Yep, that’s right folks. I just got back from the emergency room. For myself this time, not my beloved medical-nightmare husband.
The culprit? My heart. Maybe it’s just me but after enduring the uncertainty and downright terror of Jamie’s recent heart problems and stints, you’d think we’d be exempt for the rest of the year, right? Wrong.
I’ve been blessed with good health and was reminded of this when the nurse at the hospital reviewed my spotless medical history. But there’s been one weird condition I’ve occasionally had that I’ve never been able to pinpoint. Since I was young, I get this weird seizing up of my heart. I remember lying on my Aunt Miriam’s couch when I was about 7 or 8 and feeling like if I inhaled even a little bit, my heart was going to explode.
The episodes never lasted long (about 15 minutes) and were infrequent (a couple of times a year). But yesterday while I was hiking with Haddie and her friend Sydney, my heart started seizing up. It has never happened to me before when working out but wasn’t intense enough to cause much worry…until I arrived home and it didn’t stop. And the pain augmented as the evening went on. Finally at around 1 a.m. I took some aspirin and finally got some sleep. I resolved if it wasn’t gone in the morning, I’d go get it checked out.
Sadly, the pain persisted so I called my doctor who referred me to the triage who told me to go to the E.R. I grabbed some breakfast and waited it out for a few minutes. Jamie came into the kitchen:
“Why have you not left yet?”
“I’m waiting for the washing machine to finish so I can load the clothes in the dryer. Haddie’s adventure-racing outfit is in there.”
“Are you kidding me?! GET TO THE E.R. I’ll change the laundry.”
As it turns out, he forgot. This has instilled within me a greater purpose that I cannot die because the laundry would never get done.
I underwent an EKG and X-rays. Thankfully, everything checked out OK. The ER doctor’s explanation was I had skeletal and muscular chest compressions, which I already knew. But my heart itself is fine and I was released four hours later.
As I walked out, a mother and her 12-year-old daughter were standing on the curb. As you probably know, the “rooms” in the ER are flimsy curtains so I heard this woman’s story. At first, I’ve got to admit she grated on me with her piercing, slurred voice and I assumed she was drunk. As I eavesdropped, I ascertained she was more likely uneducated. She was probably my age but looked much older, 8 months pregnant, was in for a fractured ankle, had another 2 year old at home and was about as down on your luck as you could get.
I could hear her going back-and-forth with her tween. She was in an excruciating amount of pain and couldn’t walk but they didn’t have a car so they’d have to take a couple of buses to get home. And then they were gone.
A half hour later, I signed my release papers and was surprised to see this woman and her daughter outside of the hospital. I offered them a ride, which she gratefully accepted. She talked non-stop our entire drive–of how thankful she was for the ride, her 2-year-old’s numerous surgeries for his club foot, wondering how she was going to take care of this new baby with her ankle, and hoping Medicare was going to cover her hospital visit. I talked to her daughter about entering middle school next week and we discussed how she could help her mom.
When we arrived at her ramshackle apartment on a dead-end street in the bad part of town, I helped her out of the car. She expressed her gratitude once again as her daughter assisted her inside.
And then I got in the car and cried the entire way home. Partly for relief I will likely be OK but mostly out of sorrow for this woman, her entire situation, the circumstances under which this baby will be born, and this sweet 12-year-old who’s the same age as many of the girls I teach in church. And who’s been given a pretty crummy lot in life.
When I arrived home, Jamie informed me his Aunt Norma suffered a hemorragic stroke and likely won’t pull through. And then his Aunt Brenda had a mild heart attack.
Today has been a day of a whole lot of gratitude, perspective and a whole lot more prayers for the many who need them more than I.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 