Test Experience

Today, I finally had my tilt-table test—and saying it started off rough would be an understatement.

Before the test had even begun, the doctor looked at my baseline numbers and announced that I was “so negative for everything.” The nurses actually had to talk him into proceeding with the test that I was already there to have done. His dismissive comment and shortness made me want to punch him—not literally, of course, but that was the level of frustration boiling inside me. I have spent so much time living in a body that does things other people cannot see, only to have another doctor seemingly dismiss my symptoms before he had even completed the test meant to investigate them.

He also decided that what I was experiencing was “probably just anxiety.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he accused me of vaping or smoking. I told him that I don’t do either of those things, so he immediately switched gears and asked whether I drink energy drinks. Nope. I don’t do those either, man. It felt as though he was searching for anything he could blame my symptoms on before considering that something might genuinely be happening inside my body.

Once the test began, I experienced symptoms, although the most significant ones didn’t appear until around the twenty-minute mark. Because I had not passed out, the doctor decided to chemically induce an episode. After the medication was administered, my heart rate shot above 180 beats per minute and my blood pressure skyrocketed to 190/122. My vision blacked out, although I never fully lost consciousness. My arms and legs went limp, my head spun, my ears rang, and I developed a headache and nausea while my entire body began shaking.

The nurse in the lab with me was very sympathetic throughout the entire process and clearly uncomfortable with how severe my symptoms were becoming. She repeatedly advocated for me and even told the doctor that I was symptomatic, that we had induced an episode, and that what I was experiencing felt exactly like what I go through at home during my flare-ups. She wanted to end the test at that point because she was concerned for my well-being. The doctor dismissed her concerns and, instead of stopping, instructed her to increase the medication and continue the test for another fifteen minutes because he wanted me to pass out.

When they finally lowered the table and began titrating the medication back down, I experienced tightness in my chest and couldn’t move my arms or legs for approximately seven minutes. During the test, my right arm also repeatedly became numb and cold. The blood-pressure cuff tightening around it was painful, but my concerns were brushed aside as simply being caused by the cuff.

I cried in that testing lab—not only because the experience was frightening and physically overwhelming, but because someone was finally witnessing what my body can do to me.

They were seeing a medically monitored version of what I experience when I step out of the shower, roll over in bed, bend down, stand up, or perform any number of ordinary movements most people never have to think twice about. For once, the racing heart, spinning head, fading vision, weakness, nausea, shaking, and complete loss of control weren’t symptoms I had to describe and hope someone believed. They were happening directly in front of medical professionals, with every change being recorded on a monitor.

Medical Findings

By the end of the test, the same doctor who initially declared me “so negative for everything,” suggested that my symptoms were probably anxiety, and questioned whether I smoked, vaped, or consumed energy drinks diagnosed me as positive for inappropriate sinus tachycardia and dysautonomia. His only treatment recommendation was to increase my Lopressor from 25 mg twice daily to 50 mg twice daily and send me home.

I also asked him about hyperadrenergic POTS, particularly because my blood pressure rose so dramatically instead of dropping. He looked at me as though he had no idea what I was talking about. I cannot diagnose myself, and I understand that one test does not necessarily provide every answer, but I should be able to ask an informed question about my own body without being made to feel ridiculous for asking it.

After the Test and My Current Condition

Now I’m home resting on the couch. My heart rate has settled into the 90–110 range, my blood pressure is closer to my baseline, and I have taken my regular dose of Lopressor because the new prescription has not been filled yet. My head still hurts, my body feels as though it has been run over by a Mack truck, and my right hand remains cold. Bruises are beginning to appear where the blood-pressure cuff repeatedly tightened around one arm and where the IV was placed in the other.

Reflections

I finally received confirmation that something is wrong, but validation should not have required being pushed until my body nearly shut down. A diagnosis is important, yet so is having a physician who understands the condition, listens without dismissing me, and recognizes that losing consciousness is not the only measure of how severely someone’s life is being affected.

Today gave me an answer, but it also showed me that receiving a diagnosis and receiving knowledgeable, compassionate care are not always the same thing. My symptoms were not “just anxiety.” They were not caused by smoking, vaping, or energy drinks. They were real, measurable, and severe enough to unfold directly in front of the same doctor who had dismissed them before the test even began.

Next Steps

I think it is time to find a new cardiologist—or, better yet, someone who specializes in dysautonomia. I deserve a doctor who understands the condition they are treating, takes my questions seriously, and works with me to understand the full picture rather than simply increasing a medication and sending me home.

Gratitude

Thank you to everyone who has followed me through this journey, listened to my experiences, offered encouragement, and continued believing me on the days when I struggled to believe in myself. If you are walking a similar road—fighting for answers while living with symptoms others cannot always see—please know that you are not alone. Your pain is real, your experiences matter, and you deserve to be heard, believed, and treated with compassion.

Much love and many blessings,
Mrs. B