't even begin to cover it. They were all asking questions in French, and I was desperately trying to keep up.

Then, out of this sea of blue uniforms, I heard someone speaking English. Thank goodness!

He helped communicate what I was saying to the others, while they hooked me up to a heart monitor and checked my blood pressure.

Now, I'm no expert on blood pressure, but when I saw the numbers, I knew something wasn't quite right. About ten minutes later, they wheeled in the ambulance chair and asked me to get into it.

I agreed, until someone told me Alfie wasn't allowed in the ambulance.

WAIT. WHAT?

By this point, I was strapped into the chair with a heart monitor attached, and they were wheeling me backwards out of the house.

Cue mummy bear!

I was grabbing at chair handles, door frames, anything I could reach, shouting that I wasn't leaving my son there. Were they mad?

I was absolutely distraught. I got on the phone to Stuart, crying and telling him I couldn't leave Alfie and nobody would wait until he got home.

Stuart immediately phoned Alfie and explained what to do. Despite working around 25–30 minutes away, he managed to get home in about ten minutes.

And here's another little moment that made me smile afterwards. When Stuart arrived, Alfie could hear someone trying to get in, so he'd locked his bedroom door with Viyanna standing faithfully beside him!

Bless them both.

Once I arrived at the hospital, I was taken through for assessment.

There was a little old lady in there with me who, for about fifteen minutes, was trying to get somebody's attention because she needed the toilet. Then, completely unexpectedly, she appeared around the partition with blood pouring from her arm, wearing nothing but her knickers!

At this point, I couldn't get off the bed to help, so I tried directing her towards the door to get somebody's attention.

Thankfully, someone spotted her and suddenly there was a lot of ooh là là and oh dear in French!

You couldn't make it up.

The doctors started running tests, and before long I was transferred to intensive care and connected to a heart monitor. I remained monitored throughout my time there.

The following day I was moved to the cardiac ward, but I still didn't really understand what was happening or what they were looking for.

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Friday morning brought a visit from the head cardiologist.

He looked through my results and told me that it wasn't unstable angina. They still hadn't identified exactly what was causing my symptoms, so he wanted to investigate further.

He asked me to go through everything again.

I started explaining the chest pressure, the arm sensations and everything else. He was listening, looking rather puzzled, until I mentioned the pain in my teeth and gums.

And that's when something seemed to click.

That afternoon I went for an echocardiogram.

Now, before I continue, I must say the cardiac ward wasn't quite what I expected. The doctors were rather easy on the eye!

So, I'm lying on the bed waiting for the doctor to come in, and in walks a very dishy gentleman. He gets the scanner ready and asks me to roll slightly onto my side, with my left arm above my head.

Well, as I attempted this, I nearly fell off the bed!

He very kindly told me to be careful because we didn't want any broken bones.

I eventually settled down, stopped laughing, and he started examining my heart, and said, "Congratulations, it's a girl!"

I can honestly say he put me at ease immediately.

He had an intern with him, and I could understand quite a bit of what they were saying as he examined my heart. All I kept hearing was "good, good, good, good".

You get the picture.

But when he reached the lower part of my sternum, things changed. He went quiet, started applying more pressure with the scanner and began speaking to the intern in a much quieter voice.

The scanner was getting rather uncomfortable by this point.

When he finished, he explained that the heart itself looked fine on the echocardiogram, but my symptoms were still a concern. He recommended a coronary angiogram.

He said he'd be back after speaking to the head cardiologist.

And when he returned, things moved very quickly.

I was told I was being taken back to my room to prepme, and when I got back to my room there were three nurses waiting for me.

I was absolutely bricking it.

All I could think was: What have they found? What is going on?

The coronary angiogram finally gave us the answer.

The doctors found a severe narrowing in my right coronary artery, estimated at between 70 and 90 per cent.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

The surgeons inserted three stents, each 15mm, to open the narrowed section and restore blood flow.

Thankfully, my other main coronary arteries showed no significant narrowing.

The procedure was successful, but I needed to remain in hospital for observation over the weekend. By Monday, my blood results were looking encouraging, and I was on the road to recovery.

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I now have medication to take long term, and I'll be following the cardiology team's advice as I recover.

It's a lot to take in, isn't it?

So, let's talk about women's hearts

This is the part I really want people to take away from my experience.

Heart disease is often thought of as something that happens to men. We picture somebody clutching their chest, experiencing crushing pain and immediately knowing they're having a heart attack.

But heart problems don't always announce themselves in such an obvious way.

Women can experience chest pain and pressure, just as men do. However, symptoms can also include discomfort or pain in the arms, back, neck or jaw, breathlessness, nausea, dizziness, unusual tiredness and sensations that might initially be mistaken for indigestion.

Symptoms can come and go, too.

In my case, I experienced chest pressure, pain in my left arm and wrist, burning and tightness around my ribs, lightheadedness, belching and that very strange pain in my teeth and gums.

I didn't recognise the combination for what it might be.

I blamed the cold. I blamed my bra. I blamed feeling unwell. I even carried on trying to get the washing done!

And that's the worrying part.

There is a difference between saying every ache or pain is a heart problem and recognising when something isn't right. We don't need to panic over every little thing, but we do need to take persistent, unexplained or unusual symptoms seriously.

If you experience possible heart attack symptoms, particularly chest pressure or discomfort alongside pain elsewhere, breathlessness, sweating, nausea or lightheadedness, seek emergency medical help. Don't wait to see whether it passes, and don't drive yourself to hospital.

I'll be writing more about women's heart health because I think we need to talk about it far more openly.

I'm home now, resting, and I have my follow-up appointment with the doctors on Thursday.

I've also had plenty of time to think about how easily I dismissed what was happening. But that's another story, and probably another blog!

I also want to talk about cholesterol. I'd had blood tests over the years, and I was repeatedly told mine was a little high but nothing to worry about. The doctors have now identified cholesterol as a factor in the narrowing of my artery.

I'm not writing this to point fingers or suggest I know exactly what should have happened. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I'm certainly not a doctor. But it has made me think about asking more questions, understanding my own results and being a little more persistent when something doesn't feel right.

And finally, I want to say a huge thank you.

To Stuart, who got home as quickly as he could. To my friend who told me to stop messing about and call the SAMU. To everyone who has messaged, checked in, sent love and kept me company through what has been a rather unexpected and frightening few days.

And to Alfie, who handled far more than any nine-year-old should have to.

I'm incredibly grateful to the French emergency services, the paramedics, the doctors, nurses and everyone who looked after me. I may not have understood every conversation, but I certainly knew I was in good hands.

I'm still processing everything, and I'm sure there will be plenty more to say. For now, I'm home, I'm recovering, and I'm very glad to be here.

Oh, and the washing?

It's still there.

Apparently, even three stents aren't going to make it fold itself!

Much love,

Tia x