I’ve always felt peaceful standing in front of this window. I have seen this view from the third floor of the doctor’s building for over six years. The steeple in the background is the church where I grew up, was baptized, attended parochial school, was confirmed and married.

Six and a half years ago, in March of 2019, I started my journey down the Afib road. I remember the very first time I ended up at the hospital. I’d gone to Urgent Care because I had a sinus infection that had lasted several weeks and I was just miserable.

The Nurse Practitioner came in to see me, ordered an electrocardiogram and then disappeared for a while. When she returned, she apologized for being gone so long. She said she had to send a baby in the next room to the hospital, and “that’s where I’m sending you.” The only thing she said was that the ECG had shown some irregularities in my heart rate and asked if I was okay to drive myself. I called the Great Hunter and he met me at the Emergency Room.

When I walked up to the triage desk, I told the nurse that I’d been sent from Urgent Care and he said “Oh, you’re the one in Afib.” That was the first time I’d ever heard that word except for the Eliquis commercials I’d seen on television.

I was treated with anti-coagulants (a miserable shot in my abdomen), medications to try to get my heart back in rhythm and kept overnight for observation. I never did get anything for my sinus infection though. Sigh.

Over the last six and a half years, I’ve become very acquainted with Atrial Fibrillation, Atrial Flutter, Cardioversion, Radio Frequency Ablations and many more terms associated with Afib.

But today, a year and a half after my third ablation and six and a half years after the start of this journey, I’ve been given the all clear to stop any cardiac rhythm medications and I don’t have to see the Electrophysiologist for a year. WooHoo. Here’s to hoping it stays that way.