When Exercise and Coffee Become a Burden: A Profound Lesson About the Heart

Today I’ll share my experience of falling ill this year.

First, let me outline my daily routine:

I’ve always loved exercising and drinking coffee. I usually have 2–3 cups of coffee a day and play badminton 3–4 times a week, each session lasting more than an hour. When I’m not playing badminton, I go to the gym. Also, I haven’t had dinner for over ten years — I just eat some fruit or drink something like chia seed water when I get home.

The Cause

During my physical exam last year, I was told I had frequent premature beats. In the past, it was only occasional, but last year’s ECG, cardiac ultrasound, and Doppler test (for neck blood flow) all showed significant arrhythmia. So I did a Holter test, which recorded over 6,000 premature beats in a single day. There were no other major findings. The local cardiologist said surgery wasn’t necessary yet and suggested conservative treatment.

Adjustments and Changes

After finding out about my frequent arrhythmia, I cut down on coffee — but I still drank 1–2 cups a day. I played badminton less often, but my overall exercise intensity stayed the same, always ending up drenched in sweat.

The Day I Fainted

One evening this May, after playing badminton right after work and skipping dinner again, I fainted three times at home. The first two times, I got dizzy when sitting up and ended up on the floor. I thought it was low blood sugar, so I quickly ate something sweet. The third time, when I sat up from bed, I completely lost consciousness. My family later told me I fell backward, hit my head, and had to get 10 stitches.

Diagnosis from Doctors

I’ve been seeing a traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) doctor, and he said my qi and blood were severely depleted. He told me to stop intense exercise and coffee completely. Then I went to the neurology department at the hospital — brain and neck vessels were fine. But when I did another Holter test, it showed over 12,000 premature beats in one day and one episode of ventricular tachycardia.

The symptoms usually happen randomly, especially after meals — I suddenly feel my heart racing and my head spinning. When that happens, I take deep breaths and close my eyes. In severe cases, I briefly lose consciousness. Once it passes, I can clearly feel my heart pounding and beating wildly.

Reflection and Fear

I’ve actually had these symptoms on and off for over two years — sometimes two or three times a day, sometimes not for weeks. I never realized it was a heart problem and never thought about getting checked. Now I feel incredibly lucky to still be here. With such a serious arrhythmia, I can’t believe I kept drinking coffee and doing intense workouts all this time. Thinking about it now truly scares me.

After seeing the latest test results, the doctor immediately recommended a catheter ablation surgery.

It was not only an awake surgery — it was also a wake-up call for my life.

I was admitted to the hospital this May to undergo a cardiac ablation surgery.

The surgery involves inserting an extremely thin catheter through the groin into the heart, locating the area that’s causing abnormal electrical signals, and then “burning” it with radiofrequency energy to eliminate it.

It sounds terrifying, but it’s actually a minimally invasive procedure. The entire process took just three days — I was admitted on day one, had the surgery on day two, and was discharged on day three.

The schedule was efficient, but the experience itself was tough.

Day One Morning: Facing the Reality

On the first morning, I was admitted and went through a series of tests. Everyone else in my ward was over sixty, all accompanied by their children — while I was the only one accompanied by my parents. Sigh!

In the afternoon, my parents had to sign the surgical consent forms while the chief cardiologist explained the risks in detail.

From what I understood, since the heart keeps beating while the doctor works with a thin catheter inside it, I must not move at all — not even take deep breaths, cough, or yawn. If I really couldn’t hold it, I had to alert the doctor immediately.

Otherwise, in the worst-case scenario, the tiny needle could puncture the pericardium and cause bleeding. My God — that was terrifying.

Of course, the doctor had to explain the worst possible outcomes, but he assured us that such complications are almost impossible — as long as I followed instructions carefully.

Day Two: Waiting in Unease

The next day was mostly waiting. Maybe because I was younger, they scheduled me for the last surgery of the day. I spent the entire day watching each of the older ladies being wheeled out and then returned about two hours later.

I kept asking them if the surgery hurt. They all said it didn’t — just the needle prick hurt a bit. That reassured me.

Finally, around 7 p.m., it was my turn to walk into the operating room.

The Surgery: A “Sci-Fi” Experience While Awake

This wasn’t my first time on the operating table (the previous one was childbirth), but the experience was completely different.

Local anesthesia:

The procedure was done under local anesthesia, which meant I stayed fully conscious. The doctor disinfected and numbed my right groin area.

Catheter insertion:

I don’t know if I’m just sensitive to pain, but I did feel some discomfort when the doctor punctured the vessel. Once the catheter was inside, though, I couldn’t feel anything as it moved.

Cardiac mapping:

This was the most “sci-fi” part. Once the catheter entered my heart, the doctor used X-ray imaging and a 3D electrophysiological mapping system to build a digital model of my heart. On the screen, my atria and ventricles appeared as a transparent, beating 3D images. The doctor was literally “drawing a map” inside my heart to locate the origins of abnormal electrical signals.

Induction and ablation:

My surgery turned out to be more complicated than the doctors expected. There were two main issues — first, the abnormal points were scattered and numerous; the doctor said he hadn’t seen this many in a year. Second, one area of my heart showed no measurable voltage at all.

The doctor kept saying, “Strange, strange,” and even called medical students over to observe.

Luckily, I stayed calm and even joked, “Maybe you should write a research paper about me.”

Once the lesions were located, the doctor began the ablation. I could hear the faint hum of electric current, and then it felt like someone was squeezing my heart tightly — the pain spreading into my back as if a thousand pounds were pressing on me.

I couldn’t help saying softly, “It hurts, it hurts,” afraid to speak too loudly.

The doctor said, “Try to bear it; otherwise, we can’t clear the lesion completely.”

I half-laughed, half-cried and replied, “If I could bear it, I wouldn’t say anything.”

At that point, I started doubting myself — why was I so sensitive to pain? The other patients all said they didn’t feel much during the ablation. Each burn lasted anywhere from a few seconds to half a minute; some spots hurt unbearably, while others only gave a mild burning sensation.

Verification:

After the ablation, the doctor attempted to trigger arrhythmia again. When none could be induced, it meant the surgery was successful. Despite the unexpected findings, the doctor said my operation went very well.

When the catheter was finally removed, I screamed in pain — it felt like a deep cramp, similar to severe menstrual pain.

Only after leaving the operating room did I learn that my surgery lasted three and a half hours — nearly twice as long as the others’.

Post-Operative Recovery

After the surgery, I had to lie flat with a sandbag pressing on the wound for 6–8 hours, without bending my leg. The first couple of hours were tolerable, but later my back, legs, and feet began to ache badly.

Thankfully, by around 6 a.m., I made it through. The nurse came to remove the sandbag, and I could finally move again — the wound no longer hurt.

As for the part of my ventricle where no voltage was detected, I later had a cardiac MRI after discharge. Fortunately, it showed only normal aging, with no structural problems.

The next morning around 8 a.m., after the doctor’s rounds, I was discharged. After two days of rest at home, I was back at work.

This profound lesson has made me realise that self-discipline does not equate to health; every warning signal from the body must be taken seriously.

May we all learn to treat our bodies with kindness and care for ourselves.