On October 22nd, 2025, I was told I have Left Ventricular Systolic Dysfunction (LVSD) with an ejection fraction of 20%.
The first thing the doctor did was ban me from driving and working. By the next morning, at 9:30 a.m., my local council had already issued me a disabled bus pass. Everything happened fast — faster than I could even process it.
And yet, strangely, I didn’t feel afraid. Not at all.
A Year of Challenges
This hasn’t been an easy year. Earlier in 2025, I went through two cataract surgeries — one on June 26th, and the other on August 9th.
The second one didn’t go smoothly. It resulted in a phaco burn, corneal folds, and two stitches in my left eye — an eye that had already been blind for more than ten years.
I even asked the doctors if perhaps the sudden rush of visual information — after so many years of near-blindness — could have sent my brain into meltdown, somehow contributing to what’s happening with my heart now.
Of course, there’s no clear answer to that. But the thought crossed my mind: how does the body cope when the brain suddenly starts processing two pictures again after so long?
What LVSD Means
LVSD, or Left Ventricular Systolic Dysfunction, means the main pumping chamber of my heart — the left ventricle — isn’t squeezing properly.
Doctors measure how well the heart pumps with a number called the ejection fraction (EF). A healthy heart pumps out about 50–70% of the blood with each beat. Mine, at 20%, is working much harder to do much less.
It sounds worrying, but for me, it was just another piece of news in a year that’s already tested my body and my patience.
How It Feels
With LVSD, I get breathless more easily. Fatigue comes faster. Sometimes I can feel the swelling in my legs or ankles.
But I’ve learned to listen — to rest when I need to, to move slowly, and to accept help when it’s offered. The hardest part isn’t physical; it’s the sudden change in independence. Going from driving to carrying a bus pass in a single day.
Still, I remind myself: I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m not afraid.
Finding My Own Way Forward
I’ve seen enough hospitals and operating theatres this year to last a lifetime. I know now that the body can surprise you — it can fail suddenly, and yet it can also recover in ways that seem impossible.
The doctors have started treatment for my heart, and we’ll see how it responds. Modern medicine gives reason to hope; some people even see their ejection fraction improve with time and the right care.
But more than medication, I’ve found a quiet strength in acceptance. Fear doesn’t change the outcome. Understanding, patience, and humour do.
Closing Thoughts
So yes — my heart isn’t pumping at full power. My left eye has stitches. My license is gone, my bus pass is new, and my life looks very different than it did a few months ago.
But I’m still me. Still standing, still curious, still questioning — even asking whether my cataract surgery confused my brain after ten years of near blindness.
And I suppose that’s what keeps me going: not fear, but fascination.
Because every challenge teaches me something new about this strange, resilient body I live in.
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