I started feeling ill in the summer of 2008. I didn't know it at the time, but I was displaying some of the classic signs of heart failure: fluid retention, shortness of breath, and lack of energy.
The first few times I went to the doctors', my symptoms were brushed off as ‘stress’. After all, said the doctor, I was ‘too young’ to be suffering from anything nefarious, like lung cancer - which I feared due to the alarming difficulty I had breathing, and my family history.
I was a 48-year-old mum-of-four, so stress seemed like a logical explanation, and (although not for much longer) I still had that ‘doctor's always right’ assumption – of course she knew my body better than me, didn't she?
Weeks went by. A test for asthma showed that my lungs worked fine, but my blood test results were abnormal. Perhaps I was drinking too much? (I wasn't) How about gout? Or hepatitis? They seemed to be the only other options being considered during subsequent trips to the doctor. After all, I wasn't overweight, I hadn't smoked in years and I looked healthy. I knew they were wrong, I just didn't know why.
I was admitted to hospital in the autumn of that year, after my husband called the paramedics when I collapsed trying to walk across the room. I was put on the general ward and told by the consultant that I would be home the next day, because it was ‘probably stress’. Blimey, I thought, could it really be stress making me feel this ill? Perhaps I was overreacting... who would trust my word over the consultant's?
But they were wrong. On day five, after persistently abnormal blood test results, an x-ray, and a doctor finally listening to my heart, I was diagnosed with heart failure – cardiomyopathy, to be precise.
Heart failure had never entered my mind: to me, it was an old man's disease. I wasn't even out of my forties, and I had always been in good health. Doctors had attributed my symptoms to ‘lifestyle choices’ because I was a busy mum, and nothing like your ‘typical’ heart patient (i.e. an overweight man). I've learnt now, though, there's no such thing as a ‘typical’ patient.
Since my diagnosis, I've been through many ups and downs. I suffered a cardiac arrest in 2010 while having breakfast at Borough Market with my family. My heart stopped beating and I was only saved because two (brilliant) paramedics had stopped for coffee 200 yards down the road. Consequently, I was fitted with a pacemaker and an internal defibrillator, to keep my heart beating regularly and shock my heart in case I had another arrest.
My heart never regained full function, meaning I couldn't walk very far and had to use a wheelchair when I went out, and my memory's been a bit fuzzy since the cardiac arrest, so when I started to deteriorate again in Spring 2011, I was diagnosed as being ‘stressed and depressed’ because of the change in my lifestyle. It was all horribly familiar.
I was admitted to hospital again the day after my son's birthday. I was yellow because my liver and kidneys were failing. I felt like I was dying, which I was. And yet it still felt like the doctors thought I was overreacting, and that my concerns weren't being taken seriously because I didn't look ‘that ill’. I had to fight tooth and nail to be given the correct medication, and on time. I had doctors looking at incorrect test results and telling me I would be fine, only to be told half an hour later, upon inspection of the correct results, that my heart function had deteriorated to the point where a heart transplant was the only option.
Unfortunately, although I am an ideal transplant recipient in most respects (height, weight, blood type), I have very high antibody levels, which means that I am only compatible with around 2% of otherwise suitable donors. Antibodies can be created during pregnancy and after blood transfusions, and I've had several of both. As of yet, there has not been a successful heart transplant with antibodies as high as mine.
My only option was an LVAD (Left Ventricle Assist Device), a small machine that is attached to my heart and helps it pump the blood around my body, taking some of the strain. It's powered by a battery pack that is attached by a wire that pokes through my tummy. It can feel heavy and I notice it a lot (my kids tell me I'm being paranoid!), but it's given me a lot of my independence back and it means I'm still around to see my family grow up.
I can't say for sure whether my life would be any different had my GP listened to my heart instead of focusing on the illnesses I 'couldn't' have had. But I would say this: if you ever feel worried that something isn't right, please don't be afraid to demand the tests you need. Us women – and particularly mothers – tend to just “get on with it” and cope, but if there's a feeling you can't shake, you must demand that people listen to you.
If you're interested in becoming an organ donor, you can find out more and register here.