My Heart Clicks For You

A foot long scar is forever a part of me now :-).  A reminder of God's miraculous work in my life. 

This morning I wake up to my husband with his head on my chest, a happy sight that always makes my heart flutter.  And as a smile slowly makes it away across my face, he looks up to me and says,

"I can hear your heart babe."  

To this I reply,

"It clicks for you.  And for our kids." 

Today's blog is a difficult one for me.  It will be the first time I openly talk about the details of that horrid day that led to my "ticker" being transformed to a "clicker".  You will know more about what I mean as you read on.  This blog is titled, "My Heart Clicks for You", in dedication to my Superman husband who assumed all of my roles at home in addition to his own, when I was temporarily out of commission :-).   And by temporarily I mean 3 months.  Yes all men of the world...my husband took care of business and did an incredibly fine job of it!

My Heart Clicks For You.
I always get a kick out of nurses and doctors when they listen to my heart.  The very shocked looks on their faces as they jerk away their stethoscope from my chest, trying hard to keep their professional composure so as not to let me in on their brief moment of unnerved "surprise"...

"Oh wait, let me listen to that again!"..

"Umm...hang on let me check your medical record." 

"Wait...is that a..er..ahem..a pacemaker...yeah that's a pacemaker right?"

LOL.

Every chance I get, I purposefully leave out the little tidbit about having an artificial heart valve.  It's one of the tiny and very few perks of having gone through double bypass open heart surgery to replace my aortic valve with a mechanical one, thus the "clicking" sound created every time blood whooshes through my aorta to get pumped to the rest of my body.  Did I mention that I was only 33 years old, healthy as a horse all of my life, birthed 4 children into this world, and did not have a single mar or even the tiniest of blips on my medical record that indicated otherwise?

Yes, I was the pristine picture of health, eating right, taking care of my body and always fueling up with the right things. My Facebook is a testament to that.  At one point, I was even eating exclusively organic foods, and drinking Shrek/Hulk or what they call Green Shakes for dinner for an entire year; all for a quality of life and energy to keep up with my kids and responsibilities to my family, job, and school.  In fact, I was in such great shape that my chances of having a Final Destination moment and getting hit by a bus were far greater than my ever having heart problems.

But then the unthinkable happens. And it happens at a doctor's appointment, when I finally and begrudgingly go to get checked for constantly being short of breath when doing the most mundane of things, like bathing my 9 month old son, reading a bedtime story to my 4 year-old daughter, walking up half a flight of stairs, or just having a conversation with my husband. Even carrying my son while sitting in a chair would literally wipe me out, where I am gasping for air, and no amount of deep breaths could satisfy my need for oxygen.

Moreover, I had been feeling extremely run down for at least 3 months, waking up every morning feeling like I never slept, both body and mind craving just a few more hours of sleep.  Constantly yawning throughout the day, falling asleep at my desk at work, having the worst dizzy spells, and just feeling downright fatigued were becoming more and more the norm.  But there were no rest days for me.  I couldn't just take a break or a few days off from work to recoup.  Money wasn't going to earn itself.  Bills weren't going to pay themselves.  And what about the kids?  My youngest was not even 1, what about him?  Who will take care of him?  And school?  I had just started my doctorate program.  So I did what I had to do and pushed these "coincidences" aside and chalked it all up to living with a newborn.

But sometimes it's not good to just push these things to the side.  It got so bad that about a week before I finally go to see the doctor, I almost blacked out after work while I was rushing to make my connecting bus. As I was climbing that first set of stairs that separated me from the long walk to the bus stop, I felt IT coming in grim, foreboding waves.  And I knew I had to stop walking so fast because I was fighting to get oxygen into my lungs. I could feel the numbness in my legs and feet, as a sudden chill crawled all over my body. I literally felt like I was freezing in place as my leaden steps became heavier by the second.  But I had to make the 3:15pm bus.  I just had to. Missing it would mean I get home two hours later, which means two hours longer that my babies are left at daycare, and two hours less of time that I could have spent with my children after a long day away from home.  So I kept walking.  Kept pushing forward.

