Jemima Kiss — she of journalism.co.uk and the great byline — says I had “a dicky ticker.” Gotta love the Brits.
Oh, yes, she also wrote a good story about the OPA.
LATER: Jemima tells me a dicky ticker is a reference from the cult sitcom Allo Allo.
Jemima Kiss — she of journalism.co.uk and the great byline — says I had “a dicky ticker.” Gotta love the Brits.
Oh, yes, she also wrote a good story about the OPA.
LATER: Jemima tells me a dicky ticker is a reference from the cult sitcom Allo Allo.
Monday, I get shocked back into rhythm. Last night,, everywhere I looked, I saw electricity. I watched House on Fox and patients kept getting shocked and I thought, yow, did I lurch like that? I watched Boston Legal and a guy got arrested for electrocuting a guy. I’m getting secret message from my TV. But, no, the shock didn’t affect my brain. Not at all.

The prettiest music I know is the dull rhythm of a heart doing what it’s supposed to do. Beep. Beep. Beep. I am, as they say, converted, which sounds like and almost is a religious experience. And the only ill effect I know of is a very sore chest from ripping hairs out with the sticky pad that held the wires that ended my afib. The procedure itself took maybe 15 minutes and I’m back to being me. Except now I’m paranoid about every heart beat. But I’m grateful. Thanks to you all for your kind words and thoughts. Now we’ll see how long this lasts….
I’m going back to the hospital this afternoon for the second shot at getting shocked to get my afibbing, adlibbing heart back to the script. I’ll give you an update.
I’m flying to London today to spend two packed days at The Guardian and two more at the Online Publishers Association confab. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to do London meet-ups; the schedule is full with work. Blogging will be unpredictable because the days are jammed and because I’m still dragging thanks to my afib. I quizzed the doctor a dozen ways whether it was OK traveling, but my blood is as thin as stone soup now, so he assures me it’s fine. I’m scheduled to get plugged into the wall socket on the Monday after I return and he’s just as glad I’ll spend more time getting thinned. I’m also using my infirmity as a convenient if stretched excuse to try the new Eos Airlines: all flat-beds, endless legroom, decent wine, electric sockets — for the laptop, not me — but, alas, no wi-fi; can’t have everything.
Since you didn’t ask… The latest on my fluttering, fibrillating, mildly f’ed-up heart…
I had the strangest business meeting of my career (or probably of those with whom I was meeting) today. I was having a great time with Matt Mullenweg and Toni Schneider of WordPress sitting in the ritzy Peninsula Hotel lobby (fear not, investors, they weren’t staying there; this was Tony Conrad‘s idea for a venue). And suddenly I started feeling faint — which never happens to me, not even when my blog host is down — and I had to tell the guys what was happening just in case I passed out. I told them in email later that I’ve never done that before, not even as a negotiating tactic (though it could be a good idea, eh?). Hypochondriac that I am, I called the doctor. I’d taken a big fall this morning and being on blood thinners, my fears raced to internal bleeding and all kinds of nasty scenarios. The nurse said that I’d just have a black & blue butt. I had water and got out in the fresh air and was fine. It seems my pulse was just slow. And my embarrassment high. But I’m very grateful to Matt and Toni for bearing with me at that most odd moment.
Damn, I can’t wait to get back to normal. And that wonderful day is now scheduled for March 6, after I return from a business trip to Europe and my blood is as thin as clear Japanese soup. I met with my new doctor yesterday and found kismet. We have a plan: I’ll stay on thinners until I get zapped on the 6th, then I’ll up my antiarrythmic medication, Rhythmol. If that doesn’t hold me, I will get me to the electrical socket within 48 hours, so I don’t have to go through this routine again and I won’t bore you with it. And then we’ll talk about ablating the nerves in the heart that are causing this (a procedure I wouldn’t have considered two weeks ago but now it sounds like an island vacation) and I’m starting to look into doctors to do that (starting with the Cleveland Clinic).
I debated whether to blog about my afib because it is (a) self-indulgent, (b) off-topic, (c) boring to most people, and (d) makes me sound like I’m in the old folks’ home already. But this is my blog and blogs are about life and so I did it and I’m glad I did, for kind folks not only gave me nice wishes and good information, but interesting conversations ensued that may actually lead to something. I got email from Bill Evslin, the Hawaiian doctor-brother of my blogging friend and online author Tom Evslin. Bill is in the afib frat but because he’s a doctor, he also has good advice — or actually, smart questions. In our three-way email exchange, the amazing Evslins wondered….
