Don't go Bwakin' my Hawt...

I sat in the cardiologist’s office waiting to hear the results from my heart ultrasound that I fully assumed would be glowing; after all, I’ve been doing everything I have been told to do and I had my organized chart of daily weight and exercise to prove it.  This girl takes great pride in being an 'A' student under any and all circumstances! 

It was discovered back in May that chemo was using my heart for a punching bag and now this new treatment I started in June tagged chemo out of the ring and has continued to beat my heart like a piñata.  For three weeks now, I have been taking the fancy heart med's that make me dizzy and screw with my balance, cut down on my salt intake, and as far as I was concerned, all that was left was to be told that my heart was stable and working all tickety-boo.

So when the cardiologist informed me that the ejection fraction (fancy way of saying ‘blood pumping’) of my left heart ventricle had dropped another 4% to 48%, I was a bit gob-smacked. 

I walked out of the office with Elton John’s,  Don’t go Breakin’ my Heart playing in my head; except it wasn’t his classic version, instead, I heard it sung by Barry Kripke from The Big Bang Theory  with his charming lisp; “Don’t go bwakin my hawt… honey if I get west-wes...’.  I'm not sure why it was this version of the song that came to me, but it sure made the experience more dramatic. Barry continued to serenade me as I headed in shock to the chemo suite for another treatment dodging a million thoughts and frustrations along the way.  Wow, heart failure.

What was truly irritating to me (you know, besides the heart failure) was the fact that when I asked the nurse what I could do to help my heart, she said, “nothing”.  Nothing?!?   I am the Queen of ‘do-ing’; give me a task, deadline and purpose and I will have it done sooner, more efficient than expected and the final result always looks a lot prettier than what was originally envisioned. Telling me there is nothing I can do puts me in a very uncomfortable position.

This was new territory for me, the point in the journey where ‘doing’ ends and trusting begins.  I have to…

  • Trust my medical team.
  • Trust the medications I am on.
  • Trust in all the love people are continually sending me.
  • Trust that all the work I put into being happy through this process is still the most important job I need to do.

The definition of trust includes having a firm belief in something, and I choose to believe in the inevitable happy ending of my cancer journey no matter what's tossed in front of me.

Happy is my ONE job. 

So I paused, breathed through the fear, let the crazy move through me, and I went back to my job of Happy... of course I did this all while wearing a pair of snazzy black with while polka dot heels and Barry singing right there along side me. 

 

 
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