Finding My Nemo - Part II

While my wife and I waited to meet the cardiologist, the technician there wanted to take some images of my heart using the echocardiogram. Also known as a cardiac echo, the technology is identical to that of a prenatal ultrasound. To see my heart beating on a computer screen was a surreal experience and it gave me a greater appreciation for the organ’s work in keeping me alive. It was also a moment of amusement since my wife and I recently caught a case of baby fever; we couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I was one getting the ultrasound!

When the doctor joined us to view the images of my heart, he pointed out something peculiar: I was born with a bicuspid aortic valve – a congenital heart defect which affects 2% of the population. Because my valve only has two leaflets – not the normal three – it doesn’t completely close, resulting in the backflow of blood in my heart. Although not an immediate concern, it was revealed that I would definitely need to undergo valve replacement surgery in my late 40’s or early 50’s. Together, we discussed a plan to monitor the defective valve until then. After this revelation, we postponed the stress test, scheduled a CT scan to rule out any other potential issues, and marked Valentine’s Day on our calendar. It was the day that we’d review my CT results.

In the ensuing days, I struggled with the findings and wondered if I – like my parents before me – would reach my end before my time.

I’d close my eyes and picture the ultrasound that displayed my valve resembling a fish mouth, opening and closing. It seemed like it was trying to communicate and, therefore, naming it seemed appropriate. I thought of the fish mouth and of my small defect. I thought of the clownfish with the abnormally small fin who escaped captivity to rejoin his father in the Great Barrier Reef. It seemed a perfect fit; my valve became "Nemo".

To be continued...

Image of my bicuspid valve from Cardiac Echo.