I am Iron Man

A lesson from the heart.

I thought I had a chest cold.

A persistent one, because it seemed to me that I’d been struggling for a long while. It felt like a weight on my lungs, dragging down my energy at all times. The final straw was when I became winded going up a single flight of stairs—maybe twenty steps from ground to top. When I felt like I needed to stop on the fifth or sixth step and catch my breath, I decided it was time to see a doctor.

The trouble was, we were broke. Or close to it. I had been “transitioned” from a writing job with a marketing agency to what we’ll call “a position with no duties, responsibilities, or pay,” and though I was now doing some lucrative contract work the money hadn’t yet come in. I was on my wife’s insurance, and the deductible was a little on the high side for our financial status at the time. So, if I was going to see a doctor about this persistent chest cold, it was going to have to be the clinic. Not exactly free, but subsidized, so I could swing it.

The most vivid memory for me was sitting in that waiting room and filling out the paperwork. I answered intrusive questions, gave pertinent demographic details, and then repeated a lot of it on multiple forms for some reason. Even in that era—in mid-2010—computers were a thing. So all these details and records must be out there somewhere. And it’s always been a bit irritating to me that someone who isn’t feeling well is given “busy work” to do while they wait for some help. But... I digress.

There were others in the waiting room, none of whom seemed to be bothering with the paperwork. There was a lot of coughing and wheezing. There were several wheelchairs and walkers, IV stands and oxygen tanks. There were aging patients who, I thought, should not be sitting alone in a waiting room. Where were their families? Who should be here with them?

I busied myself trying to have done with the paperwork so that I could maybe slide back a bit and rest. The challenge with my breathing was making me lethargic most of the time. I was taking whatever rest I could get, whenever I could get it.

Finally, after an hour or so of waiting, I was called into an exam room. I was asked to weigh in, which I did with some shame. The number was around 270—far too heavy, and it showed all over my body.

I was asked to take a seat on the table, and to take my shirt off. I sat, but the shirt stayed on.

Another long wait, and finally a young resident came in. She chatted with me, smiled, made jokes. I also made jokes, because even tired and lethargic, making jokes is what I do. It’s how I control the situation. It’s how I make sure you know that I am present, intelligent, with it. It’s how I put you and myself at ease. Mostly myself.

She did a few basic tests, checked my blood pressure and heart rate, that sort of thing. And then she ordered an ECG.

And my whole world changed.

There are moments in our lives that come unexpected, that seem a bit minor at the time, but suddenly tilt our whole world on its head. This was one of mine. One of the biggest.

My heart rate was only 35 beats per minute. And it showed every sign of slowing.

There were irregularities in my heartbeat.

There was trouble.

My “persistent chest cold,” it turned out, was actually a problem with my heart—a bradycardia, or gradual slowing of my heart. The cause was an AV block. Or as it was explained to me, “Your brain is sending the signal for your heart to beat, but it’s only getting to this one part about a third of the time.”

Also explained to me, “You have a heart rate of 35 bpm. If you were an Olympic athlete, that might be a normal resting heart rate.” She pointedly observed my 270 pound frame and bulbous physique.

“What... so what do I do?” I asked, feeling a chill beyond the cold exam room air on my bare skin.

The answer was a consultation with a cardiologist, who promptly told me that I would need immediate surgery, for the installation of a pacemaker.

Three days later I was under the knife.

I have since learned that my AV block was caused by an undetected birth defect in my heart. Something that I’d lived with all my life. It was, ultimately, the reason for my lethargy, my challenge with stairs, my difficulty breathing. It was, vicariously, the cause of my weight gain, from a fit 200 pound 20-something who ran daily to a 270 pound mass of wheezing man flesh who could barely run water without sweating and pausing for breath.

Following the surgery, over the next year or two, I experienced a profoundly new life.

I had become so down on myself for my weight gain and my “laziness” that I experienced depression and anxiety. Now, suddenly, I had a fully functional heart, and all the energy and vitality that went with it. I started walking, started watching what I eat, started losing weight and feeling better. In all the ways.

I’ve had my moments, over the years, when I put on more weight. I have a great love for foods that are not so great for me. But unlike that moment in my life, pre-pacemaker, I have consistently been able to change my trajectory by simply making better choices about food and exercise. I’m not consistent about that, which is on me. But the fact that I now have that ability and that hope, that has made a big difference in my life.

Recently, within the past six months or so, I had to go back under the knife to get a new generator for my pacemaker—basically a new battery. It brought back a lot of memories. Some fears. Some thoughts about my mortality. But the surgery went well, and I’m good for another 12 years or so.

So what I’m saying is... I’m Iron Man.

But also, I’m grateful. And I’m aware. My life is a gift, and it has come with some second and third chances. And I am grateful.

I wouldn’t be the writer I am today, wouldn’t have the blessed life I have at this moment, if not for those genuinely frightening moments, when I learned there was something “wrong” with a fundamental part of me. The fear, the pain, the suffering—it all led to growth. It all led to a new path.

That’s what I choose to make of it.

Thank you for being here, part of my writing journey. Writing is a very important part of this, obviously. But being read is equally important. So I am grateful. And if you would like to help me continue to write, please consider buying some of my books: https://kevintumlinson.com/books

And share that link and this post with everyone you know, to help my audience grow.

A NOTE AT THE END

I’m pretty stubborn about going to doctors. So it was really a kind of miracle that I even went in the first place. What’s the lesson there?

Get over yourself.

I’m talking to me, not you. But maybe that’s something you need to hear, too?

I am currently being stubborn about seeing a doctor, so I think that subconsciously I chose today’s topic as a way to remind me of the lesson. Time to get over myself, and do what I know is right.

Not the worst lesson anyone can learn.