One ordinary weekday in January 2022, sitting in my apartment, I began to feel a slow-onsetting pain in my chest. This sensation was foreign to me, intensifying to the point where I was immobilized, as if a knife had been plunged into my chest and was constantly being twisted. Paralyzed and besieged by this unprecedented pain, I was at a loss of what to do.
My history with IBD initially led me to suspect this was a reaction to something I had eaten the day before. Coupled with the optimistic denial of my 28-year-old self, I hesitated to take immediate action. After calling my girlfriend at the time (upcoming wife), who insisted I dial 911, I instead sought a second opinion from my parents. They, too, urged the same course of action. Unconvinced, I turned to my best friend from college and roommate, who provided his medical diagnosis that this was a consequence of the homemade ravioli we’d had for dinner the night before.
It wasn’t until I received a call from my family cardiologist that I considered the severity of my situation. He suspected he had an idea of what was wrong and advised me to see him first thing in the morning. He stressed that if the pain persisted, I should call 911 immediately.
Despite the escalating pain, I chose not to call for emergency help, opting instead to sit upright in bed. I could barely move, enduring the excruciating discomfort while my girlfriend watched over me, visibly terrified for seven long hours. The night was a battle against the pain and my own fears. I sat there wondering if I was dying.
In the morning, we headed to the cardiologist, who conducted immediate tests. The results of the EKG and Echocardiogram were clear: Pericarditis and Myocarditis. For an active 28-year-old, this diagnosis threatened permanent heart damage, potential heart failure, countless doctor’s appointments, and a looming psychological struggle.
The following weeks were a mental and physical battle, filled with endless tests, bloodwork, heavy steroid use, cardio MRIs, and strict instructions to not move around. Miraculously, my heart had not sustained any scarring or permanent damage.
The subsequent four months were marked by continuous blood tests, a mandate to keep my heart rate below 100 BPM, and ongoing steroid treatment.
Two weeks before I received clearance to resume physical activity, I was accepted to participate in a Triathlon (Sea to Summit), scheduled for July 2022. This was an event I had signed up for before my medical ordeal. What better idea to get myself back into mental and physical shape than a 1.2 mile upstream swim, a 95 mile bike ride uphill bike, and a 5 mile run up Mount Washington.
With my cardiologist’s blessing—and without informing my parents—I embarked on this new journey. Each day, I pushed myself a little further, growing healthier and stronger, driven by the determination to show myself and others that we can overcome any obstacle, despite the lingering fear of another cardiac event. I spent every single second of the race thinking about how lucky I am to survive what had happened, and how fortunate I am to have the best foundation of family and friends around me.
Since that year, I’ve committed to completing one IRONMAN triathlon annually, inspired by those who have faced similar challenges but weren’t as lucky in their outcomes.
Every single day, I think about how fortunate I am for the miracle of my health situation. Do not take your health or life for granted. I hope that my story may have helped or inspired in some way. Thank you for reading.
