reader discretion is advised.

Oh hey there. Yes it's been much too long since I've blogged. Why? ... well  it's certainly not due to a lack of excitement in my life events... lets see:

• I quit my job
• I travelled
• I reeeeally got my craft-on
• I even had surgery!

Oh, and not to mention,  I recently found out (as in within the last month) that my wife and I will be moving to London on February 25th (Yes London! WOAH!).

It's not like I'm out of material ... Heck, I could have even finally shared my much anticipated delicious camping treat recipe mentioned in a previous post. Again why? Well, I blame it on the fact that I quit my job.

Now this wasn't just any job - this was pretty much my dream job. It all went down in December. It was all so very depressing for me. That's why I haven't been back here. For some reason I didn't want to write about anything that was truly bringing me down.  I like to make light of things that happen to me in my life and to try to be funny about them; it's kind of my "thing." So blogging about my job story was just not sitting right. But anytime I thought about blogging, my mind always wandered to this topic.

Truth is: it IS happening and it IS all a part of my beautiful mess, so why hold back? In part, I don't want you to be reading a post by me and feel sad or, even worse, pity me. But clearly I must purge this story to move forward. ... I figure it fair of me to give you a formal warning:

This blog post contains anecdotes that some readers may find depressing. 

Reader discretion is advised.

So heart failure sucks. And having your dreams ripped away really sucks. I wanted to be a Psychologist. I was going to be a Psychologist. I got sick. I found out that Psychology is a field that I can NEVER work in. It's all about stress, and that field is considered high stress and therefore, on my NO list. I didn't know this until 2010 though. I was one semester away from completing my Masters in Psychology when my heart started being a jerk. Nonetheless, I graduated. I accepted a job, and I was getting things in order to begin the registration process to officially become a Psychologist. Booyah.

The job I got was as a community rehabilitation outreach coordinator with a local non-profit agency focused on mental health. It was a pretty sweet gig for sure. But I was finding it really exhausting. Like really. I'm talking how you might feel if you were to stay up until 3 am every week night, and still work 9-5 all week, exhausted. (Assuming that's not your normal.) So I decided to try a different position with the same agency. My new job was in the education department and I went to local schools and taught students about mental health. I thoroughly enjoyed this, but again was just so tired. Meanwhile, I was constantly missing work for Dr's appointments, hospital visits and cardiac rehabilitation. It was through the cardiac rehabilitation program  that I received my Occupational Therapy Assessment. And lo and behold ... I found out I can't ever be a Psychologist. Ever. Actually, apparently I am only "capable" of working 20 hours a week at a low impact job with basically, zero stress. Ugh. This was heartbreaking, pardon the pun ... but not really ;)

Since then (2010), I have tried to work several part time jobs. I couldn't keep up with the education position at the agency; I figured it was because the job itself couldn't be compounded into part time hours. I couldn't keep up in retail; I figured it was because the Christmas rush. I couldn't keep up in direct sales, I figured it was because I'm a perfectionist. And there were a few others... In all of these positions, my Type-A self struggled to accept my hourly limitations, so I inadvertently ended up working full time or feeling inadequate - both of which drove my wife nuts.

Most recently, I couldn't keep up at my dream job at a Psychology firm; I figured it was because ... *insert any reason/excuse here* ... I can brainstorm tons of reasons why this wasn't the right job for me yada-yada-yada. But, ultimately, it was because of my heart failure. My bosses knew all about my health and were so accommodating. They did everything they could to reduce any stress I may have, they were extremely flexible with my schedule and they were  always really understanding of my limitations. And not to mention - I absolutely loved what I was doing! But still, I couldn't keep up.

So the moral of today's post is that I don't think I can hold down a job. And this is something that I am having a really hard time accepting. The over-achiever in me is struggling with this new found sense of ... uselessness.

• yes, I have looked into jobs where I work from home
• no, I do not qualify for any type of financial compensation through disability

So as mentioned above - we are relocating to London. The plan there is for me not to work. I have no idea how that's going to go (And have already been job searching. Hmmmm). You would think that I would simply be able to accept that my health comes first and that it's not a big deal to not be able to work .... but it is something that I struggle with on a daily basis.

So... wish me luck in my new job - ME!

P.S. That's London Ontario, not London England hehe.
P.P.S. I feel bad leaving you with all these not so warm and fuzzy feelings so I decided to share my recipe for a delicious early grey latte, a.k.a. Jessie's London Fog:

• half a cup of steeped early grey tea (I prefer it with extra bergamot)
• half a cup of hot milk (I prefer soy milk, but if you want to froth it I think thicker milk works better)
• 1 tsp of maple syrup
• 1/2 tsp of vanilla extract

YUMMY.

