When Your Own Body Lets You Down - Regaining Trust in the Most Important Relationship in Your Life, Part II: Reclaiming your Identity by Reclaiming Control
One of the things I have had to deal with is disbelief. How could this be possible for someone like me? I searched for answers, and got some…at least, enough answers to help me better accept what happened, and why. The first thing I wanted to do, which is natural, is blame myself, but finding reasons, with my lifestyle, were exceedingly difficult. What I was told was this; as early as our teens, cholesterol deposits begin to build up in our heart’s arteries…it’s just part of living. The degree and speed at which they develop is obviously affected by things such as diet and level of physical health, but even the healthiest person can accumulate these deposits. Over time, these deposits harden into a plaque of sorts. There are several different things that can bring on a heart attack, but in my case, it seems that a small piece of this plaque deposit broke off and got stuck in my artery, causing a blood clot. The lack of blood flow to that part of my heart caused the attack itself. In my particular case, it took approximately six hours for the artery to clear, during which time I was in distress. It should be noted that I have never had high cholesterol...not really a surprise, with my diet. In March 2019, when I had my last physical, I had my lipid panel done and my total cholesterol was 142. Anything under 200 is desirable. My doctor made a point to tell me that not only my cholesterol, but ALL my numbers were "almost off the chart unheard of" because they were so good. She told me that obviously I was doing something right, and to keep doing it. The point I'm trying to make here is that anyone can suffer a heart attack, even the healthiest of people. If you know you are less healthy than you should be, or could be, you had better watch out; when it comes to the human body, how you treat it, and how it treats you back, it's a game of luck, and time...and it's not always fair, as I found out.
So, where am I right now, clinically? Well, I have a reduced “ejection fraction.” In layman’s terms, this means the amount of blood pumped out of my heart to the rest of my body is low. I have been told the heart attack itself caused this. One of the myriad medications I am on right now is geared towards improving this. A normal hearts ejection fraction is between 50-70 percent…the percentage of blood the heart pumps out to the body. My percentage is currently about 40 percent. I was shocked to learn this is termed as “heart failure.” Most people, myself included, before all of this at least, associated that term as something that happens when your heart stops altogether. In this venue however, it is used to describe the various degrees of weakness with regard to the heart and its pumping ability. I suppose I will know in a few months if the medication is working when they do another ultrasound to measure this mysterious ejection fraction. In the meantime, I have not, nor did I ever have any of the symptoms normally associated with a reduced ejection fraction; I never had shortness of breath, extreme fatigue, inability to handle normal tasks of daily life…none of it. I am going to attribute that to the fact that, in spite of everything, I must have a pretty strong, healthy heart, flaws and all. Hell…I’m probably still healthier than most people out there who have no ejection fraction deficiency. And those are the kind of things I need to focus on and remember, as I work to improve my own.
Fortunately for me, some of the things that are necessary for recovering properly from a heart attack such as healthy diet and exercise, are no strangers to me. I’ve already been pretty disciplined for years with regard to both, so there has been no major transition needed; in fact, I am probably frustrating my nurse at the cardiac rehab facility because I am eager to do more than they want me to do at the moment…but hey, I can’t help it. If I am going to get better, my heart needs to be challenged…reasonably, of course, but still challenged. However, I am being extremely patient, polite, and attentive to her instruction. She is a professional, after all, and I am deeply grateful for the facility and its expertise. If taking my pulse and blood pressure every ten minutes helps me regain trust and confidence in my heart and body again, so be it. When I am home, however, is when, and where, I can do what I feel is most important to me…regaining trust in my body again, and that involves working on getting my fitness level back to where it was six weeks ago. Not only is it necessary for my own well being, but my lifestyle requires it. When you are self-reliant, you need to be able to take care of things on your own, without the assistance of others. No one is going to mow my lawn, wash my cars, clean my house, or do the plethora of other home-related tasks that need to be done, so that requires a strong heart and body. But people don’t think of these things, because they aren’t wearing my shoes. So, I am preparing myself to pick back up on the life I am still blessed to be living.
Admittedly, some of this is about control, too. As an independent, you try to be in control of as many things in your life that you can, because well, you HAVE to be. For a short time, I lost that control; from the moment the doctor called me and insisted I report directly to the hospital until I was finally released and on my way home a few days later, I was not in control of much of anything; I was tethered to IV bags and monitors 24/7. I was told what procedures were going to be done, and when. I was woken every few hours during the night for vitals. I didn’t even have any creature comforts…things so necessary and dear to us Cancerians, at the hospital with me. My car was left back at the office; I wandered into the ER that day with the clothes I was wearing. Luckily, I have the blessing of some very dear coworkers and friends who collectively, got me to the hospital itself, kept my part of the "work ship" afloat until I returned, took care of the babies for me (my biggest worry whilst in the hospital) brought me things from home to make my stay in the hospital a LOT more bearable, and arranged to pick me up and get me home after being released. But even through all of these things, others were in control of parts of my life that I wanted to be in control of. It’s a horribly helpless feeling, for someone as independent as me, to have to literally lay back and let others manage things for you. Once I was back home, my need and desire to regain control of things again was immediate; I cleaned the house the very next day, prepared Bradley’s birthday cake and had our “party” as planned…I even returned to work that following Monday. Once there, I decided to continue commuting into the office, rather than working from home that first week, as I had originally thought of doing. I wanted to feel the closeness of the people I worked with, who are a surrogate family to me, and I desperately needed to be back in control of life, right down to vacuuming the carpets. Returning downstairs to the gym a week later was not a foolish, impetuous move on my part; it was my way of not only setting my life’s axis back on an even keel, but it was also a way for me to face the very real and immediate fear of regaining control over the one place that had always been a “happy” place for me, but had become a scary place…all because I was unsure of whether I could trust my body or not.
It’s been just a few days shy of four weeks since the heart attack. Slowly, I am starting to get things back on track. Some things are easier than others. Overcoming my fear of the gym was actually easier than I thought it might be. I’m being careful, of course, but still doing what I normally do. I take breaks every few moments, and I check my pulse often. I am gradually working back up to my normal cardio pace and times…but I am taking my time with that, too. I may be impatient to get full control back again, but I’m not foolish, either. If I need a reminder of what I have gone through, all I have to do is look at the various bruises all over my body from the blood thinners, or clutch the hospital wrist band they put on me that is still in the pocket of my overcoat…on purpose. A lover of history, I have learned that we must learn the lessons history has taught us, and I am applying that to my own recent history. Be strong, be confident, but be careful, too. I may appear fragile at times, emotionally or otherwise, but I’m tougher than I look. Am I still kind of a mess inside? God, yes! I still have my moments of fright, uncertainty, and melancholy. I suspect I will continue to have those for a long time. This isn’t the kind of thing you get over quickly…but right now, I’m trying to be brave, because I’m fighting for my identity…fighting to preserve the identity of the person I was, and inside, know I still am, before all of this happened. I fought too long and too hard for my identity, and it is uncanny how quickly that identity can seem to be stripped from you, so you have to reach out with both hands and wrench it back.
