So I just got back from my cardiologist! Well, not my cardiologist. A cardiologist who happened to know my cardiologist. See, my cardiologist moved to Chicago. This guy filled his slot.
Anyway he left me with three things to decide on: Taking medicine for the rest of my life or maybe end up on a pacemaker before I am 50. Getting an MRI or not. And having a terribly painful, possibly disfiguring surgery that may not be entirely needed but might be.
So while talking to my parents about some things, I let it slip why I don't go to pools anymore. So now my mother is all for the surgery, to the point where she is practically looking for days to schedule it for and my dad keeps giving me a weird look every time he looks at me.
And on toooop of that, I got to look at all the charts and numbers for my heart and all that which is something I usually love. "When the numbers go up, it means you're having more fun," right? Well, in my case it means I'm closer to dying. And it turns out, I have my worse problems while sleeping. Nothing bad, but if things get worse, sleeping could be dangerous. GREAT. Like I wasn't having a hard enough time sleeping lately. Now I'll freak out about THAT and that'll cause me to get nervous and worked up which will cause me to worry about my heart which will make my chest hurt which will freak me even more out to the point I'm having a panic attack and won't get any sleep.
Hoooraaaay.