My first (and perhaps last) attempt at latte art

I hate it when people are distracted by my huge biceps

Okay so I may not be chubby. And I may be able to rock my green Lulu Lemon capris but that certainly does not mean I am "in shape." The truth is that I can barely carry groceries from my car into my house. And that's on a good day.

It's weird sometimes. I am a pretty outspoken person but when it comes to defending my illness, I just get lost and so flustered.

I can think of three particular instances where I was misunderstood because of my age/body that really still weigh me down (no pun intended).

One involved an older 'gentle'man yelling at me and shaking his fist because I was parked in a handicap space. I guess he thought the placard belonged to my grandma? I wanted to say, “My heart’s probably in worse shape than yours, mister!” but instead I just blushed and froze.

The second one involves my old next door neighbour threatening me with his "connections" with a local  by-law officer because he got ticketed for parking in front of my house in my clearly marked handicap spot.  Yes, he was quite obviously a supremo douchebag, but it still bothered me.

And thirdly - and this, for some reason felt like the worst one - the memory I have of a new mom with a stroller waiting with me at the elevator. Her eyes went through me like daggers. I can still hear her making rude remarks under her breath to her partner and about how “people are so inconsiderate” because CLEARLY she has a stroller and other people around her are capable of taking the stairs. Wow - how rude of me. Maybe I should get a t-shirt made that says "This is what someone with a disability looks like" or maybe an ad on the side of a bus with my photo?

Anyway - that was a little tangent. The point of this post is that this whole not-being-able-to-carry-groceries business was/is pretty depressing. As a solution, I recently decided to get a gym membership. Build up some grocery muscles. It's actually really good for my heart too - the more muscle I have, the less work my heart has to do!

I was never really intimidated by gyms. I even debated getting my aerobics instructor certification in my second year of my undergrad. I looooooved step class. But ever since all this heart stuff went down, the gym has been a place I avoided. After I was diagnosed, I had to do cardiac rehabilitation. Twice. And I think something about being the youngest in my group by at least 30 years and wearing a special plastic card around my neck at the local YMCA made me feel a little self-conscious. Although I did get to flash it on two occasions - power trip:

1. Staff at the Y telling me I can't be on the equipment because it's reserved for rehab patients.

2. Fellow rehab participants assuming that I am staff of the program, not a participant.

OK - back to my membership. I connected with this really great personal trainer at the local YMCA who, by the way, had no front teeth. You know you're in Sudbury when... hehe. I'm just kidding - I mean he was missing four front teeth, I'm not kidding about that. But I am certainly not going to judge him on that after my above rant - and he did get those four teeth back about a month later (lookin' good, Kev).

Not only was he super helpful, he made me a really great program! Some people won't help me because of my health history (seriously - I had a Yoga instructor request a Dr's note). But when people do trust that I know my body and my limits - I truly appreciate it. I understand both sides - it's just nice to be able to get things done sometimes.

On my first visit, Kev walked me through my program. We were at the shoulder press machine and he was adjusting the weight and I was trying it out and so forth, when he made this awkward face (nothing to do with the lack of teeth). He said: "I don't really know a nice way to put this...but you have like NO upper body strength." I just about spit out my water - in a good way. For some reason that was the funniest thing to hear!

Actually, it really helped me out. Not so much in a motivational sense, but it’s given me a different reason to turn down requests for help rather than get into the whole heart blurb! And it just feels so much more legit:

"Jess can you help me *insert pretty much any task here*"

"Oh, sorry - I would but I'm not strong at all...seriously... my personal trainer told me I have like NO upper body strength."

So onward I go with my shoulder press machine set at 5 pounds. Oh and ... try not to get distracted by my huge biceps as I carry my grocery bag PACKED full of bread to my car.

kraft dinner saved my life

I had several "hits" on my last post which was quite inspirational - thanks everyone! I really appreciate it.

I also had a few people tell me that they liked reading my last post because they didn't really know what was "wrong" with me and said they were afraid to ask or just didn't understand. That was surprising for me because I feel like I talk about my health .all.of.the.time. Actually, that's one of my major struggles with all of this. A few years ago my friend jokingly called me Debbie Downer (post-heart issues people!) and it really stuck. I don't mean it necessarily hurt my feelings - it just made me much more mindful of my attitude and words with people (which may be shocking to those of you who I do often complain to - yes, I am actually making an effort not to be Debbie Downer!). This illness has really challenged my physical, emotional and mental health - finding balance is like a juggling act. And, well, I don't even know how to juggle.

