Grief and the EKG
By Stephanie Andersen
I am no fan of doctors, or hospitals; the only thing they’re good for is delivering babies. Everything else — no thanks.
This is because, years ago, with a four-year-old and toddler in tow and big, imminent plans to persuade my husband we should have one more child, life took me all the way down. One day I’m assessing the home office as a potential nursery for a new baby, the next I’m at the doctor’s and she’s speaking in tongues: “Stage 3B breast cancer,” “extensive lymph node involvement,” “full body scan.”
Before this, I’d only ever had seasonal allergies. After, I was a creature of the hospital, my case dissected by the specialists, my body carved up, my arm radiated until my skin peeled, my veins blasted with the same drug the Allies used to poison their enemies in WW II.
One day, trudging back to the office after chemo — bald, eyebrows and eyelashes a distant memory, fingernails black and tasting metal in my mouth — the old drunk guy on the corner whistled at me. “Hey beautiful,” he yelled. I couldn’t believe it. Was I, in this state, beautiful? I stopped at a storefront and viewed my reflection. No, I was not. Nonetheless, I stepped lightly the rest of the way to work.
That was the only good thing that happened during treatment.
So I don’t like doctors or hospitals. And for the past twenty years, other than mammograms and physicals, I have successfully ghosted the medical establishment. I have no need for it. Five years ago, I tripped on an uneven sidewalk, landing on my face so hard my top teeth were pushed up practically into my nasal cavity. I didn’t go in. (Eventually the teeth came back down.)
One morning last February sitting at my desk at work, I was tired of the weather and missing my parents, who had both died. As I got up from my chair in response to an email announcing bagels in the kitchen, the room started to spin. I sat back down to gather myself. When I tried to get up again, I was still too dizzy to stand. Then my left arm began tingling. What was going on? I googled vertigo and arm tingling and was horrified to learn that when they occur together they can mean a heart attack.
Since I was not going to the doctor no matter what, I waited it out. But my symptoms did not improve or dissipate. By the end of the next day, partially immobilized by dizziness and my arm tingling all the time, I knew I had to call. I left a message with my doctor’s office heartily downplaying my symptoms.
When the nurse returned my call, I hoped she would agree I should sit tight. Instead, she said my regular doctor could see me and to come immediately.
“I’m kinda busy at work, would tomorrow work?” I asked brightly.
“Right now,” she said. Ugh.
I showed up with vertigo, a tingling arm and a bad attitude. Ignoring my glower, my doctor greeted me warmly.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Still dizzy?”
“Yes.” I wish it weren’t true.
“That left arm still tingling?”
“Yes.”
She listened to my heart and lungs. “Everything sounds good,” she said, “but, just to be safe, let’s do an EKG.”
A what? (I don’t watch hospital shows, for obvious reasons, and an EKG is not part of cancer treatment.)
My doctor explained an EKG is used to detect heart problems. This was terrible. “I’m sure I don’t need that,” I said, rushing my words, realizing as I was saying them how ridiculous they sounded given who I was talking to.
“We’re just being careful,” she explained. “You seem fine, but you never know.” She told me to disrobe and left the room. A minute later her assistant came in, humming cheerfully as she taped small white circles all over my chest and stomach.
As I lay on the examining table staring at the ceiling, I cursed myself for calling. I’m sure the dizziness and tingling would have gone away on their own if I’d given it more time. I considered making a break for it, then remembered the circles taped to my body, and that I’d be flapping in the wind with my hospital gown.
“Stay still,” the assistant instructed. “This will only take a moment.” She flipped two levers near the door. “All done,” she said sunnily. “The doctor will be in shortly to discuss the results.”
Then she pulled the circles off me, told me to get dressed and left.
Now, sitting fully clothed on the edge of the examining table, silently cursing the assistant’s joyful disposition — so rude! — my wait felt interminable, and I was terrified.
Finally my doctor came in. She sat down on a stool and looked at me intently.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. “Other than being dizzy and having a tingling arm, how’re things?”
I did not like that she wasn’t telling me about my EKG results but tried to behave.
“Like with work?” I asked.
“Work, family, friends.”
“Work’s crazy,” I said.
“Um-hm. What else?”
“I’m sick of the weather.”
“No-one likes the weather in February,” she agreed. “What else?”
I thought for a moment.
“My dad died two months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” my doctor said.
“I mean, I’m 59 and he was 81. It wasn’t that surprising.”
“Still,” she said. “Losing a parent — no matter how old you are — is a big deal.”
“My mom died last year too.”
My doctor sucked in her breath. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“And right after my mom died, my sister-in-law, who was only 63, suddenly got sick and died. That was shocking.”
“Oh my,” my doctor said, and busied herself looking down at her clipboard.
I hesitated. “After my sister-in-law died, we had to put our 11-year-old Newfie down because his back legs didn’t work anymore.”
We sat looking at each other for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she put her hand on mine. “That’s a lot! I am so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Can you tell me what the EKG showed?”
“Oh, yes.” It was as though she had forgotten about it. “Your heart looks perfect.”
I blinked. “It does? So, what’s wrong?”
“What I’m hearing is that you and your family have suffered numerous significant losses in an abbreviated time. It may be that the vertigo and tingling is your body reacting to grief.”
“Grief?” I repeated.
Relief flooded through me.
Slowly I stood up. “Thank you, doctor,” I said and shook her hand.
“I’d like you to consider grief counseling,” she replied. I nodded as I realized I was free! I tried not to trip over myself in my haste to gather my things and leave.
As I stood in the elevator, the dizziness was still there. I put my hand out to steady myself and waited for the lobby.
I stepped outside onto the busy street and started walking back to work. It was a nice day. The air was fresh, people were happy and laughing.
I noticed a patch of lavender outside one of the office buildings. I smelled it as I passed. My mom loved purple.
I had never been so happy to be sad.
Stephanie Andersen is a shareholder at Forsberg & Umlauf, P.S.
