A Matter of the Heart

Most people have "defining moments" in their lives--people, events, circumstances, something that changes everything after that moment.  That event for me was Thursday, September 15, 2011, at approximately 10:00 in the morning.  I was teaching British Literature in my senior English class when something was suddenly not right with me.  A feeling of squeezing and tightness came across my chest as I walked around the classroom.  I immediately walked out of the door, into the hallway, and across the hall to my department head's classroom, leaving my students to wonder what was going on.  I stood in that doorway, hot all over, finding it difficult to catch my breath.  I simply said to him, "Something's wrong with me."  The moments after I spoke those words are clear to me still.  Others were on the scene quickly--the school nurse calling 911, the assistant principal phoning my husband, the sound of feet running, of my pulse in my ears, of moans from my own mouth.  "I'm thirsty," I moaned.  "Can't breathe," I whispered.  "It's so hot in here," I said, or thought--not sure now.  Soon I was aware of someone helping me, of being wheeled down the hallway to the elevator and then into the ambulance.  A teacher at the door called out,'Praying for you, Linda..." and then the doors closed.  "How old are you?"  "Do you take any medicine?"  "I'm giving you an aspirin--open your mouth."  In my head, I was saying This can't be happening to me.  But it was.  I know now that I was having a heart attack, for which the medical term is myocardial infarction. Weeks before my 61st birthday, in a heart that had never failed me before, the blood flow had been interrupted in a portion of my heart.  I would be told later that it was likely a spasm in the artery, that a small piece of plaque had broken off and caused a blockage.  During the next 16 days, I would undergo two heart catheterizations, a heart echocardiogram, a computerized tomography angiogram, also called a CT scan, numerous EKGs and chest x-rays.  I would be given injections of blood thinners every twelve hours.  I would come to dread the regular visits by phlebotomists who would draw blood from my hands, arms, and wrists.  I would also have a second heart attack nine days after the first, and a third heart attack two days later that would result from a 100% blockage.  My diagnosis would be given to me incrementally, perhaps because it was not yet clear what had caused this unlikely event.  One doctor asked how long I had been a smoker.  “Never,” was my morose reply.   Finally, I would be told that my small vessels were too small, and that the disease was diffused in many small vessels throughout my heart.  It was not the news I wanted to hear.  And yet, throughout this time, there would be hope.  Hope was in the faces of the people I loved--my precious husband, my two wonderful children, my loving mom, and my three beautiful sisters.  Hope was in the faces, the smiles, the prayers of those who visited.  Hope was in the hands that brought communion to me, the voices that prayed with me, the ears that listened to me.  Hope was in the cards, little notes, flowers, phone messages, and emails.  There were tears, but there were also hugs and laughter, kisses and smiles, and hands that would rub my arms and shoulders, fluff up my pillows, raise my bed.  Two young women, ICU nurses, stayed beside me throughout the night and into the morning when the pain finally subsided from the last heart attack.  They were bold, confident, and compassionate.  When the nitroglycerin drip failed to take away the relentless pain during the last attack, they pumped morphine into my body to give me relief from the crushing weight on my chest.  Many days later, I was moved from ICU to a room on the third floor, a good sign for sure.  That night, my precious family surrounded me in a true celebration.  We shared pints of delicious raspberry sherbet, raucous laughter, and pure joy.  It was an amazing night!  Two days later, I came home to begin my new life.  My life is so precious to me.  Each day is truly a gift, a second chance, and an opportunity to give back in some way all the love that was poured out on me.  It’s true.  Love lifts the broken-hearted and heals the deepest pain.  Love’s healing power is indeed a kind of wonder drug.  Love is eternal, mysterious, and magnificent.  Though love is not complicated, it can fix complicated problems.  Love is simply a matter of the heart.