I copied this from google images. I guess from SNL at some point.

I am really looking forward to blogging more so that I have an outlet and won't feel like I talk too much about my health. I already referred a friend to my blog when she asked about my new medication. *insert easy button here: That Was Easy * And, hey – since you’re here right now reading this (hello!) why not get involved… let’s start a dialogue. I am inviting you to comment here if you have any questions or concerns or well wishes or blog requests or just so I know you stopped by ... and if you are shy, I'm pretty sure you can post anonymously. I'd really love to hear from you! For serious!

Today I want to tell you the story of how this all began: the first time I was admitted into the hospital. Let’s go back to the year two thousand and seven a.k.a. the worst year of my life. My father died. I think a part of me died with him. That was in March. My first heart event happened that September.

It was around 11 a.m. and, surprisingly, I was still sleeping. The weirdest thing woke me up. My heart was pounding. Well, more like racing, but really hard not just fast – if that makes sense. The feeling was somewhat familiar to me. I mean, I have a type-A, high-strung, perfectionist, highly anxious personality at best (no, not the best combo for a serious heart condition I’ve since learned). Anyway, initially I wasn’t too concerned. Although I did think it was bizarre that it woke me up. I got up, showered, and it was still pounding. This was about an hour later – the feeling was getting a little less familiar at this point.

I’ll never forget this moment: I touched the side of my neck where you check for a pulse, and I felt this big, bubbly vein pulsating so fast and so so so strong. Officially unfamiliar. I looked in the mirror and saw this massive vein pulsating out of my neck. I mean BIG and, not to mention, a really unbecoming shade of purple. But, on the other hand, I felt fine; my heart was racing/pounding and jumping out of my neck but, aside from that, it was really just another regular Saturday for me. So I went about my business.

I had agreed to make my friend kraft dinner for supper that night when she got home from work. I’m certain this dinner time conversation saved my life. It must have been around 5 p.m. when she showed up. I served our meal and we were chit-chatting. I said “oh hey, you know what’s weird? Look at my neck…yea it woke me up this morning…” She actually got a kick out of the neck thing. In her defense, it was pretty neat, and she DID convince me to go see a doctor. But after all the time I spent in the hospital with my dad earlier in the year – I was pretty uncooperative. So we compromised and went to the walk-in medical center instead of the hospital.

This was where things got a little more worrisome.

“What’s the reason for your visit?”

“My hearts been pounding all day, it’s weird.”

“Okay, have a seat.”

I got in to see the doctor. He looked at my neck, panicked, listened to my heart, more panic, and told me that I needed to go to the emergency department. At this point I probably rolled my eyes. He wanted to call me an ambulance, but I didn’t want to pay (priorities), so we agreed that my friend would drive me. Off we went to the emergency department, and I drove because my friend didn’t have her license. (Mom – if you’re reading this – sorry, I don’t think I told you that part, but we made it just fine.)

This is where the worry really starts. I walked into the waiting area, grabbed a number, took a seat, and waited. When I got in to see the nurse, she took my pulse and… !wow! full alarm at the Sudbury Hospital!! This part is a little blurry because it all happened so fast – all I really remember is that I was worried because I hadn’t given them my health card! I was escorted/maybe carried/possibly wheeled into a room with 5 staff members - nurses I guess - and they literally ripped off all of my clothes and put me in a robe. It was intense! Then I was hooked up to a system on the wall, given an IV and oxygen and my mom was called. My friend was not allowed in the room.

I found out that my resting heart rate was 197 - I was in something called SVT and A Fib. A Fib (Atrial Fibrillation) may sound familiar to some of you – your grandparents probably have it!

Sidebar: If you have a minute – count your pulse right now – it’s probably closer to 60-80 beats per minute. Booyah!

Needless to say, the doctor and on-call cardiologist were there in lightning speed with a portable heart ultrasound machine. The cardiologist was telling me and my mom that they would have to “shock me” soon. Apparently you can only stay in that heart rhythm for so long until you have a stroke. Since I waited all day, I was really close to that cut-off. My bad.

So I was finally freaking out a little. The cardiologist was pushing my chest and neck to get the ultrasound, and all-of-the-sudden I felt so much pressure and almost like a pop and… that was it… my heart rate dropped! Much to everyone’s surprise, including the doctor's. It turned out that while he was conducting the ultrasound, he accidentally did a "vagal manoeuver." Basically, he pushed down, blocked air-flow and it somehow popped my rhythm back.

I stayed in the hospital overnight and was released the next day. That was the first time I had ever been in the hospital as a patient, and wouldn't be the last. I remember feeling really happy that I didn't have to get shocked. Well, at least not that time. CLEAR!

claim: EAMQZXX5BJAV

A Dr. by any other name would smell as sweet...