Don't get me wrong; my two youngest have the best sitter in the world and we are lucky to have her and her family as part of ours.  But nothing beats going home at the end of the day, whether its from school, work, or daycare.  That was the one aspect of our lives that I vowed I would fight to keep when we made the big decision to move out west for an opportunity to buy our first home.  The long commute, longer hours on the road and even longer time away from each other was not going to interfere with our quality of family life.  Not if I had anything to do with it.

Fueled by my resolve to keep that promise, I ignored all signs of blacking out and kept going.  And right before I knew it was going to overtake me, I quickly sent out a text to my husband with these two words..."Help me" and somehow found my way to the nearest bench and sat down.  In that very moment I call on God to help me get through the shroud of darkness that was falling fast over my consciousness.  I breathe, and I pray.

And God answers by lifting the darkness and allowing me to finally catch my breath.  I feel life come back into me as the rush of oxygen courses through, first through my brain and then gradually to the rest of my body.  I send up a quick prayer of thanksgiving, check my phone app for my bus time, and continue on my way to the bus stop.  I can still make it I tell myself.  And I push forward and ignore that little voice inside my head for another week longer.  

My husband literally had to force me to keep the appointment. He had actually called in my appointment for me. In fact, right up to my appointment time I was fighting my husband about not going. But that was one of the few battles that he won and I lost lol.  A battle worth winning though right?

My reluctance to go wasn't because I'm non compliant, or scared of needles and hospitals.  In fact, I am not even scared of pain.  I have 4 children remember?  All of whom were not C-section babies.  And I am definitely not a non-believer of modern medicine or anything remotely like that.  I mean come on now, I have a degree in Biology and I was once in medical school, so it's not like I was dumb when it came to medicine.  I knew in my heart that something was wrong and that I needed medical help.  But I didn't want to go to the doctor because it would just eat up time that I already didn't have.

At the end of the day there is no one else at home to take care of my kids. That is my job. My husband gets off of work later than I do.  And we both work across the island, about 10 miles away from home, which equates to a 1.5 hour drive or a 2.5 hour bus ride. So it doesn't matter if I'm having a bad day.  It doesn't matter if I'm sick, or exhausted, or have a migraine.  It doesn't even matter if I'm just feeling plain lazy. My feelings, my state of mind and body, are all inconsequential up against the needs of my children and family, my children especially.  So life had to go on.

I don't have any other option.  And therefore, after work everyday, even if I have to crawl to get home, I NEED to get home to my kids; to cook them dinner, check their homework, pack their bags and lunches, bathe the younger two, and put them to bed.  My husband could have done it all without me, once he gets home from work that is. But the work of being a parent is so demanding even for 2 people.  So, of course I don't ever want my husband to go at it alone.  We are a team.

So back to that doctor's appointment that I had a bad feeling about?  I took off work early that day and planned on going in and getting right out so that we could have some down time with the kids before calling it a night and starting another day of the usual long commute to and from work. I packed my work computer and took it home with me, to make up my time that I was missing due to the doctors appointment.  I could probably get in a couple of hours of work after the kids go to sleep, I tell myself. Or maybe even after dinner, because we will be getting home a little earlier than usual.  It won't take long at the clinic at all.  I mean, it's only going to be asthma right?  Or I'm just going to find out that I'm gaining weight and my lungs are telling me that it's not cool...right?

Well..WRONG!  As soon as the doctor put her stethoscope to my heart, after determining my symptoms and looking at my vitals, she gazes forlornly upon me with such great sadness in her eyes, her hands shaking as she pulls away her stethoscope, and says to me,

"My dear, you have a very long road ahead of you".   

 Those were her exact words, words I will never forget. She continues...

"You will need to find someone to watch your children.  Did you come with someone?  Is your husband outside?  I can have him come in here so I can talk to the both of you." 

What felt like a ton of bricks fell right on top of me followed by crushing 10 foot tidal waves pounding incessantly until the very breath in my body was forced out, leaving me gasping and desperate for a release from the nightmare that was permeating my every waking sense.

