I'll be visiting the doc on Monday

Although it's rarely a good idea for a non-doctor to try self-diagnosing, I believe my recent symptoms—which flared up again today with a vengeance—line up most closely with good old myocarditis, or inflammation of the heart's muscle tissue. Symptoms like arrhythmia, chest pains, and shortness of breath are all part and parcel with the condition, which can be caused by a virus. Online research turns up different opinions on what to do. Most sites say that, if symptoms are severe enough, it's time to see a medical professional. Many sites also say, however, that myocarditis comes in two flavors—acute and chronic—and that it tends to go away on its own within about six weeks, which seems to mean that the medicine isn't that important except maybe as a palliative.

I'd had trouble sleeping again last night, and my lungs were making those nasty, mucus-y crackling sounds called rales. My mind evoked 3D images of webs of lung-snot clogging up my alveoli like cobwebs in an abandoned horror-mansion's parlor. Lying on my back or on my side was uncomfortable because breathing was difficult; the only posture to provide some comfort was sitting or standing upright. It was a bad night.

Today, our team met at the local SETEC building (convention space) that sits at about the halfway point between my office and my apartment, right next to Hangnyeoul Station. When I finally dragged myself to the SETEC site to meet my boss and Korean colleague, I was once again exhausted by having to walk short distances, and the final slog up two sets of stairs from the subway station nearly had me fainting. I rested a bit before leaving the subway grounds to enter the SETEC property, which was right next door. After a very slow walk with my way over-solicitous coworker, I met my boss, who promised there'd be places to sit once we got in. To get in, we needed passes, and a friend of the boss brought some out.

This was an exhibition devoted to various aspects of Buddhist culture, from tea to brush art to calligraphy to medicines to architecture, etc. We wandered a bit and finally reached some acquaintances of the boss—a husband-and-wife team running a booth devoted to teas from their own terroir. I was given a tiny pottery cup that was constantly refilled with tea: first was the doraji tea (balloon flower or bellflower tea; I'm familiar with the doraji-namul banchan often served alongside main dishes—hit the link and scroll down to see the spicy stuff); this tea was supposed to be good for someone dealing with lung issues.

About three quarters of my time was spent sipping that tea; I'm surprised I didn't have to run to a restroom (I would've been winded, anyway, and would likely have pissed my pants). The final quarter of my time was devoted to Korean oolong tea, and if this tea was any indication, it had a much different taste (a bit more bitter and astringent) than the Chinese oolong served in many Chinese restaurants in the States. Both of these teas were supposed to be healthy in their various ways. I was already sweating when I first sat down to drink, but the wifely half of the team was convinced that her tea was making me sweat (sweat out toxins, presumably). I did feel a little better when it was time to go, but that could simply have been because of the time I'd spent sitting while my boss and coworker wandered around the exhibition space. The boss ended up buying some tea from a different booth.

We headed for the exit and got waylaid by two ladies who insisted on slapping these sticky herbal patches onto us: three on the face, two on the back of the neck, and one on the chest. After a couple minutes, the patches started to emit an acutely icy-hot feeling that seemed a lot like the smell of mint. I was strongly reminded of the tactile effects of Ben-Gay (now spelled "Bengay," apparently). So all in all, it was a triple-whammy of traditional treatments for Uncle Kevin: doraji tea, oolong tea, and weird patches slapped on without explanation. As I finish up this entry around dinnertime, I'm feeling a little bit better. Heart murmurs are now greatly reduced, and when I walked out to my office's parking lot to let the boss drive me home, I wasn't winded from simply leaving the building. Go figure.

Of course, I now know that myocarditis symptoms are capricious and can appear and disappear at uneven intervals, which is what happened this week. I'll see how I am over the weekend (I basically plan to rest), and on Monday, I'll head over to my local doc, whom I haven't seen in a long time, anyway. He needs to refill the prescription for my stroke meds, and I imagine he'll prescribe something for the (presumed) myocarditis as well. Meanwhile, I'll rest, write a couple reviews, and try not to die over the weekend.* Alas, I've got scheduled posts for the next several days, so if I do die, you'll think everything is normal, and you won't start wondering about the lack of new posts until, oh, next Thursday or Friday.

I'm also pondering the irony of sneering at vaxx victims who, because of the jab, ended up with neurological problems and myocarditis. I thought my vaunted natural immunity from last year's bout with COVID would shield me from the worst of the infection, but not so: this second attack, from a different variant, was milder while the virus was with me, yes, but once the virus left, the sequelae were worse. I'd almost rather have lost my smell and taste again.

We'll see soon enough whether Monday brings better tidings. And I make no promises about the doctor: if I'm feeling perfectly fine on Monday, I might not visit.

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*Myocarditis inflames and weakens the heart muscle, producing those arrhythmias and chest pains. A weak heart can't pump blood as efficiently, meaning there could be blood sitting stagnant in your body. Stagnant blood means clots, and clots can lead to heart attack and/or stroke. As I was learning all of this, though, I kept seeing reassurances that myocarditis generally goes away on its own.

If I can't do stair work while I'm this weak, I might be able to get the blood flowing by doing beside-the-bed squats. And if I feel faint, there's a bed right there.

Some images follow:

my tiny, aggressively refilled cup of doraji tea

A bag of Yeon Hong Cha (maybe Lotus Red Tea); hong means "red," and cha means "tea," but hong cha usually describes what we call "black tea." In parentheses, it does indeed say the ingredients are white lotus and hong cha, i.e., black tea. The flyer, meanwhile, is for an event in October of this year.

Teeny teacups all piled together strangely remind me of empty escargot shells.

The top line of text on the poster could be, in Chinese, 靑石골, or Blue Rock Valley.
Second line: Gamno Daweon = Gamno Tea Garden
(Gamno = amrita, or Hindu ambrosia... or maybe "honeydew")
Third line: Skill passed down to the 4th generation
Final line: This is tea made by a master with 50 years' experience.

also in the booth where I sat: spare boxes of homegrown tea

I didn't have the wit to take "establishing shots" showing the event from wide angles, the building's main entrance, or anything else to give you a frame of reference. Blame COVID.

This is red ginseng, and it's a gift from our CEO. I'll finally put it to good use.

Tonight, I need to test whether I can lie down on my side (I'm a side sleeper) and not have any breathing difficulties. No arrhythmia would also be nice. So far, the heart murmurs have quieted down, so there's reason to hope.