I was warned.... 

Someone once told me that in order to have a blog the first thing you need to do is decide what you want to blog about and who you anticipate your audience to be. Of course, I just presumed that enough funny things happen to ME that I'd have no problem maintaining a blog. Man was I way off. I  logged in today with the intention of deleting this - I mean really - who cares. But here a I am, longing to write so I guess today is not the day. So hopefully I can narrow down some type of reason/theme for this space but in the mean time I have a delicious camping treat recipe to share:

*this just happened*

Me: "Do you think I could write a blog about my health? Like would people like it? Or would it be to boring?

The Wife: "Yes I think you can and I think it would be funny because it's you writing it"

Me: "But do you think I have enough to say or do you think I'm too healthy now?" 

The Wife: *insert most ridiculous looking sad/shocked/trying not to laugh/funny face here*

okay-welcome to my blog "big heart in a small town" 

*extends hand for a shake* and mutters "don't worry heart failure's not contagious"

You asked for it (but not really) so here it is. My world living as a person with a disability (and I have the placard to prove it).  My friends probably assumed that this is what my blog would be about - I guess they know me better than myself. And don't worry - just because this will be the core theme of the blog doesn't mean I won't post the recipe for those above mentioned camping treats in the near future.  people with heart failure can still bake you know, usually...

Last week I went to go see my good ol'local Infectious Disease Specialist. Ugh -what a name?!?! Right?! Just writing the appointment down made me cringe.  

But as it turns out he wasn't "gross" at all. He was actually very nice. Something that I have grown to really appreciate in doctors.

So because my heart is so big it puts pressure on my lungs and creates what is called secondary pulmonary hypertension - booooring jargon - basically my lungs suck and I get chronic lung infections. Actually, surprisingly, even though it's my heart that's the problem - it's my lungs that cause me the most grief. I get these brutal lung infections and they make me really sick. The only way to get rid of them is to take a strong dose of antibiotics. I've even had the pneumonia shot! I had never heard of it either, probably because it's usually reserved for older adults, like 70+ (But hey - I always say I'm 87 on the inside). So this is why was  referred to the gross doctor. And here is what he decided: I am to take a weekly dose of antibiotics for the next four months. Is this real life?

Actually my massage therapist, whom I adore, suggested a drink hydrogen peroxide.... But I think I'll try the pharmaceuticals first. 

The pharmacist told me to take all four pills at once, once a week. The Dr. told me to take one pill, at four different times throughout the day, once a week. So I decided to meet them in the middle, how empowering. Thursday I took half of the dose, so two pills at once... Lesson learned. I will be listening to my Dr. from now on as I was so so so so sick. Honestly, I am always in the one percent of people who experience that random side effect. 

So today I broke it up and took one this morning. It's already upsetting my stomach. This is going to be a long day. 

But if this new treatment works, it will be worth it. I get so sick all of the time. I've missed every Halloween for the past 5 years because I was sick or in the hospital. Here's hoping this year is a different story. 

My hope in a bottle:

 

Sidebar: Something that made my day recently. My new hairstylist suggested that maybe I don't have any grey hairs because I am so healthy. Hehe. 

"A woman is helpless till her nail polish dries"

Okay once again I was MIA. Here’s hoping consistency is over rated. I am really busy with my new job (which I love!) and, well, I am also busy with a new found obsession. No offence Bub – I still love you darlin’! (Did you know that Bub was recently on Good Morning America? She’s so rad.)

So aside from work what keeps me busy you ask? Polish, I answer. I am officially (so it’s a big deal) obsessed with painting nails! It all started with seeing my friend’s daughter's nails coated with the most mesmerizing gold I had ever seen! They were unreal. I loved them. In fact, I am loving them again right now as I type just thinking about them…. I want(ed) them. It was bad.

But thankfully, it turns out they are merely metallic stickers purchased from Sephora. Yea! Stickers you put on your nails that look wicked awesome! Where's that EASY button....

Here’s a picture of them: (It's not the best quality but it's the only one I have. You will just have to trust me on their absolute greatness.)

Photo, Hand, Nails and Inspiration Courtesy of Kennidy King

Sadly, I never found those particular stickers. And trust me I searched! So I let it go…ish.

