I'm sure it's just indigestion.
I know that they gave him nitroglycerin 3 times. I know that the EKG looked weird. I know that they hooked him up to an echocardiogram. I could see the heart. I could see it wasn't working properly - the timing was off. Anyone could see that.
But as the ambulance raced towards the hospital I was sure there was an error. It was indigestion. It was a panic attack. It had to be. Right? Right. A Cardiologist would sort this out, and send us home.
Once we arrived in the ambulance bay they surrounded him. I couldn't get to him. Which was fine, because I knew as they worked they would certainly see that it was indigestion or a panic attack. There was a man walking with me as I followed, talking to me as I carried our things in a plastic bag.
"We are walking to the cath lab....we won't know how bad the heart attack is or if there is any damage for maybe an hour....a wire, hopefully in his arm....stent......and that should stop it......you will be here several days.....a map and I circled places where you can get food....Starbucks is open all night."
"Thank you but I won't remember this. I don't need the map, I'll just ask people. It's fine."
They took him into a room and stopped me at the door. I just stood there with our plastic bag of things. Me. The ambulance driver. I can hear them asking him to sign and he's asking questions. That's when a cardiologist came out and shut the door behind him.
"You have to stay here."
"Ok."
"Your husband is having a heart attack. We are going to put a stent in. We will know how severe it is in about 30 minutes to an hour and a half."
And he was gone. It was just me, the nurses, and the ambulance driver.
"I guess I should call his mom?"
And that's how my summer began. Me calling my mother in law to tell her that her 39 year old son, who we both love, was having a heart attack. The guy that goes to the gym everyday. The guy that has run marathons. The guy that qualified for Boston and ran it more than once. The wrestling coach. The football coach. That guy, was having a heart attack.
In that moment, something strange happened. Some level of consciousness was breached. I have a son and I am married to someone's son. I knew and understood suddenly the overwhelming emotions that come with finding out that something unexpected has happened to your child. The need to get to them and get there quickly. The unknown. All of it.
The second people I called were my parents. I often still look back on the text messages that we exchanged that day. Me arranging care for Josiah while my husband who felt "weird" gets checked out at urgent care. Me telling them we are now at the ER. Them offering to come. Me telling them we are in an ambulance so don't bother going anywhere. And my favorite "Ok, not so good here. He's having a heart attack." Epic text message. Legendary.
The third person I called was Bobby Shriner. We prayed on the phone. I am sorry to say that I didn't pray first. I would like to think that I would do that. But my brain was frozen. I was immobilized. I needed someone else to do it for me, with me. We prayed for God to guide the hands of the doctors, and when we said amen, the cardiologist reappeared.
"He's fine. No problems. Very strong heart muscles. One branch off the coronary artery was 100% blocked. But not anymore."
100% blocked.
But not anymore.
And later another cardiologist came to talk to us in the waiting room. Two sets of worried parents, Bobby Shriner, and my sister in law who I needed to see and joke with more than I knew at the time. I needed the tension broken. It was almost midnight and I was having my first meal in 12 hours. The Cardiologist told us what they did, how it worked, that we would need cardiac rehab and that we would be at the hospital for at least 3 days.
All while I ate. I ate like I had never eaten before. All while this discussion was going on. I was sitting there, across from the cardiologist that saved my husband's life, eating a cheeseburger slider from a gas station like it was my last meal.
"I know you just saved my husband's life and all but I'm going to finish this cheeseburger and I'm going to finish it right in front of you and I don't care."
"That's ok. You won't want them anymore after this."
This is now the summer of not anymore.
We are scared. We are traumatized. We are loved. We are reevaluating. We are in awe of the people God has surrounded us with. The out pouring of love. Love I didn't even know that I needed.
Seriously, folks kept offering food and I was all like no thanks, we're good. We're good? What was I thinking? Thanks anyways, major life altering event here but it's all good. No worries. It was a few days into the hospital stay that I finally admitted we needed help. And allowed the help to happen. And that allowed me to really fully understand what had happened. Not indigestion. Not a panic attack. A heart attack. That if he had gone home and slept it off he would have died. So thank you to all those that loved us both through this. You have allowed me the ability for once to fully absorb everything.
The summer of not anymore is 12 weeks of cardio rehab. 12 weeks of 3 times a week doing a prescribed exercise program hooked up to machines. And classes - stress management and nutrition. That food binging we did in NYC? Yeah.....this summer is not that. Not that at all....
So the man who loves to workout, still gets to workout, just in a different way. Which is good.
The summer of not anymore is also about appointments. We have lots of appointments. Everything is scheduled, not just Josiah's naps, but cardiologist appointments, follow ups, medication management, even I am having the dreaded tests done on my blood. The results were fine by the way. You have no idea how grateful we are each day to live in this area. All of our appointments are right here.
The summer of not anymore is about slowing down and feeling joy. It's about playing with Josiah in the river. It's about watching him grow and try new things every single day. It's about being able to laugh about things. For example getting in the mail the day your return home from the hospital from having a heart attack a letter that tells you that your marathon time may have qualified you for a discount in insurance.
The summer of not anymore is oatmeal over bacon. Grilled chicken over fried. Vegetables over pepperoni. It's the summer of figuring out how to include seafood. It's fresh fruit instead of ice cream for dessert. And hamburgers only sometimes. It's hummus, whole grains, and leaning about co-op boxes of locally grown produce and how to prepare it.
Because it's not just the two of us anymore.
