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Emily Smith
English Composition 1
T.S.
2 October, 2015
Heartbeats & Echoes
On October 10, 2013 I wasnt expecting anything out of the ordinary. The news my
pediatric rheumatologist gave me was supposed to be that everything looked normal. As I sat on
the edge of the medical examination table, I tried not to fidget so much from nervousness. A
month prior I had gone to Lurie Childrens Hospital in Chicago for an echocardiogram to see if
my vasculitis had spread to my internal organs. Vasculitis is an autoimmune disease that causes
your body to fight itself whenever it thinks that the body is in danger, which in my case meant
every time I did things that would bring my heart rate up. It made my red blood cells break,
resulting in beet red blotchy and broken skin on my extremities that burned, itched, and felt
bruised all at once. On the bright side, it hadnt spread. The problem was that the
echocardiogram was still abnormal. The doctors that had reviewed the pictures and short videos
captured in less than ninety seconds saw something wrong. They found an abnormality in my
heart. This meant more testing. Dr. Alperin, my rheumatologist, referred me to a pediatric
cardiologist.
In the next month I saw my new cardiologist, Dr. Patel. She asked me questions about
everything heart related. She asked if I had chest pains, how they felt, etc. I didnt realize how
much those things mattered until my life was put under a microscope. After the evaluation she
sent orders for me to get an MRI and a stress echocardiogram. I went to school with a signed
document that specified that I was under no circumstances allowed to do any physical activity. I

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couldnt do anything that could increase my heart rate. It was serious enough for me to get an
elevator key and a pass to leave five minutes early from each class. It felt like I wore invisible
chains. Every day they dragged beside me as I walked through the halls at school and around the
house. Nobody knew about my restrictions unless I told them. All of my teachers knew. There
was a possibility I would need to have heart surgery.
Among others, my gym teacher wasnt the most supportive or understanding person. I
was in Strength Training for my junior year. We worked out with weight machines, ellipticals,
treadmills, on the track and the football field. While I was unable to do gym, I walked on the
treadmill or around the track. Whenever Dr. Patel sent a sheet explaining that I could control my
own limitations based on how I physically felt, Mrs. Wyller made sure to push those limits. If I
was walking, I had to speed walk and almost jog. If I took breaks I lost points. It made me feel
worse physically and didnt help my mindset. Wyller didnt respect my doctors words or my
own.
She treated me like everyone else that was oblivious to my situation. Whenever a staff
member at school caught the elevator with me, I would only receive dirty looks. I went out of my
way to look personable, smile or say something nice. They would only ask me why I had my
own elevator key. You dont look like you should have to use the elevator. You look fine,
theyd tell me. They didnt know that I had vasculitis or a heart condition. They didnt know that
I wasnt allowed to use the stairs because it would make my heart race. They shouldnt have
needed that information to treat me properly.
Meanwhile, I still had to go to Ann & Robert H. Lurie Childrens Hospital in Chicago for
the MRI and the stress echocardiogram. In January of 2014 I went with my mom and my sister,
Suzy, to have the MRI done. I remember how cold it was outside because that meant that I would

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have tighter muscles and more pain. I remember the nurses being kind and comforting as they
prepped me for the MRI, giving me a gown to wear and attaching sticky circular sensors on my
chest. I remember lying inside the machine, barely able to hear the nurse because the MRI was
so loud. I fell asleep in there long enough to startle her.
I went to the hospital in February for the day with Suzy and mom for my stress echo. I
again changed into a gown and had sensors put onto my chest. For the stress echo, I had to go on
a treadmill that increased in speed and incline every couple minutes. I saw my heart rate increase
along with other numbers on the screen as my chest pounded and my breathing patterns
worsened. I didnt last more than eight minutes. When I stopped the nurse and a doctor guided
me onto the medical bed. I lied on my side as the doctor used a wand and gel on my chest to
see the performance of my hearts valves and arteries.
I had finally done enough for Dr. Patel to have the information she needed to determine if
I would need heart surgery. I waited more than a month to find out. Everyone I came across then
either felt sorry and worried or spoke like that part of my life didnt mean anything. Dr. Patel saw
the side of me that others didnt. Even though it was the slightly broken part she spoke with
respect, no judgment. The most meaningful, stress relieving words I have ever heard were told to
me by Dr. Patel. I heard them at the follow-up visit. No one's rude remarks mattered because she
told me I didnt need to have heart surgery.