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How I Spent 20 Years Thinking I Was Dying.

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I used to think my heart was trying to kill me.

Not in the cinematic, sweaty-chested, clutch-the-pearls-and-call-999 kind of way. More like a passive-aggressive housemate who occasionally flicks the lights off and on, just to remind you they exist. That’s how it’s been for the last twenty years, my chest doing a weird little hiccup, and me spiralling into “this is it” mode while still buttering my sourdough.


Let me be clear from the outset: I’ve never actually had a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or collapsed in the middle of a park clutching my chest while Bodhi licked my face and Whitney called for help. But I have, on many occasions, felt something flutter, flip, drop, jolt, or thump in my chest and thought. That’s not right. That’s the beginning of the end. I’ll just Google it quickly.


Spoiler: never Google it.


The First Flutter


The inaugural palpitation came in 2006, during training for my first ever endurance race (a quaddrathlon up in Scotland) a time when my legs were strong, my ego stronger, and my understanding of the vagus nerve utterly non-existent. (It will make sense it a bit)


I was just in my kitchen at my university house, mid exams but not doing anything stressful when my heart did a hop-skip before carrying on as normal. I stopped watching neighbours or whatever was on the TV back then and promptly had what I now know was a panic attack, but at the time felt like a deeply spiritual warning from the gods.

I got my housemate to take me to A&E, because that’s what responsible people do when they think their heart is trying to escape. Tests were done. Electrodes were stuck to things. I was sent to various consultants across the UK and A VO2max test might have happened (I was too busy bracing for my own obituary to fully pay attention) until eventually, I was told: "All normal. Off you go.” And off I went, still unsure, but now equipped with a shiny new sense of bodily distrust.


The Skiing Debrief


Years passed. My heart mostly behaved. Then came the accident, you know, the one that cracked me open physically, emotionally, and spiritually like a slightly overcooked crème brûlée.

Recovery was going well. I was easing back into fitness. And then, boom. Palpitations again.

Sometimes after a run. Sometimes just sitting around. Always unwelcome. Never consistent. I started to notice patterns. Like how it would happen more often when I stood up after lying down, or when I sat awkwardly, or after a meal. I even convinced myself for a while that peanut butter might be the culprit (and believe me, that one really hurt).


One time, while cycling gently, I mean, really gently, my heart rate suddenly spiked to 180 and just stayed there. I didn’t faint. I didn’t feel pain. I just kept pedalling, like a responsible idiot, and waited for the ride to end so I could go home and Google my own mortality again.

Eventually, I told my physio. She raised an eyebrow and suggested I get checked out. This wasn’t some fly-by-night palpitating, after all. I had a history now.

What followed was a greatest hits album of cardiac testing:


  • ECG: Normal.

  • Echocardiogram: Slightly enlarged heart, but “nothing alarming.”

  • 2 week- monitor: A few ectopics. Fewer than average, actually (I know — I’m underachieving).

  • Cardiac MRI: “Mild scarring” spotted. Cue internal screaming.

  • Referral to Prof Sanjay Sharma, the guy for athletes with weird hearts.


If you’ve never met Prof Sharma, imagine a man who can look at your medical notes, scan your soul, and decide your fate all before his coffee gets cold. He ran me through a full work-up, including another VO2 max test (I nailed it), and then finally, calmly, said the words I didn’t realise I’d been waiting for:


“It would be unfair to label you with cardiomyopathy. What you have is athlete’s heart.”


I wanted to hug him. Or burst into tears. Or both. Instead, I nodded in that British “thank you for not diagnosing me with something fatal” kind of way and walked out of the hospital lighter than air, but still, deep down, not fully trusting it.


Enter the Vagus


Fast-forward to this week.

I’ve been having palpitations again. Sporadic, then frequent. Then, like some twisted game of hide and seek, they vanish entirely. I lie in bed? Nothing. I run 16K? Absolutely fine. I sit at my computer or stand awkwardly while eating toast? Flip. Jolt. Thud.

And that’s when it hit me. Not a heart attack, a realisation.

What if this isn’t my heart at all?

What if it’s... the vagus nerve?

Cue spotlight. Enter stage left: the longest, weirdest, most melodramatic nerve in the human body. The vagus nerve runs from your brainstem down to your gut and pretty much meddles in everything - heart rate, digestion, breathing, your ability to chill the hell out.

It turns out the vagus nerve can cause palpitations. Especially:

  • After eating

  • During digestion

  • When changing posture

  • While sitting slouched

  • After exercise when it kicks in to cool you down

  • Or, and this is key, when you’re just really aware of your body

Which, let’s face it, I always am.

So this week, as I was standing at the counter, waiting for the tozzto pop and feeling yet another chest flicker, I realised thatI’ve spent almost 20 years thinking I’m dying from a heart condition, when actually, my vagus nerve is just poking me in the ribs and going, ‘Hey, remember me?’”


The Science Bit (But Don’t Worry, It’s Digestible)


Here’s what’s actually happening:

  1. Ectopic beats are extra heartbeats — completely normal, common, and benign. Most people get them. I just noticethem. Every. Single. Time.

  2. The vagus nerve influences the heart’s electrical system. When it gets stimulated by food, posture, anxiety, hydration shifts, etc. it can cause these harmless misfires.

  3. Athletes often have slower heart rates (bradycardia), which means ectopic beats feel more dramatic. There’s more time between beats, so a skip feels like a canyon.


Also, if you’ve ever had a real heart scare, or even just thought you were having one, your nervous system remembers. And it’s always looking out for danger, even when there’s none.

This is the mental health equivalent of the smoke alarm going off when you make toast. Loud. Scary. Completely unnecessary.


What Now?


Now I know.

I know I don’t have a broken heart. I have a very well-trained heart that occasionally lets the vagus nerve take it for a joyride.

I know that palpitations don’t happen when I’m moving, sleeping, or doing anything strenuous. They only show up when I’m still, physically or mentally.

And I know I’ve wasted an incredible amount of time scanning my chest like a human ECG machine instead of living.

So I’m changing the story. I’m letting the ectopics come and go. I’m reminding myself that they’re not danger, just drama. And I’m going to carry on running, eating, working, and sleeping on my bloody left side, because the era of being spooked by my own chest is officially over.

Probably.

(Well... mostly.)


If You’re Still Reading This…


If you’ve ever had a moment where your body does something weird, a flutter, a flicker, a twitch, and your brain instantly spirals into “oh god, it’s happening” territory... welcome to the club.

It’s not weakness. It’s just awareness without a filter.

But you can reframe it. You can unspook yourself. You can realise, as I finally have, that sometimes the scariest sensations in the world are just... blips in the wiring, not threats to your life.

And that’s the heart of it. Literally.


 
 
 

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