I know that they gave him nitroglycerin 3 times. I know that the EKG looked weird. I know that they hooked him up to an echocardiogram. I could see the heart. I could see it wasn't working properly - the timing was off. Anyone could see that.
But as the ambulance raced towards the hospital I was sure there was an error. It was indigestion. It was a panic attack. It had to be. Right? Right. A Cardiologist would sort this out, and send us home.
Once we arrived in the ambulance bay they surrounded him. I couldn't get to him. Which was fine, because I knew as they worked they would certainly see that it was indigestion or a panic attack. There was a man walking with me as I followed, talking to me as I carried our things in a plastic bag.
"We are walking to the cath lab....we won't know how bad the heart attack is or if there is any damage for maybe an hour....a wire, hopefully in his arm....stent......and that should stop it......you will be here several days.....a map and I circled places where you can get food....Starbucks is open all night."
"Thank you but I won't remember this. I don't need the map, I'll just ask people. It's fine."
They took him into a room and stopped me at the door. I just stood there with our plastic bag of things. Me. The ambulance driver. I can hear them asking him to sign and he's asking questions. That's when a cardiologist came out and shut the door behind him.
"You have to stay here."
"Ok."
"Your husband is having a heart attack. We are going to put a stent in. We will know how severe it is in about 30 minutes to an hour and a half."
And he was gone. It was just me, the nurses, and the ambulance driver.
"I guess I should call his mom?"
And that's how my summer began. Me calling my mother in law to tell her that her 39 year old son, who we both love, was having a heart attack. The guy that goes to the gym everyday. The guy that has run marathons. The guy that qualified for Boston and ran it more than once. The wrestling coach. The football coach. That guy, was having a heart attack.
In that moment, something strange happened. Some level of consciousness was breached. I have a son and I am married to someone's son. I knew and understood suddenly the overwhelming emotions that come with finding out that something unexpected has happened to your child. The need to get to them and get there quickly. The unknown. All of it.
The second people I called were my parents. I often still look back on the text messages that we exchanged that day. Me arranging care for Josiah while my husband who felt "weird" gets checked out at urgent care. Me telling them we are now at the ER. Them offering to come. Me telling them we are in an ambulance so don't bother going anywhere. And my favorite "Ok, not so good here. He's having a heart attack." Epic text message. Legendary.
The third person I called was Bobby Shriner. We prayed on the phone. I am sorry to say that I didn't pray first. I would like to think that I would do that. But my brain was frozen. I was immobilized. I needed someone else to do it for me, with me. We prayed for God to guide the hands of the doctors, and when we said amen, the cardiologist reappeared.
"He's fine. No problems. Very strong heart muscles. One branch off the coronary artery was 100% blocked. But not anymore."
100% blocked.
But not anymore.
And later another cardiologist came to talk to us in the waiting room. Two sets of worried parents, Bobby Shriner, and my sister in law who I needed to see and joke with more than I knew at the time. I needed the tension broken. It was almost midnight and I was having my first meal in 12 hours. The Cardiologist told us what they did, how it worked, that we would need cardiac rehab and that we would be at the hospital for at least 3 days.
All while I ate. I ate like I had never eaten before. All while this discussion was going on. I was sitting there, across from the cardiologist that saved my husband's life, eating a cheeseburger slider from a gas station like it was my last meal.
"I know you just saved my husband's life and all but I'm going to finish this cheeseburger and I'm going to finish it right in front of you and I don't care."
"That's ok. You won't want them anymore after this."
This is now the summer of not anymore.
We are scared. We are traumatized. We are loved. We are reevaluating. We are in awe of the people God has surrounded us with. The out pouring of love. Love I didn't even know that I needed.
Seriously, folks kept offering food and I was all like no thanks, we're good. We're good? What was I thinking? Thanks anyways, major life altering event here but it's all good. No worries. It was a few days into the hospital stay that I finally admitted we needed help. And allowed the help to happen. And that allowed me to really fully understand what had happened. Not indigestion. Not a panic attack. A heart attack. That if he had gone home and slept it off he would have died. So thank you to all those that loved us both through this. You have allowed me the ability for once to fully absorb everything.
The summer of not anymore is 12 weeks of cardio rehab. 12 weeks of 3 times a week doing a prescribed exercise program hooked up to machines. And classes - stress management and nutrition. That food binging we did in NYC? Yeah.....this summer is not that. Not that at all....
So the man who loves to workout, still gets to workout, just in a different way. Which is good.
The summer of not anymore is also about appointments. We have lots of appointments. Everything is scheduled, not just Josiah's naps, but cardiologist appointments, follow ups, medication management, even I am having the dreaded tests done on my blood. The results were fine by the way. You have no idea how grateful we are each day to live in this area. All of our appointments are right here.
The summer of not anymore is about slowing down and feeling joy. It's about playing with Josiah in the river. It's about watching him grow and try new things every single day. It's about being able to laugh about things. For example getting in the mail the day your return home from the hospital from having a heart attack a letter that tells you that your marathon time may have qualified you for a discount in insurance.
The summer of not anymore is oatmeal over bacon. Grilled chicken over fried. Vegetables over pepperoni. It's the summer of figuring out how to include seafood. It's fresh fruit instead of ice cream for dessert. And hamburgers only sometimes. It's hummus, whole grains, and leaning about co-op boxes of locally grown produce and how to prepare it.
Because it's not just the two of us anymore.
Thank you, Hope, for sharing this incredible journey with us.
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