A Lesson From Getting an EKG at the Age of 33
Thanks, anxiety!
Things haven’t been so hot for my mental health these past few months.
Two weeks ago, at the height of it all, Hans (my fiancé) and I went to his office to get our annual blood work done. It was quick and painless, and I wasn’t too worried about it.
While we were exiting the building, though, I thought to myself, I might as well do it. When it comes to venturing outside my comfort zone, I sometimes get these bursts of impulse telling me to do it now or forever hold my peace. I just had to take advantage of this rare bravery.
So I stopped in my tracks, turned to my future husband, and asked him, “Can you do an EKG on me?” He looked surprised, but didn’t mind working pro-bono on his day off — I’m his anxious and broke princess, after all.
Convincing myself to convince Hans to perform something I thought was reserved for people in their 80s was easy-peasy. Keeping calm during the procedure, on the other hand, required a little more effort.
It didn’t help that it was a bit cold in his office and I had to take my top off for this. I could feel my heart start to race immediately.
What if I had a heart attack because of the damn EKG?
“When I say go, hold your breath for 7 seconds.” He told me after hooking me up to six giant nipples.
“Like, do I inhale first or…?”
“Yep.” Short. Cold. At this point, he wasn’t my Hans, he was in the zone.
I held my breath after his go, and the machine started to produce ASMR-like sounds — not the nipples, but the other part that drew the jiggly lines. Like in Vanity Fair’s lie detector series, you know?
But before I could even begin to freak out, it was over. Just like that. We cleaned up, and he studied the EKG result: the long paper with lines. This part was objectively scarier than the actual procedure.
Appearing poised on the outside but feeling the complete opposite on the inside, I tried scanning for any indication of the worst-case scenario on his face — his micro-expressions. Was that a twitch? I was too nervous to successfully decipher anything, though.
“This looks normal.” He finally said.
Phew!
“ — but I would suggest seeing a cardiologist to be extra safe because I’m not a specialist, and you’ve been having these panic attacks.”
I’m going to die.
Spoiler alert: I’m still here. But as you can see, something is a little off about me. Health anxiety is only part of the equation, unfortunately — I’m dealing with a big pie over here. As a former international student and future immigrant in France, I have a lot of worries.
Firstly, I’m struggling to fit into a culture I almost know nothing about. Growing up, I wasn’t as exposed to the Renaissance or the joie de vivre as I was to, let’s say, ‘The Real World: Austin’ or ‘Pimp My Ride.’
And don’t get me started on the language — it’s been three years of learning, and my fight-or-flight reflex still kicks in each time my phone rings.
On top of all that, thanks to my high anxiety, another big piece of this bitter pie is the challenge of dealing with everyday tasks that most people don’t normally have to worry about — like going to the post office, for instance (or the least threatening government agency, according to Hans).
My EKG experience taught me a few important things, but one stands out:
Yes, the unknown is terrifying af, but nothing is scarier than the unknown left unexplored.
For weeks prior, I had been going back and forth about getting an EKG. It had only added to the list of things to worry about.
So once it’s done, it’s done. The unknown no longer has power over me — because I’m bigger than the little turd now. I no longer host the fear in my already-crowded brain, and my confidence level got a nice bump. But best of all, by confronting the unknown, I received the gift of knowing that my heart is a-okay.
Exposure is truly the antidote when dealing with uncertainty, at least for the things that you can control.
So yes, when I’m ready, I am going to book an appointment with a cardiologist (without canceling this time). I’m even going to answer the phone (from time to time) when it rings.
Because hey, I also did go to the post office by myself and absolutely nothing — good or bad — happened.