Then my best friend (yes, I am in my thirties, and no, I do not think I am too old to say best friend) gave me some nail stickers for Christmas last year. FUN! I would put one sticker on each ring finger and then paint the rest of my nails. And that was the beginning of something wonderful. Somewhere in between searching for super-desirable-divalicious-metallic-gold-goodness stickers and buying various polish colours to 'go with' my new stickers … I discovered the world of nail polish and nail art! BAM! IT HIT ME HARD! And well, I will be the first to admit – I am a nailpolish-aholic. I even think that has a nice ring to it.

Because my lungs are pretty useless in general, I was a tad concerned about the toxicity of polish. Don't worry this isn't going to lead to another scientific study. But did you know that in 2006 OPI removed most of the badness from their polish – including formaldehyde?? Hi5’s to OPI! And since then most, if not all major brands followed suit.  In fact there is even one brand (that I know of) that sells enriched polish. Dr. Remedy. You can look them up for more information but off the top of my head the polish has at least Vitamin E and Tea Tree Oil added and of course the toxins are not in it. I have two bottles of Dr. Remedy and they are pretty good. They don’t have the best consistency for my nails but they work and if you are a bit more mindful of such things – these may become your new go to polish.

Painting nails brings me joy. And there is so much out there! I follow nail art on Instagram, a hashtag here, a giveaway there and sometimes there is some funny-not-funny Insta-drama in the nail community – I try to stay out of it.  If you ever look into it – you will see that some people take this all very seriously, as they should.  I’ve You-Tubed videos and even recently purchased nail art supplies on E-Bay. No Shame.

So today I decided to post mini tutorial about one of the fun/popular ways to polish nails. It’s called Ombre or Gradient Nails and it’s very fast, easy and I always have people ask me how I do it. Always. (I think maybe someone asked once….? :/ either way – you should try it!)

What you need:

2-3 different colours of polish

Base/top coat if you want (I always do)

A sponge ~ it seems as though most people use makeup sponges but I used a regular sponge today because I don’t have any makeup sponges

Here’s my step by step photo:

It reads -  Top: left to right
                Bottom: left to right.

1. Start with a clear basecoat, then add one coat of the lightest colour of the three picked. This isn't necessary but I picked a very light colour and wanted to be sure it would show up. Let dry.
2. Paint the 3 colours you picked on the sponge. I put on about three coats of each to make those lines.
3. Dab the sponge onto the nails. Right away you’ll see the colours. Dab a few times until the colours are where/how you want them. As you can see this gets pretty messy around your figure. You can put scotch tape around your nail for easy clean up but I don’t usually bother. Re-coat the sponge and repeat for a second coat (I did not wait for the first coat to dry) on all of your nails, usually adding more polish to the sponge every second nail or so. I’ve only done this 3 times, including today, so there may be other was that work better.
4. And finally I clean up with a Q-Tip and nail polish remover and add a top coat. Voila! 

It’s fast and it’s great if you are messy at applying polish – this technique is fool proof and I think it looks good with both long and short nails! 

Thanks for reading! 

Let me know if you try it.

 Here are some of the other fun things I’ve done with nails over the past few months. 

I hope you enjoy them.

Restrictive Cardiomyopathy in a City with a Population of 125 Thousand

Clearly I am brand new to blog culture and quite honestly, I still don't really "get it."
I do however enjoy it! The reasons why I started a blog are:
a) my friend told me a should because I talk to much about my dog
b) I have time on my hands and I am the type of gal who meets monkeys in random parking lots

The one piece of advice told to me about blogging is that consistency is key... oooops - I am a day late for my weekly blog post. But I woke up this morning, slapped my wrist and here I am.

The story behind the title for my blog:
I have a rare medical condition (yea yea...I know - just put away your mini-violin and keep reading)
I wasn't going to go "there" at all BUT the other day when my wife and I were talking, I changed my mind.

Texting and driving is bad. But what's worse - the following conversation I had with my wife while I was driving.
We are talking about my blog when my wife says I need to blog about the title. I explain to her that I don't want to go into things about my health and she says ... wait for it! ....
I MUST because people might misinterpret it and think that by "Big Heart" I mean kind person.
I'm thinking "uuuh yea that is in part why I picked it" and she goes on to explain that it's not a good title because it's not true  ... Uuuum what? She looks at my face (my super kind, natural, thoughtful, big hearted face of course!) and continues to dig her hole even deeper as I try to manoeuvre the vehicle while full of rage. She lost a few points that day.
 
So anyway - To be clear the title is not because I am a generous and giving person - I would hate to mislead you - it is because I have a rare heart condition, and I literally have a big heart. And since we are getting super technical about it - Sudbury Ontario isn't really THAT small. I just thought "Big Heart in a Small Town" had a better ring to it than "Restrictive Cardiomyopathy in a City with a Population of 125 Thousand"
What do you think?