Wouldn’t there be value in getting the population of fibrillation patients to share their experiences online? The disorder is mysterious in many ways and perhaps the anecdotal testimony of these patients would help focus attention on causes and possibly effective treatment or might simply inspire those who are working on the problem. Tom started the bidding with that question. Bill responded in email:
I believe the collected wisdom of the patients themselves could shed some light on factors which cause AF and methods of treatment which have helped to ameliorate the condition. It is a very frustrating condition for physicians and patients as none of our preventive or curative treatments are good enough. What makes it ripe for research is the intermittent nature of [the condition]…I am also quite interested in anecdotes concerning the people who got better. Science generally prides itself on staying away from anecdotes, but a large number of similar stories can push scientific borders….
My suggestion is to create a simple questionnaire that could be used to tabulate certain types of results such as, do you think certain foods triggered your symptoms? And then open ended questions concerning causes and possible cures.
I came back with this:
A survey is good and needed. But I also wonder whether there is value in ongoing narrative. What if all afib patients blogged their experience with tags so the posts could be found (they also could add posts to forums or group blogs) with limited metadata (e.g., labels for causes, treatment, etc.)? The data is freeform but with some contextual analysis, someone might start to find patterns (e.g., frequent mentions of chocolate). Similarly, doctors could blog cases, showing more or less success with various treatments or discussion of causes.The point is that there is a narrative to this ailment. Does the internet allow us to start to capture that narrative. Yes, by its nature, it is anecdotal. But so is the ailment. That’s life.
Now one problem is that some crackpot theories could end up in this pool of information — afib caused by aliens — but the internet is good at dealing with outliers. People could vote on posts, a la Digg (or its medical cousin, Pligg), to show agreement and start to swarm around shared views; posts with more links could gain more authority.
Tom says this ability for people “to concentrate information may be one of the greatest disintermediations of all.”
So what do you think? Fear not, I won’t turn this into the afib blog. But I think that a combination of survey data and narrative using the tools of the internet to bring together all this data and experience could yield new frontiers of research and inspiration for this condition and, of course, others. Please join in…..
: ALSO: Just searching on “afib” at Technorati yielded some fascinating links. This is a wonderful medical blog, which in turn led me to lots of good medical-journal articles and also to the medical Digg and to a rate-my-doctors site. Disintermediation, indeed.
Since I’m boring you with my afib chronicles, I should give you an update: I’m still in fibrillation but feeling much better thanks to being on a beta blocker, Toprol, which slows my heart rate and makes stairs once again no big deal.
I fired my cardiologist at the start of this episode. I’d had a great doctor — let’s call him Doc A — who, sadly, left practice to take a corporate job — some of the greatest talents in medicine can’t take the hassle, tragically — and ended up with this doctor — let’s call him Doc B — whom I didn’t much like. He wouldn’t consult directly with me; I think he should have zapped me immediately but by waiting past a magical 48 hour mark I had to endure an expensive and failed procedure and now I’m stuck in afib and on various unfortunate drugs for a month with a greater risk of clots and strokes; he took me off Toprol though Doc A had said I should take it as needed and he did so without explanation; when I tried to get a second opinion, he came and confronted me, which didn’t do wonders for my heart rate. I’m now with another doctor — Doc C — and he has been great because he not only explains and consults with me but he put me back on Toprol, which has ended my tachycardia (rapid heart beat). I lost a week’s work on the couch because of the debilitating effect of that tachycardia, but now I can move around and it’s a great relief.
I think I may just rate these doctors.
Because the risk of afib is blood clots, I’m now on blood thinner and have to go to the doctors’ offices to get my blood checked often. Before the procedure I had the other day, I didn’t have enough of the stuff in my blood; now I have too much. They told me not to take the pill last night and ordered me to eat broccoli, kale, or spinach to counteract the drug. I said I was going to a business dinner with one menu and had no idea what they’d be serving. I got a stern look from the nurse: Eat your kale, young man. Well, it so happens that the veggie last night was broccoli. I hate broccoli. But I was a good boy. Now I’m going back to the doc’s to get pricked again.
Now I may complain about a particular doctor or the inconvenience of some treatment, but let me make clear that I’m grateful to live in an age of miracles and knowledge, when these things can be treated. So I don’t want to seem ungrateful wishing that the counteracting agent to that drug were beer.