When My Heart Fluttered, Part 1

The day this Heartlifter needed a heartlift.

“Burnout thrives on deception. It is easy to disregard it until there’s a physical, mental, and/or spiritual breakdown. Though we often think of burnout as a category, or a neat and tidy, easy-to-spot kind of setback, it’s actually more of a spectrum. This is part of the problem. Burnout is rarely felt, seen, or acknowledged until we are almost, or are already, overtaken by it. Burnout starts with good intentions to strive towards an admirable goal, but it takes over when we’ve lost sight of the goal within the context of the rest of our lives.”¹

—Arianna Molloy, Healthy Calling: From Toxic Burnout to Sustainable Work

When My Heart Fluttered

Butterflies flutter with beauty.

Hummingbirds flutter with joy.

Fluttering is part of their magic.

Fluttering is part of their design.

Hearts, on the other hand, are not designed to flutter.

Four weeks ago—almost five now—my heart fluttered, in all the wrong ways.

After two and a half days of feeling like my heart was going to beat out of my chest and my anxiety felt uncontrollable, I decided I’d best head to the nearest Urgent Care facility that did EKGs.

Why did I wait, you might ask?

Well, I really didn’t know what was happening to me.

Initially, I thought I must be having a panic attack.

I sat this way for hours.

Up to that point in my life, I’d never had one, but I definitely knew people who suffered with them, and in my head, as a trauma-trained mental health professional, I knew the signs and tools to move through it.

So, I dug deep in my mental health toolbox and started applying them all.

Legs up the wall. Square breathing. Vagal nerve stimulation exercises.

Nothing helped.

Then I remembered I had a Smart Watch, so I strapped it on my wrist.

My heart rate raced to 130…140…and stress was ranging HIGH—the key, I’ve learned for future events is when the heart consistently runs fast.

My watch kept telling me to relax.

So, for two and a half days, I slept and ate, and then slept some more.

Nothing helped.

On the morning before we were scheduled to leave town for our 41st anniversary, I thought, “I probably should get checked out before we go away.”

Please Stop Telling Me to Relax

“In general, burnout is a kind of physical, psychological, emotional, and mental exhasution. It manifests differently in different people, often including feelings of deep overwhelm, being emotionally drained, and unable to accomplish everyday tasks. It can sound like cynicism masquerading as humor or intelligence; or even toxic positivity instead of authentic listening and compassion. And is is typically brought about by prolonged stress.”²

—Arianna Molloy, Healthy Calling: From Toxic Burnout to Sustainable Work

Let me be clear: I absolutely hate it when someone tells me to relax.

My entire life, people have been telling me “to relax” and “calm down.”

So when the nurse in Urgent Care repeatedly urged me “to relax,” I felt my heart rate escalate.

In my usual Janell-fashion, I masqueraded my deep angst and fear with high-functioning humor.

The nurse, on the other hand, didn’t think my current state was at all humorous.

Neither did the attending NP.

When the Urgent Care NP walked into the room and said, “Mobile transport is en route to transfer you to the ER,” I instantly said, “What the hell?”

Yep, I did.

The flurry of activity that ensued around me had my heart fluttering even more.

“I can drive to the ER. It is right around the corner,” I said. “I drove here myself. I don’t need an ambulance. Why do I need an ambulance?”

Immediately, my mind was back in a hospital room where my mother’s heart was failing and the Crash Team was racing all around her.

She looked at me with shock and terror, and the same expression of disbelief, “What the hell is happening here?” on her face.

My NP looked me sternly in the eye and spoke, “Please be quiet and lie back. Let me do my job.”

Her eyes, filled with authority and sobriety, quickly called me to obedience.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I am so sorry. I hear you.”

Why Her Words Are Still Ringing in My Ears

I’m the caregiver.

That’s how I roll.

Being “in the ambulance on the stretcher” is not my mojo. I’m the one following the ambulance and sitting next to the hospital bed—advocating for the ones I love.

That space feels way more comfortable to me.

In truth, I feel I’ve become really good at caring for others.

So when the NP insisted I “lie back and shut up,” (which is how I heard her), I listened.

She proceeded to explain the urgency of the situation and that I was in “Atrial Fibrillation.”

“Is there someone we can call?” she asked. “They can meet you at the ER.”

“I’ll call my husband,” I said.

Rob was on the golf course because I told him I was fine and he should golf.

Cue Janell’s “I can handle things,”—a telltale sign of a high-functioner with serious blind spots about her own limitations.

You see, as I became really good at caring for others, I forgot to care for myself.

And that dangerous omission is how I believe I ended up in the ER.