My calcified cardiomyopathy began with a trip to the dentist in 2006.
“I remember having a feeling that something was wrong,” I wrote to a friend, and I had a lot of feelings about that time, including a vague feeling of loss.
“But the thing that was causing it was the fact that I had become more calcified than normal, and it wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
It was just a slight discomfort.”
I thought I was dying and that I was not strong enough to fight it off, but I was wrong.
I had just over a year to live.
I spent the next two years in a hospital bed in the intensive care unit.
It had been six months since my surgery, and my heart was now beginning to return to normalcy.
I was able to breathe again, but my heart rate had gone from a constant 90 beats per minute to around 60 per minute, and then to 40 per minute.
I was getting on my feet and walking and talking, and, at times, feeling like I was in a normal state of health.
I did not feel dizzy or dizzy-like.
I knew that, at least in the short term, I could keep the symptoms at bay.
But there was a sense of impending doom.
I did not know what to do.
My doctor, who had spent years researching calcified hearts, had not been able to identify a specific cause of calcification, but he suspected that I might have been at risk for it, which was why he recommended a calcium-channel blocker.
He prescribed me an oral calcium channel blocker, but it was very expensive, and even if I had it I would not be able to keep up with my spiraling calcium intake.
“You just have to wait until the calcium channels start to heal,” he said.
I tried other treatments, but the pain remained and it took me two to three years to fully recover.
Calcium channel blockers were not an option for me, but a number of other treatments were available.
I also tried a drug called riluzole, which I took for two weeks to help reduce the pain.
At first, the effects were minimal, but then I started experiencing other symptoms that were worse.
The pain was worse and the body started to feel fatigued.
Then, after about three months, I began experiencing symptoms that would persist for two to four months, and the symptoms were getting worse and worse.
I decided to seek medical care.
It wasn’t until the following summer that I found a cardiologist.
He diagnosed me with calcified myocardial ischemia, or cardiac calcification.
It felt like my body was going to burst, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The first thing he did was put me on the ventilator.
That was a good start, but by the time I was on the respirator, my heart had started to beat again.
I couldn’t even breathe.
The nurse was trying to keep me awake and I was saying that it was all my fault, that it would have been my own fault if I hadn’t taken the drug that I took.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
I told him that I thought I had calcified, but that the doctor told me it was because I was a vegetarian.
I didn’t know that that was true.
I never ate meat, and now I am convinced that it is because of the drug.
The nurse was a great doctor, and he had some ideas about how I could manage the condition, but there were two major problems.
First, I couldn, at that time in my life, afford the drugs that I needed.
I went from eating three meals a day to about three meals every other day, and if I continued to eat the same amount I would have a calcium imbalance that was so severe that I could not continue to do the things I loved.
I have always been vegetarian, but when I was pregnant with my son, I tried to avoid meat.
But I was convinced that if I stopped eating meat that I would die.
Second, I was living in a large city with very few doctors.
I felt trapped, and so I began to do everything I could to avoid having a family.
I even got a job at a restaurant in the suburbs of Chicago.
The hospital had no emergency room, so I went to the emergency room for a few days, but, in the end, I had to give up on that plan, as I couldn: I couldn´t afford the medications I needed, and without a doctor to guide me, I didn´t know how to get back on my own feet.
My son, who was two years old at the time, was the one who started it all.
My husband, who is now a doctor in California, and his wife, who lives in Colorado, started me