Women and Heart Disease: The Heart of a Woman

It has been about a week since my last blog: as is so often the case, the good news and the bad news are the same... I just spent a few days in the hospital and had the usual diagnostic tests -- stress test (pharmacologic - ugh!) and my tenth angiogram. Yikes! Although I have had odd and disquieting symptoms for two weeks, MY VESSELS LOOKED BETTER THAN EVER! I have actually improved over time (just passed the eleven-year mark), establishing some blood flow in the area where there was a 30% deficit. Amazing! And off to cardiac rehab again... another adventure?! I'll let you know. On to The Heart of a Woman, in mid-chapter 3 of the manuscript...

By later in the evening of my admission, everyone went home and I tried to rest. I really did not know what to do with myself, still rejecting the notion that I was precisely where I belonged. I just felt too well to be in a hospital. I had a history of sleeping poorly and occasionally had availed myself of mild pills when deemed essential. I requested one at about two in the morning, and finally lapsed into sleep. Sleep was a welcome relief from the conflicting thoughts that plague any patient embroiled in such unsettling, confusing and dismaying array of thoughts. I was fortunate to have had sufficient experience to know to ask for this artificial relief and would urge others to similarly avail themselves.

Who Ordered a Sequel?: The Importance of a Support System

In actuality, the pain that brought me to the ER was never documented as a heart attack because not enough time passed between the first test and the next shock: I awoke less than two hours later, despite the strength of the medication. I had developed incredibly severe pain in my chest and down my arm, much more the expected signs we are supposed to identify but most typical in men: unmistakably, indubitably, undeniably I was in the midst of a serious heart attack, despite whatever observation I was supposed to have been given. If ever there is a time that one wishes for reverie and instead is hit full in the face with harsh reality, this is that moment.
I was taken to the CCU - Coronary Care Unit - but it did not seem like much was being done for me during this drama. I was given morphine and I can't remember how long it was before the pain began to subside. I had called my house where both my husband and daughter were on the alert, and they arrived quickly. I remember being sponge-bathed early in the morning, but not understanding why, guessing that it was a relaxation tool or perhaps just bath-time on the unit, but I accepted it as a kind, soothing gesture. What I did not know was that my family was waiting for the cardiac catheterization lab to open so that I could be taken in for an angiogram, a video-displayed, radiographic visualization of my heart vessels. I remember lying on a gurney waiting to be taken into the lab. My family members were overwhelmingly sweet and supportive, but their faces reflected such strain and fear. Through the haze of sedation, I was unable to comprehend thoroughly what was happening, to them or to me. I only found out recently that the wait was far from brief, spanning nearly twelve hours.
It is astounding to note that this physical fuzziness is so common. Part of it is intentionally induced by the caregivers, but there is often an ever-present force commanding the patient to withdraw from his or her unwanted, starring role in this grade B, cinema verite, autobiographical film.
My bright, precious, mature, loving, frightened daughter, was about to be called upon to rally and make decisions about my treatment, all the while aware that I could die. Our uniquely close relationship was and is so important to both of us. The mutual love we have always had for each other, born of real affection coupled with her need for me and my intense, maternal feeling for her, was responsible for her incredibly agonizing fear. I found it unbearable to the point of tears, yet I was in too vulnerable a position to help her, perhaps for the first time in her life. This was our first role-reversal.
My mother was immersed in maintaining her stoic veneer, trying to carry herself through an experience that still remains indescribable. We are mutual lifelines, anchors for each other, best friends, and now she had to hold herself together in the face of this life-threatening scenario with me as cause, not resource person. She was gentle and loving, holding my hand, touching my face, but I could feel the apprehension right through her tender touch.
Of course her stoicism belied her real feelings and paved the way to a peculiar side effect: she became unable to take in the information offered by the team, her granddaughter, her son-in-law. This insightful, intelligent, curious woman had turned off to the point that she became "stupid" - her word. No amount of repetition broke through the wall of protection, not for several least days.
Other signs of her distress revealed themselves on several occasions. Families often argue their way through turmoil, with tragedy eliciting both the worst and the best in them. There were times when she was responsible for unwittingly alienating some important visitors, including my brother. Apparently she felt that he was lecturing me, out of his own fear, no doubt, but rather than checking with me, she tried to have him pull away. There is little the patient can do in these family situations without encountering the double-edged sword of hurting one person while protecting another. There was another incident two days later involving my friend's twelve-year-old son who was bouncing on my bed and playing with the controls. She decided that he was causing me damage, despite my telling her that I was happy for the distraction he provided. My friend and source of strength, clarity and wisdom, with whom the saga had actually begun three days previously, witnessed the episode, her role uncertain, her feelings deep. Days later my daughter told me that she was the recipient of this special friend's total support. It was neither the first nor the last time that she would be called upon to capably play this crucial role. Even though my husband tried to comfort my daughter, he was frightened, unaccustomed to hospital protocol, trying to keep his composure. What a complex cast of characters and such love, good intentions and emotional effort.