183. Can caffeine cause a heart attack?

IKEA coffee got me good while sitting at the airport.

Mar 17, 2025

I’m sitting on one of those plastic chairs at the airport. One of those plastic chairs that look like recliner chairs and look comfortable from afar. I chose to sit here because there’s a plug on the wall to my right and I needed to charge my phone. No battery means no boarding pass. I decided to order a caffeinated coffee from Ikea earlier while we had meatballs, mash and gravy for lunch because I won’t get home until twelve o’clock at night, and I was already starting to feel sleepy. That was my big mistake. I haven’t drunk coffee with caffeine for probably around a year now, I don’t choose my caffeinated days lightly.

I was sitting on this plastic-wannabe-recliner-airport-chair, holding a book in my hands when I felt my heart beating inside my chest. I’m never aware that I have an organ keeping me alive by beating inside of me. I never think that one day it will stop. I forget that I’m full of organs doing things while I go about life catching planes and reading books—until I drink caffeinated coffee.

I can feel my heart beating in my chest and in my neck now too, I can feel my lungs inflating and deflating as I breathe; all of these vital organs working without me thinking about it. I can feel my skin releasing droplets of sweat without me moving and the next thing that happens without me moving is my thoughts running a race.

I can hear my inner voice ask out loud: What would happen if my heart were to stop beating right now. What if it just stopped? What if the caffeine tired it out and it gave up? What if it started beating in starts and stops like our car was yesterday? What if a tiny moving part in my heart’s engine breaks? Leaving me stranded in this uncomfortable plastic chair.

The more I think about this organ b-b-b-beating in my chest, the more I feel it. It feels like someone is pricking it with a needle. It feels like it may stop at any given moment.

I’d usually shake my head to dissolve the thought like an unwanted drawing on an etch-a-sketch, but this time I decide to let it stay. I let the scene play out in my mind. I toy with the idea of it happening. I feel brave. Don’t some people call this shadow work? I imagine myself sat with my right leg crossed over my left leg in my new pink and red striped pajamas that I’ve decided are trousers. I imagine my new unfinished book falling from my hands onto the floor next to me. I imagine my yellow suit case full of dirty clothes, new books and six packets of Marks and Spencer’s decaf tea bags stuffed inside forgotten about. I imagine my toiletry bag full of expensive liquids and creams never to be used again.

Who would call my dad? How would they find his number? How would they know that he dropped me off at the airport? Would someone say “hey siri, call emergency contacts”? Would Siri have to choose who to call from everyone on my list? What if Siri chose my dad and the person who found me dead in the airport doesn’t speak English? Would they call my boyfriend and almost kill him too, all the way in France from the shock? Would they be able to get Siri to work knowing I turned the “hey Siri” function off because I was creeped out thinking she was listening to me 24/7?

My thoughts were going too fast for my heart to keep up, so I had to write. I can type fast enough to transfer my thoughts from my mind onto the screen. I think I can beat my caffeinated heart in this race. The more I think about my heart, the more I can feel it beating. I know that deep breaths will help me slow down. I just need to activate the parasympathetic nervous system, but lets sit in this over-caffeinated nervous over-thinking space for a little longer. It won’t kill me. I’ve been here before.

I tend to think of the worst case scenario because I like to be prepared for the worst, but since giving up coffee I’ve been much better. I don’t catastrophize life as much. My heart beats so slowly I forget it’s inside of me. I only drank caffeine today to stay awake, it was merely a logistical decision. I saw on my digital boarding pass that I’ll be sitting in the middle seat on the plane, where I can’t afford to fall asleep. I’m a mouth-open-sleeper and nobody wants to be that person unless they’re sitting in the window seat and can hide their drooling mouth under a hoodie, pushed against the plastic interior of the plane walls. Maybe I should have paid extra for a better seat. I will do next time.

I’m sitting in a Spanish airport as I overthink my way through the afternoon, so this state of “am I dying?” is pretty much under control, believe it or not. If I were in France where no verb tenses, subjects or syntax exist inside my brain, I’d be spiraling and my heart most probably would have said “enough!”, but because I’m in Spain and can communicate even my most complicated thoughts, I feel safe. One double cortado with steamed milk from Ikea can’t defeat me here. I’m playing on my home turf.

After typing all of these thoughts out onto the screen as fast as I could, I feel much more relaxed and my heart is almost down to its usual pace. Maybe I’ll turn on the “hey Siri” option on my phone, or maybe I’ll write my dad’s phone number on my arm, just in case. You can never be too careful, even when playing at home.