Literally.
A week ago I received a letter, confirming my appointment with the cardiology department at my local hospital. It's an all day affair with three tests: a 24hr Holter ECG, an ultrasound scan and an exercise stress test. I've got to wait until the end of April - I'll be 25! Easter will have passed and we'll be in the swing of Spring. Days will be longer, brighter and warmer. It feels like a lifetime away, but I know it will come around quickly.
How did we get here? I mentioned in my last post about going for an ECG in September. It was a screening hosted by the charity Cardiac Risk in the Young (CRY), held at St George's Hospital in Tooting. It's the famous one from 24hrs in A&E. My boyfriend came with me, as did my friends Louise and Ryan - who made it abundantly clear they were there to see the famous hospital, and not for moral support or anything like that.
ECGs are super quick. You go in, you lie down. A lovely nurse will be very calm and discreet about asking you to take your top off and undo your bra. No sooner had she stuck on the pads, they were coming off again. Et voila! A fancy map of heartbeats, zig-zags and lines that are hard-copy proof that you, my friend, are alive - had you any doubts.
Another wait again, anxious and ready to be called in to chat with a couple of cardiologists that know their stuff. Again it's quick, and in those moments of waiting before, I thought of all the things I wanted to tell them. But I didn't tell them everything. In the moment I was scared of myself and of my body. I was scared to admit in full detail the things that had been haunting me for years.
These things; super fast heartbeats shaking through my chest for what felt like a lifetime each time. Am I having a heart attack? Am I having a panic attack? I don't know. But I can't catch my breath and now I feel like I'm having both. Cold sweats, dizziness, everything feeling as though it'd been switched around, turned upside down. Sometimes it would last for minutes, other times an hour. Sometimes it felt like a bath bomb fizzing in my chest. Others more a fluttering, as though a moth had been trapped in a lampshade. It didn't feel right.
It's a little bit terrifying when your heart does something you can't understand, and won't stop until it's done. I hate the fact it beats on its own and I can't tell it what to do. The sad thing is, I'd probably have got this looked at sooner had I not been overweight. Here's the truth - every time something happened, I would blame being fat.
In my letter from CRY following my appointment, it alluded to a condition that you're born with, called Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome. It's not too serious and it can be managed. I want to stress that I might not have it at all, but I might! Hence the tests. WPW means there is an extra electrical pathway in your heart that can cause it to do strange things. You're born with it.
Born with it. Not because I'm "fat" and "unfit" and "probably did it to myself". Born with it. WPW makes you tired when you exercise and it can make you feel dizzy and floaty. It can make you feel anxious and bring on palpitations. It can bring on flutters too. I always assumed that because I was larger, I was inept at physical activity and my fitness levels were to blame, not the possibility that I may have been born with something. Even when going to the gym regularly and swimming, it never felt easier. I'd get palpitations and flutters, even after losing six stone and regularly exercising. I'd have episodes in the gym that would absolutely terrify me into not going back. I currently haven't been for a month, because I had an episode the last time and I am scared of what will happen.
I started having these problems when I was around 12 years old. I would sit on the sidelines at netball training because something inexplicable was happening in my chest, but I wouldn't tell anyone the details. I'd just feel ashamed because, hey ho, the "fat kid" can't keep up with the rest of them. I would sit there, not only panicking and worried about myself but embarrassed and ashamed too.
It would happen on nights out with friends, but I tried not to tell anyone about it then either. I just kept thinking (wrongly), "Imagine the shame and embarrassment of being the fat friend, dying of a heart attack on a night out". At the time, I would rather wait for it all to blow over, or drop dead at home.
The anxiety and depression that followed engulfed me. Worried that every move might trigger something off, or worried about what could happen when somewhere unfamiliar on my own. Constantly checking my pulse. I worried so much about living that I stopped living. Turns out the last ten years have been actually quite tough, health wise, and the biggest culprit was not me being fat, but the internalised fatphobia I've absorbed from society like a fucking sponge. Believing the unnecessary shame and guilt burdened on me by mostly people who have no idea what they're on about. People in magazines, people in the news, people on my telly. People in the gym, people in close circles, people on the street. Consultants, practitioners, "If you lost a bit of weight it wouldn't be a problem." Well I've lost a bit of weight and it's still a problem, so now what?
Even if it does turn out to be weight related, it's still a worry and needs to be looked into. So why are overweight people being shamed out of healthcare? I personally pay my tax and national insurance, and even if I didn't, I'd still be eligible for help because the NHS is wonderful and recognises us as humans in need. And much like anyone who smokes, drinks, takes drugs or takes to the dry slopes on the weekend I am entitled to healthcare in this country. I hate the fact that carrying shame for existing in such a way that offends people has made me too anxious to go and get my heart checked. Feeling apologetic for inconveniently taking up time and space that could have been used for someone "More worthy" who didn't likely "Bring it on themselves" through "Lack of willpower and self control" and for being too "Lazy".
These were my own words, and they are words that have been swallowed in, toxically internalised and hissed back out again as I'd stood there, bullying myself for being the way I am. And I'm not doing it anymore. These words are complete lies and bullshit. If anyone were to say that about someone I knew (or someone I didn't!) they'd get a smack in the gob from me. So it's not acceptable to allow this rubbish to resonate with myself.
I've had a lot of time to think about all of this. And the main things to take away, if you're still reading (well done you trooper!), are these:
1) If you are feeling unwell, or feel that something is not quite right - no matter WHAT you think or have googled, go and get it checked by a GP or through charity schemes. IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MUCH YOU WEIGH. YOU ARE WORTHY AND WORTH LOOKING AFTER. You do not have the answers. Go to the people who do!
2) If you find yourself having inconsiderate thoughts about overweight people (unlikely, as you are probably bloody wonderful), stop and have a think about why you think that; what proof it is based on and how you can educate yourself to realise that these thoughts are just mean, unhelpful and best not vocalised. And if that fails, get in the fucking sea.
3) CHARITIES ARE AMAZING. Especially CRY. My cardiac screening with CRY was free. It is open to all people aged between 14 and 35. You can find out more here and sign up for a screening if you would like to.
I've been in two minds about posting this blog as it is very personal, but I think it's too important not to. So many people are bullied out of public arenas for being overweight, bullied out of spaces and services they are fully entitled to utilise without judgement. We could all do with a bit more kindness and compassion, and to allow people to live and breathe without having something to say about it. We're all trying, and we're all worth it.
