All in the Timing.

Abstract

Born a heart warrior, I was diagnosed at birth with myxomatous mitral valve prolapse, a degenerative heart valve disease. When I was 15 years old, my pediatric cardiologist broke the news. “You’ll need a valve replacement someday,” he warned, but then reassured me: “Not until you’re in your sixties.” Oh, good, I thought. Not for a long time. Some 15 years later, in 2006, when I was only 30 years old, I underwent my first surgery, a valve repair. After landing in the emergency room with severe shortness of breath, I saw my cardiologist. My symptoms were swiftly accelerating—I could barely load a dishwasher without getting out of breath—and my cardiologist, unconvinced that my valve was failing 30 years ahead of schedule, tested me several times over the next few weeks. First an echocardiogram, then a heart catheterization, then a transesophageal echocardiogram, and finally a pulmonary function test. All with the same reluctant reply when I asked him if it was time for surgery. “No. I don’t want you to have surgery.” “I do,” I protested. Valve surgery had always been lurking in the shadows of my life, and I wanted to get it over with. However, my cardiologist thought the valvular regurgitation was not severe enough. He referred me to a surgeon anyway. “The surgeon will be your second opinion,” he said. A few weeks later, I met with the surgeon, who told me bluntly: “Your valve is bad and something needs to be done about it.” Shortly thereafter I had the valve repair. Minimally invasive heart valve surgeries, often referred to as “thoracotomies” had only been possible for about a year when I had surgery, and I have a tidy little scar tucked away on my right side near my ribs. It was about 4 years after that …