I'm 47 years old. I am a survivor of many things. I live with the chronic pain of fibromyalgia and have since 1997. I survived cancer, childhood sexual abuse, foster homes, poverty and homelessness, and well, the list goes one but you get the picture. I have always felt that surviving the many cards I was dealt made me stronger by God's grace, and on July 14, 2013 I added another to my list of crazy things I have lived through.... I survived a heart attack.
It wasn't a big dramatic thing, in fact I wasn't sure it was really a heart attack and waited until the pastor had finished his sermon before I even mentioned anything. I was going to stay for the business meeting that followed till the sweating started again. I told my husband, "I think I may need to go to the hospital." He knew I had been feeling poorly so he gathered the troops and met me at the van where I quickly told him "maybe we should just go home so I can rest." We had an extra child with us since my oldest daughter had a friend stay over the night before and we always met this family at the hospital since it was a middle point between our homes. As we arrived the nausea, chest pains, jaw pain, and profuse sweating began again so since we were at the hospital anyway I decided "I'll just go on in and have this checked out. Just in case..."
About an hour later the E.R. doctor came in and sat down next to the slab I was on that they called a bed and told me " well, it appears that you did indeed have yourself a little heart attack."
My first reaction was to laugh. I don't know why, it just was, but I stifled that reaction so that they wouldn't add insanity to my diagnosis. It still seems surreal.
Since that day I have found that one artery was blocked at 70% and another at 80%. Both have been stented and the prognosis is good as I understand it.
My husband, sisters, family, and friends have been amazing and supportive. I have had days when I felt that this must all have been a dream, days that I felt like I was run over by a truck, really tired days but mostly I have very grateful days. I keep expecting to have more of what I call A.H.A. (after heart attack) moments where I have piercing bouts of insight and wisdom, but I'm still waiting for those. I had one, just one, the Sunday after I got out of the hospital, exactly one week after the heart attack. I was washing the dishes that somehow gather after we all go to bed while waiting for my coffee to brew. I stood looking out of my window over the sink and thought "I'm so grateful that I get to wash my dishes today."
I would like to say that I have not lost my temper since that day but that isn't true. I'd like to say that I take everything with a grain of salt and perspective but even that isn't completely true, while it is more true than before. The truth is more like; I am quicker to remember that it all counts, that I'm so blessed to still be here, and that I have a purpose in God's kingdom or I wouldn't still be here.
I'm still a work in progress, as are we all. And I'm so thankful to still be "in progress".
Blessings and peace to you all,
Andora Henson, thewritingmommy
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