The Heart of a Woman

This is the central portion of Chapter 3 and speaks for itself, if you have been reading all along. It speaks loudly, with a ring of truth and might help anyone who is in denial in the midst of a terrifying situation. Perhaps it should be entitled: "It's Not Just a Toe, You Know"! Read on... please...

I still did not believe that I had had a heart attack, so there practically seemed to be no point in my being admitted in the first place. No one would advocate this level of denial, but most people have met with it, particularly when dire predictions surface. In any case, within about two hours, my daughter arrived, trying not to look grim with concern in front of me, and I let my annoyance be more demonstrable than any threat at hand. But she had graduated from Mount Sinai Medical School in New York, and was in an arduous four-year residency program in obstetrics and gynecology and just plain knew too much! I would never be able to quell her fears or take away her anticipatory pain. To this day, despite reassurance from top medical people, she feels palpably worried that she could lose me. Tears flow as I write. I understand those fears, having experienced them with numerous scares involving my own mother, with whom I am extremely close. In an effort to fool her and pull her from shock, terror and dismay, I summoned what I thought looked like a real smile, designed to hide my own fear; I feigned an energy that did not exist. Of course I didn’t know that my pallor and quietude were giving away my little secret! I could not bear her natural reactions and so sought to save both of us by not expressing my real feelings. When a cherished family member is disturbed, it may be natural to extend comfort toward him/her, but this is one time that it is perfectly acceptable to put yourself first. The family's energy is operating at full speed in your direction and you need to allow yourself to derive all you can from them to enhance your own recovery. I call this self-ish-ness - the capacity and necessity of taking care of the self, separate from the kind of selfishness that intentionally avoids noticing the needs of others. This is your time and the more self-love you possess the more able you will be to absorb the loving thoughts and gestures of your family and friends. They will cherish the opportunity, for it will limit their feelings of helplessness and increase their ability to provide for your needs during your on-going struggle. My adult daughter's only concern was for me and she would rely on her friends and mine and our family in the interim. All of this was anathema to me in the moment, but inescapably true.
I have no idea how long it was before I was brought to a bed on the telemetry floor, where every patient wears a device that monitors the heart, transmitting information in the form of ECG waves onto a computer screen at the nurses' station. Time loses meaning as all effort is utilized to comprehend or at least begin to absorb your new situation. I was settled in, a new IV in place, under observation, surrounded by mother, daughter, husband and too many thoughts to fit into even the largest tome. This was serious business after all.
By nightfall - this had begun at 1:30 in the afternoon - I had at last accepted that I was not going anywhere. The trip to visit Romania, my husband's native land, had been cancelled. I felt terrible for him, although for the first time in my life I had mysteriously not been looking forward to leaving. He had habitually quipped to everyone we knew that I needed ten minutes to prepare for a vacation: five minutes to jump up and down and five more to pack! Not this time. I was unnaturally unenthusiastic. Even in the midst of our denial, we are more knowing at times like this than we give ourselves credit for, and yet I heard myself seriously suggesting that he try to re-book the trip, postponing it for a few days. I was the only one who thought that this was reality-based, others’ prognostications leaving me annoyed. I was already doing just fine, thank you, and gave no credence to the assumption that hospitalization was even necessary, let alone that it would be protracted. I had not yet become "a patient" and wanted to reach consensus on the likelihood of the test results confirming that I was not in any danger. We would remain packed and all would be well.
I could not have been more mistaken, but this reaction is predominant among sane folks who have not yet resigned themselves to reality, which I believe applies to most of us who are in the throes of such confounding situations.
Part of the standard regimen on telemetry involved having a nitroglycerin patch adhered to my upper chest, designed to reverse or control possible blood vessel constriction, but it induced a severe headache, the most commonly experienced side effect. I complained to an intern who proclaimed that it was "all in my head", that I was "just another hysterical woman" and should calm down because I probably had nothing wrong with me anyway. Well, I knew where the literal pain was, but objected vehemently to the vacuous, accusatory, condescending attitude he conveyed. I wanted to call his supervising physician - and his mother! - to express my consternation, but settled for Tylenol finally administered by a nurse. This was not to be my last encounter with the tall, young, misguided neophyte. Whether because it is easier not to deal with (in)human beings like him or just not a worthy exercise, the idea of summoning the nerve to contend with him, although at a later point, had merit.