A handful of years ago, my primary care doctor referred me to a cardiologist who ordered an echocardiogram. I had a murmur, but everything looked strong. There was also minor concern over my perpetually elevated heart rate. At rest, it was almost always over 100, sometimes as much as 120. But my blood pressure was fine.

I had a stress test, then wore the heart monitor over my school’s Christmas break. It was one of the more trying years, and I was concerned the results would not represent my normal daily life. But everything came back fine. I just have a rapid heart rate. No big deal. Case dismissed.

Over the next few years, one doctor or another would mention my heart rate was “a little elevated,” but because my blood pressure was within normal range, never said another word.

And then my numbers started to climb.

My grandmother had a heart condition. My father had bypass surgery. Then my mother had a stroke, after years of trying to keep an outrageous blood pressure under control. Dad had another bypass. Mom had a bypass and a year later, an emergency aortic dissection. There’s a history; a lot of history.

My younger brother took action early on. He’s been invested in fitness and his overall health for years, largely because of what he’s seen my parents go through and what their health issues caused us all to go through. I haven’t taken the same steps, but I’ve kept an eye on things.

A year ago, maybe more, my blood pressure started to climb. It wasn’t high enough for doctors to show any great concern, but it wasn’t where it ought to be. And it’s stayed that way. The numbers aren’t crazy. I’ve seen crazy. I’ve been in the hospital with my parents enough times to see what a high scores look like. They’ve put up numbers like a pinball game! But mine are high enough my new primary care doctor raised an eyebrow.

She referred me to a cardiologist and put me on medication. Naturally, she also suggested some diet and lifestyle changes, but was pleased that I already knew what I needed to do and had been taking steps.

After a week of the medication with no change, she upped the dosage. The effects are minimal. I check the numbers at least twice a day. I’ve cut my coffee consumption back. No, I haven’t increased my exercise much, but that’s the next step. School is out soon, and not only will that give me a little more time to get to the gym, I expect the break alone will help lower the numbers.

I hate the gym. I always have. But, if going to the gym helps get my blood pressure down, then I’ll go. If I need to cut my coffee drinking back a bit more, I’ll do it, reluctantly. Fine tune my diet, no problem. There’s a history. And I don’t want to carry that particular legacy. I will see the cardiologist later this week. I’m certain he’ll schedule some testing, so I won’t learn anything definitive just yet. And I have blood work that needs done and primary care follow up at the end of the week.

I’m not too proud to admit I’m a little scared. I’ve never feared a doctor’s appointment before. Sure, the first cardiologist appointment a few years ago was a little intimidating. Fertility testing had me on edge. But this time, I’m genuinely worried about what I’m going to learn.

When the doctor put me on the medication and referred me for this week’s appointment, she said, “Of course I don’t want anything to happen. But if it happens, I want it to be because you’re old, not because we didn’t do anything about it.” I’m in full agreement.

Then she updated my emergency contact information.

I’ve told my loved ones about the current state of things, and even shared I’m a little scared. I know I have support and that I’m not in immediate danger of a crisis, but I’m anxious. The results of cardiology testing, the results of the blood work, the ineffectiveness of the medication so far all, and the murmur have me a little wound. That probably isn’t helping get my numbers down.

And relative to the health concerns of some of my loved ones, I even feel a little guilty being as concerned as I am. It’s all treatable. But I’m only human and only have one heart and a lot of years I’d like to spend without emergency trips to the hospital.

I’m hoping there isn’t much to report, but I’m sharing this now in case it’s the beginning of a journey and my experience can lend support to anyone else going through it.

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