The shape of my heart

Two weeks ago I was diagnosed with WPW syndrome. The emotional impact of that subsided quite quickly due to other events in the last couple of weeks. However, some of the anxiety was rekindled yesterday evening when I went for my scheduled echocardiogram.

This was the second time I'd had an echocardiogram performed on me in three years. I knew what to expect, more or less. All it really involves is a machine (as pictured) that produces an ultrasound image of your heart and its structures. During the test you're asked to lie on your left side, while a medical technician records the images of your heart on videotape and little printouts, using a device that is placed on your chest after some "special gel" is applied to that area of your breast. During the test you hear several strange noises coming from the machine, which are actually only the sound of your blood being pumped through your heart.

According to my doctor, the result of my test shows that I have a small tear in the valve on the lower left chamber of my heart. This is causing a minor blood leak but the symptoms are not severe. I have no shortness of breath, no excessive pulmonary fluids, and no swelling of my feet or legs. Still, the doctor has prescribed a common beta-blocker to be taken orally once a day.

This is the first time I have been prescribed what is essentially a pill to regulate blood pressure. It will also regulate my irregular heartbeat and the occasional palpitations associated with my WPW.

I remember when my father was prescribed a similar beta-blocker. He was in his mid-50s at the time, and I was just a teenager. As I understand it, the hypertension is something I may have inherited from him. He's 75 and doing fine now. So I'm not too concerned about that. What I'm somewhat uncomfortable with is the fact that I'm not even 40 yet and here I am popping a beta-blocker a day already.

The doctor has ordered an ambulatory ECG (or EKG, as it is known here) in about 10 days time. This involves a holster with a portable recording device that is worn for at least 24 hours. You're free to move around normally while the monitor is attached. The purpose of this test is to record symptoms that are intermittent and may not have appeared during the regular ECG/EKG I had a couple of weeks ago.

Stay tuned for that adventure in the continuing saga of my WPW-afflicted bleeding heart.

Olympic games without frontiers?

I'm not much of a sports fan. However, like many people who do not follow an particular sport keenly, I do give some of my free time to things like the Olympic Games. And this weekend sees the beginning of this year's Summer Olympics in Athens, so I suppose a blog entry before the games start is a good idea.

Earlier today, I was discussing the coverage of the Maltese athletes with Antoine Busuttil, MaltaMedia.com's sports editor. I believe that this year is the most controversial year for the Maltese Olympic team. I don't mean there's any controversy with the Maltese athletes in Athens, but rather around the Malta Olympic Committee, in it's broader role as administrator of Malta's participation in all Olympic contests.

First we had the case of Marion Vella, which I've already discussed on my blog. And now there's word on the doping case of cyclist Dave Miller. I wonder if any of this will weigh down on Malta's best hope for an Olympic medal, William Chetcuti, who will also be carrying the Maltese flag during the opening ceremony of the Athens 2004 Olympic Games on Friday.

My red bicycle gets a new life

When I first moved to New York I hardly ever left Greenwich Village (where I lived during my first year in the city) except to venture on foot or by bus to the NYU Dental Center (where I worked for a brief period of time) or some other such place. Then I moved to an apartment on the Lower East Side, and found that I really needed a bicycle to get around the city. So, one Saturday morning I headed out to one of the outdoor flea markets in Chelsea and found a lovely little red bike. Apparently it belong to a some aging woman who felt it was too dangerous to ride around on a bike in New York in the 1990s.

The reason I'm bringing this up today is because a couple of hours ago I sold this very same bike to an 11-year-old girl; or rather to her father. I haven't really used the bike in the last couple of years. It's been in our kitchen where the warm temperature and time caused all the air to evaporate from the tyres. And what's more, I thought it would be good to leave it here instead of taking it with me to England a few weeks from now.

It wasn't a great bike, but it was a good bike, and it worked well while I had it. I have a feeling it's about to start a new life in Brooklyn now as the main means of transportation for a girl who's about to start her own journey towards a new life as she enters puberty in the crazy city we know as New York.

Once again I don't own any wheels...and strangely it feels good, at least for now.