Confirmation Bias

"People almost always find what they're expecting to find if they allow their expectations to guide their search."   -Bart Ehrman

Confirmation bias is a powerful thing, especially when you're trying to go to sleep in a hospital bed.  The last time I was here, a little less than 10 months ago was a scary experience.  I woke up at 5:30 in the morning, my heart racing and at an irregular rhythm.  I waited a few hours to see if it would go away and when it didn't, Wendy drove me to Urgent care.  I felt really faint.  I couldn't walk long distances and knew this wasn't right.

"We're cancelling this visit.  We won't charge your insurance and you won't be billed," the doctor said a couple minutes into the EKG.  "You need to go straight to the Emergency Room.  We can call an ambulance if you like," but the hospital was literally just around the corner and I was able to get into the car okay.  The nurse disconnected the EKG and the Urgent Care doctor told me my heart was in Atrial Fibrillation, a condition I later learned isn't uncommon in older people but rare in younger people who are healthy. I guess they considered me healthy... well, other than the A-Fib.

It was Memorial Day and I had plans to break the barbeque in for the summer but there would be no meat fest that day.  I was a code orange in the E.R. and at the top of the list.  Above a kid who had broken his leg skateboarding and someone who had been in a car accident.  My resting heart rate was in the 160's to 180's beats per minute and it took a shot of meds to bring it down.  To add insult to injury, the T.V. was on the food channel and in honor of the holiday, programs about barbequed meals were scheduled for the day.  As out of place and tortuous that was, it gave me a glimmer of hope that I'd still be able to use my grill later on that evening.  After a few hours in the E.R. my heart hadn't switched back to a normal rhythm, and my hopes were dashed when the E.R. doctor told me I would spent the night in the hospital. 

This time around wasn't much different.  I knew what to expect and this made the experience less scary.  This time however, the overall feeling I had was discouragement.  There was a good chance the first time that it was just a fluke.  I had been told, hopefully, that many young people may get A-Fib once and never get it again.  I theorized that perhaps I was just dehydrated... because I had read that somewhere.  I couldn't recall drinking any water but lots of soda the day before and I created a narrative in my mind that this wasn't that big of a deal.  Still, it jump started a healthier lifestyle and I now drink a lot more water everyday and have almost completely cut out soda.

This time it came regardless of my healthier lifestyle.  I immediately knew what was happening, this time at 7:20 am, only frustration largely took the place of fear.  This isn't a mere fluke.

It all went pretty much like it did last Memorial day.  Even a bit better.  My heart rate was only in the 130's to 150's.  Not great but slightly better than the 160's to 180's.  The medicine slowed it down much quicker too.  Perhaps getting to the hospital right away made a difference.  The E.R. nurse even suggested I'd probably get to go home this time.  But it was all false hope.  On my Memorial Day visit my heart switched back on its own.  It needed medicine to slow the rate down but they didn't give me anything to kick the rhythm back to normal.  It finally switched back sometime between 4 and 5 pm, all on its own.  12 or so hours from when this ordeal started, give or take.

I wasn't so lucky today.  In the E.R. they put Amiodarone, a drug that should switch my heart rate back, in the I.V.  I learned very quickly that this medicine isn't good for me when my rate spiked and I began feeling like I was losing consciousness.  Once unhooked, I felt better... but still not better.

Maybe my heart will convert on its own before they figure out something else to give me, I hoped.  I wanted to believe my body could fix itself, without help.  I don't like this lack of control.  Time went by, I was given a room upstairs.  At least it was a good size and I didn't have to share.  I spoke with doctors, nurses, had a few visitors.  One bonus was that they didn't take my blood as much as the first time.  On the other hand, I was too faint to get up and I had to piss into a container.  Awkward...

The clock kept ticking and with every hour that approached five o'clock, I felt a greater sense of urgency for my heart to convert back to its proper rhythm... but it didn't.  5pm came and went with no improvement.  Around this time, they gave me another medicine, this time in pill form, to help the rate beat regularly.  They would give me a dose every couple of hours until it worked.  I felt a little defeated.  A few hours passed and the night nurse came in with another pill.  It may have been 8 or 9pm at this point.  Well past 7:20 at least, which was the 12 hour goal I had in my mind.  My blood levels showed my potassium was a bit low so they gave me a pill for that too.

This was rough. Was my heart ever going to get back to normal?  What if it didn't?

About 9:30 or so, Wendy went home.  Grandma and Grandpa can't stay all night.  I flipped through channels for a little bit and at 10:00 I decided it was bed time.

I just. Couldn't. Sleep.

Hospitals are terrible places to fall asleep.  I had a heart monitor hooked up to me, an I.V., vampires coming in to take your blood, and blood pressure and all sorts of things that keep you from getting the rest you need...  oh yeah, and when its quiet, your irregular heart rate is more evident than ever.  "...beat, beat, beat.....  .... .... beat, beat, beat.... beat   ...   beat..."  All the discouragement, the frustration, the defeat, finally crescendo and I did something many people do when they are desperate and which I haven't done in a while.  I prayed. 

I can't avoid a vital part of my life anymore and many people know this about me already.  I am an agnostic and I have been for at least 3 years.  What that means is perhaps for another post and my neglected blog was heading towards the "why" before I nearly abandoned it for several reasons, but the short version is that I can no longer say "I know" God exists... and if He/She/It does, what that even means.  I absolutely believe all religion's concepts of God are purely man-made, though perhaps they all have some divine influence... but again, this is for a different post.

"If you're out there and if you can hear me and if you can help me, please, please help my heart to go back to normal."  It lacked all the structure of how I was taught to pray.  I didn't even say "God."  But the sincerity was all there.  That desperate plea.  The heavens were closed at the moment but I did feel comforted, perhaps from the familiarity of it... like a long lost friend.  Just saying something, even when you're alone, makes you feel like you're less alone perhaps. 

This position is not going to work.  The light from the I.V. is shining in my face and I'm laying on wires.  I turn over to my left side and managed to get a bit more comfortable.  My long legs laid a bit funny on the bed and the pillows aren't ideal but its dark when I close my eyes and after what seemed like a long time, I start to drift...

Wait, I'm drifting off to sleep.  I feel comfortable.  I feel relaxed.  I don't feel nervous.  I feel my pulse.  Normal.  Now I can go to sleep... no I can't.  I wait about ten minutes, feeling my pulse and it remains normal.  I sit up.  I even stand up.  I don't feel faint.  I text Wendy: "I'm pretty sure I just switched."  I call the nurse who informs me that I in fact had and my heart rate is normal again.  I feel a sense of closure and assurance.  I text Wendy a few more times, who is relieved also.  Maybe we can both get some sleep tonight. 

My excitement keeps me awake for a while, as does the nurse who comes in at 12:30am to relieve me of some of my blood.  Eventually I manage to get to sleep for a few hours before I am poked and prodded again.  At some point in the night or maybe early morning I suddenly remember the prayer I said and the timing of my recovery.  Damn...  but thanks.

Many on the believing side are going to point to this as an affirmation that prayer works and that their particular God (Jesus, YHWH, Elohim, Apollo) is there.  Many who are skeptical of God's existence are going to point out that the timing also fits in with my two doses of medicine and potassium I was given.  It was a pretty convenient time to pray, with the cards stacked in favor of a recovery soon...  But still... I can't shake the feeling that something that cares about me is out there and has some degree of power to help when someone cries out for it.  It is highly, highly likely that this is purely confirmation bias on my part.  The reader can judge for them self, but what the hell... Thank you confirmation bias.