Konstantinos Chortis: il peso psicologico di una condizione che dura tutta la vita

My story

When I was born, there were no signs of anything concerning; no symptoms, just a healthy baby. What a joy I brought to my parents – I was their first child. But soon, everybody could tell that something was wrong. I was weak and underweight, my appetite non-existent, I had a fever and a shortness of breath. I was admitted to the hospital, where they diagnosed me with a serious ventricular septal defect and a sizable cleft on my mitral valve.

The journey to surgery

My parents were advised to go to the Royal Alexandra’s Hospital in Sydney to meet with the best heart surgeon in the country: Dr Curtmill. Tall, reddish and bearded. After the catheterisation process (scary and painful, I’d say), the verdict was clear: either go ahead with the operation, which had a 50% chance of survival, or the baby would certainly die. My parents were devastated but had no choice. This was in 1972. The risks were enormous. But luckily, I survived.

Return of complications

The relief didn’t last long. I was still weak and would not put on weight. After further examinations, Dr Curtmill informed my parents that the surgery had not been a complete success, due to an error in stitch placements. More back and forth, more tests, and another catheterisation ensued. The outcome this time was successful enough that we were confident I could live a normal life and return to Greece.

Getting involved in the community

That was that, for a while. But aged 26, a new problem appeared: a complete ventricular block (type III). I had a pacemaker implanted, and life continued. Following this incident, I decided to make something of my situation. I got involved with the only association I could find in Athens that was active in the field of congenital heart disease: the Panhellenic Heart Disease Association. I later became chair of this same organization.

Life now

I have managed to live a normal, fulfilling life since I first got the pacemaker. I got married, and I’m a father of two. A year ago, I had my pacemaker replaced for the fifth time. But even as I survived, and even thrived at certain times, the psychological toll we paid as a family was unfathomable.

The impact on mental health

My mother in particular never really overcame it. She still suffers from major depression and has nightmares; she is 81 years old, and on medication. As for myself? As a kid, I was bullied, sometimes to the extreme, because of my obviously poor health, my appearance (skinny, pale, fragile, introverted) and because I was too weak for sports and the like. I developed social anxiety early on, as well as panic attacks; I behaved awkwardly and felt isolated. To this day, I am still on medication.

Never simple

That’s the raw truth of it for many of us. The impact on our mental health can be enormous. I’ve seen it over and over again. I have been happy for most of my 57 years: I’ve fulfilled many of my wishes and desires. But it was never either simple nor easy. I do not want to sound pessimistic; it is simply the reality for many of us.

Have faith in yourself

Faith in ourselves is key, especially when it comes to young people who are suddenly faced with great challenges and must adapt with no hesitation. Trust me. Giving up is not even an option.

The role of family and friends is decisive, and their support cannot be undervalued. But when the door of your room closes behind you, you are alone. We are born with the instinct and power of survival, but it will not be offered to us without perseverance and faith in ourselves. Nothing is easy and nothing is given. And this is the beauty of it.