Today I had the strange experience of viewing my own heart. It was awesome. I don’t mean that in the surfer dude sort of way. Seeing my own heart filled me with awe, the simple beauty of the steady beat, the contraction and expansion, the emptying and then filling. The ultrasound technician noticed my tears welling up and smiled broadly. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”, he said. Yes, incredible. Seeing it, I remembered so clearly the first time in pregnancy I saw my son’s heartbeat, looking like a little light blinking on and off in the kidney bean of his body.
After my recent illness, I took leap and scheduled a doctor’s visit, something I haven’t done in five years. I have something close to a phobia regarding doctors. I don’t do an annual pap, and have never had a mammogram. My mistrust of western medicine is high. I generally regard it as something to use as a last resort, or in case of disaster, like broken bones and non-stop bleeding. The paper gowns and long periods of waiting give me the jitters, set my teeth on edge and make me sweat metallically. It feels like the antithesis of engaging in a healthy activity.
In the last month or so, all signs have pointed to a check-up. Western medicine, like a good automotive center, can render good diagnostic tests. I turned fifty this year and the persistent little cough I suppose warrants a good check-up, although my gut instinct is that it’s asthma. The physician I went to quickly grasped that my visit was an aberration, and she had to make the most of it. She jumped while the fire was hot and ordered up a full range of testing. By January, I will have had a multitude of tests done, including the dreaded mammogram. I’m choosing to look at this all as a piece of magic, believing that ruling things out will bring peace of mind, and if there’s something wrong, I can than take charge of the next step. Something else in me says cancel all tests, and stay the hell away from the doctors, it will only bring sickness and bad news.
The technician was able to show me my heart, but only from one angle. He brought in the doctor and they confered on how to proceed. They assured me that nothing was wrong, but they want me to come back and they will get what they need by injecting something which goes thru the heart and allows them to photograph it. I’m mulling on the wisdom of taking such a test. My strong sense is that this is neither necessary nor healthy for what I saw so elegantly pumping on the screen a few hours ago.
3 comments:
And it's definitely NOT black!
I too have a great distrust of the Western medical establishment, but I have, out of necessity, had to learn to work within it. Fortunately for me, I found a doctor who is almost as skeptical as I am!
The following rule works for me: Don't let ANYONE put ANYTHING (drug, dye, instrument, etc.) into your body unless you know exactly why it needs to be done, what are all the possible consequences/side effects, is there any less invasive way to accomplish the same thing, and finally, will it really make any difference.
If I am satisfied with the answers to these questions, then I go ahead. I've said no more than I've said yes, but even in saying yes, the power stays with me where it belongs.
Facing the fear is also good. I've gone all around the block about Western medicine, truly I could write a book about its legacy in my family and how I've worked with that. But for the people I love--you included--I say more information is better. If it were me, I would want to know that all was well with all the valves and ventricles in my heart. It will help hone your intuitive sense about the state of your heart to actually see it in detail at the same time you are experiencing it. Every surgery I've had has given me the same gift.
Go, Oak!
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