So in early November, my mom's going into the hospital for a weekend because she's been having afib. She doesn't feel it at all, so the cardiologist suggested that she have a "procedure" to take her out of afib.
This procedure involves being sedated and then shocked back into normal rhythm. If you think I'm not absolutely terrified of this, despite my mom's otherwise good health and the fact that this will happen at THEE Johns Hopkins Hospital, you do not know me.
I adore my mom. She's my best friend. We're also the only family members left. Beyond that, she is smart, and funny, and kind, and deeply empathetic and silly and if anything happens to her that will quite literally be the end of me. Not hyperbole.
Fortunately she'll be in a private room. They'll do the procedure on a Friday and keep her until Monday to monitor things. This will help them decide if long-term medication is needed, or if she only needs to track her heart rate at home and call the doctor if she notices the afib returning. The private room is important to this because (like me) my mom has low tolerance for people. The last time she was in the hospital she had a terrible roommate who screamed constantly. Not in pain. Just bitching about everything from the food to the tv to the nurses to her daughter (not visiting enough/visiting too much, sometimes at the same time).
Long story short (too late!), if they want my mom to keep her heartrate down, being away from people is a good start.
We're joking about the whole procedure now, but I know she's just as scared as I am. So I'll keep the jokes coming and save my panic attacks for 3am.
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