"Wait, what?  What are you saying? No it's ok.  You can talk to me.  My husband is outside with our kids.  He can't come in because he is waiting in the car with them.  I don't want the kids exposed in here and run the risk of getting sick. So whatever you have to say, please say it now."

Doctor replies,

"You have a very pronounced heart murmur my dear.  The strongest and loudest I have ever heard in my career.  You will need to go to the Emergency Room right now.  I really don't know how you are still sitting here, alive."

It is fitting to say here that this doctor was at least in her late 50s, if not older.  So her statement was profound.  She goes on to explain heart murmurs, that they are a sign of a distressed heart as it struggles to pump blood to and from my body.   Explains that my organs were not getting enough oxygen, which is why I was feeling fatigued, short of breath, and why my blood pressure was extremely low and heart rate at rest was highly elevated, beating at 130 beats per minute.  My heart was clearly struggling.  I might even be having a heart attack.  And judging by the sound of the murmur, she believed that my aortic valve was severely compromised to the point of rupture and the only step from here, is open heart surgery, which needed to happen.  Soon.  Perhaps even today.

Those 3 words...OPEN HEART SURGERY...knocked consciousness right back into my clouded head, as I sat there in a state of animated suspension, with one thing and one thing only on my mind: my babies.  For the first time in my life, fear gripped my soul.  But it wasn't the impending pain I was scared of.  I did not even fear losing my own life, a risk I knew I would be taking if  I went under the knife.  I might never wake up. But none of that scared me.  My greatest and only fear at that moment and every moment that led up to my surgery, was the fear of leaving my children motherless.  And fear for my husband, fear of leaving him with 4 kids to care for, alone.

Even in the most trying moment when my own life was hanging in the balance, I couldn't help but think of my children, husband and family first.  Even when it warranted me to put myself and my health first, I thought of my family first.  Some would say THAT part of me is my weakness, my Achilles heel, and probably what got me into this situation in the first place.  Perhaps if I had given heed to the signs that my body were giving me, I probably could have lessened the impact?  Perhaps if I had slowed down and given myself a break every now and then, and not operate at high speed, ALL THE TIME, maybe I could have prevented this? Maybe, maybe not.  But this is only in retrospect, because I wasn' thinking any of this at all.

The heart that the doctor was talking about is only physical.  That heart could be fixed, God-willing. The heart that mattered, my family, THE real heart, they are the PART OF ME that no doctor can fix or replace. THAT is what I was thinking.  Nothing else.  Just that.

I sent a quick text to my husband as I leave the doctor's office, weak and wobbly on my feet. It's not good, I text him.  I'm coming out.

In the parking lot, I see our minivan and I quickly make my way to it.  I jump in and I hear the excited chatter of my daughter and 2 older sons, talking about their day at the dentist, comparing their toothbrushes they had in their goody bags.

Normalcy.  My life.  All right there in the car.  I want it to last just a little bit longer.  My news can wait.  My husband looks at me and asks without a clue about the bombshell I am about to drop,

"How did it go?  What do you mean it's not good?"

I don't talk.  For what felt like an eternity, I just sit there.  I could hear my kids asking me questions, but they sounded far off, like I was trapped in a bubble and their voices were muffled by the soapy film.  I touch my husband's hand, to still him, as he keeps asking me what's wrong.

"Give me a second babe.  I'm trying to find a way to tell you.  Hang on ok?"

And after finally calming down enough to apprise my husband of the situation, and after he asks at least 5 times about my being absolutely sure that I just can't take pills and keep it under control and after I tell him at least 5 more times that surgery is the only option, we drive to the nearest Emergency Room.

I sit there in our minivan and say my goodbyes to my kids who are by now very confused as to why I was getting out of the car and why they were leaving Mommy at the hospital.  They thought we were going home.  I reassure them, and tell them to go with their Dad to pick up their baby brother from daycare.  That Mommy needs to go see more doctors.  That I will be back. I tell them that I love them and to give their baby brother a big kiss and a hug for me.

Waving goodbye to my family as they drive away, I walk myself into the ER that afternoon and not for a second even realized that I won't be walking out until 2 weeks later.  The tears finally come.  As they are now.  So I will have to continue this story later.

Stay tuned...