Alan's Story

When the first diagnosis finally arrived, it sounded almost casual: a Mitral and Atrial valve regurgitation. Nothing dramatic. Nothing urgent. Just a friendly reminder that I’d need prophylactic antibiotics for things like dental surgery and, oh yes, I should absolutely avoid contact sports.

Good job the Cardiologist didn’t see me playing football and rugby at school. I’d have been banned from half my childhood.

The plan was simple: an echocardiogram every three years. Sensible, straightforward, and as it turned out completely ignored for the next two decades.
Life happened, as it does. I felt fine. No symptoms, no drama, no reason to think my heart was quietly collecting plot twists.

Fast‑forward twenty years. I was in hospital for a kidney infection (a whole other saga), when a nurse woke me early one morning to take my observations. Now, I know I have an “uncooperative” radial pulse on my right wrist, but with modern machines you just slip your arm into the cuff and let the technology do its thing.
Blood pressure: textbook.
Oxygen saturation: excellent.
Pulse: 36.

 

By the third attempt, it had climbed to a whopping 44. The nurse looked at me a middle‑aged man with a Dad bod and asked, completely straight‑faced, “Are you or have you ever been a professional athlete?”

Once I had stopped laughing, I assured her I had not. But that question earned me a referral back to Cardiology.

Twenty‑five years after my first echocardiogram, I finally had my second. And that’s when the rest of the anomalies revealed themselves: a dilated aortic root and a fused tricuspid valve, presumably keeping the Mitral and Atrial valves company.

All congenital - present from birth, yet quietly there entire life.

Here’s where the story takes a turn. I’ve had two more echocardiograms since then. One of them in 2025 came back saying my heart was “normal” with “no noted abnormalities.” Either the machine was having an off day, the technician was, or my heart had performed a miracle worthy of a medical journal.

Thankfully, my GP is both sensible and thorough. She re‑ordered the echo, and everything was right back where it had always been the anomalies unchanged, still congenital, still mine. And that brings me to the real point of this long‑winded tale.

Self‑Advocacy Matters
If something doesn’t sit right, question it.
If a result contradicts decades of history, question it.
If you’re supposed to have regular monitoring, remind your GP, your Cardiologist, or whoever needs reminding.

I’m asymptomatic, and I’m grateful for that. But, congenital conditions don’t disappear because a machine says so. They don’t rewrite themselves because a report looks tidy. You only get one heart and it deserves your attention.

So, here’s my takeaway, for anyone who needs to hear it:

Look after your heart. Ask the questions. Follow up. Advocate for yourself.

Because sometimes the biggest difference between a missed anomaly and a managed condition is simply the courage to say,

“Can we check that again?”