It felt like hours we were waiting for the ambulance ( it was really only minutes.) Once again I was hooked up to monitors and was told that I was having another heart attack. They loaded me into the ambulance and I watched my husband holding my baby standing in our driveway. I thought, what if this is the last time I see them. I panicked because I didn't kiss them goodbye. The medics had to calm me down because this time I was freaking out.
I was scared and mad and terrified. I couldn't move anything, I guess I went into shock and my limbs weren't getting enough oxygen. The amazing medics (who I can not praise enough) were able to get my breathing under control. I all the sudden was calm. I was terrified, but calm. We arrived to the hospital and I underwent a bunch more tests. Steve was able to get there quickly (luckily our neighbor's were home and took Stevie until my friend could get there.) We were both so confused. I had just left the hospital. I was supposed to be on the mend. So why the hell was I back? What did they miss? Was I on the wrong medicine? We had a million questions for the cardiologist. Once again, they didn't have a lot of answers.
I spent the next few days talking to different cardiologists and having different procedures done. I was told different things. I was so scared. I missed my girls so much. I wanted to go home, I wanted answers, I wanted this nightmare to be over.
Steve and I talked a lot about my options and what we should do. We decided we needed a second (well 5th really, but who's counting) opinion. I talked with the cardiologist that we liked and asked his recommendation and he agreed. He gave us options of places to go. We were able to go to UW cardiology, which is ranked first in the state, or Swedish Cherry Hill. Everyone was telling me UW was the obvious choice. But my gut was telling me to go to Cherry Hill. I don't know why it was, but it was and I had to go with how I felt.
The transfer took almost 36 hours. And that time was so odd. I felt fine, I didn't feel like I had a heart attack (or two for that matter.) I finally felt good enough to have the girls come visit. They were so sweet, they were gentle when they hugged me and I could see they were trying to hide their tears. I sat on the hospital bed with my two oldest and we cried together. I told them I was going to be ok and that the Dr's just wanted to run a few more tests at a fancier hospital. That those Dr's were going to do everything to try to get me home soon. It was hard looking at them and saying that because I didn't have all the answers at that point. I didn't know if and when I would be ok.
I was finally transported to Cherry Hill. I had a procedure scheduled for six but didn't arrive until after because of lovely Seattle traffic. I was exhausted and hungry (they had restricted my food due to said procedure, so I hadn't eaten in like 10 hours.) I was scared because I didn't know what my future had in store.
I met my new cardiologist shortly after I arrived. He walked right in and hugged me. He put his hand on my leg and looked right at my mom and Steve and said, "I'm going to fix your girl." He sat at the edge of my bed and talked with us. He said he and his team were going to stay late and do my procedure anyway. We talked a little more about everything that was going on and what his possible thoughts and plans were. He asked about our life, if we had kids. Something about him just put me at ease.
A normal one hour procedure turned into almost five. I was awake for most of it and terrified. About 40 minutes in I had a third heart attack. I couldn't feel my hand or legs again. All I can remember is Dr. Wescott telling me to breath that they were giving me medicine and that he found the problem. I went in and out of consciousness from that point. I remember the sound if his voice telling me I was doing good and to just hang in there. At some point I completely passed out. When I came to I was back in my hospital room. Steve and my mom were talking to the Dr in the corner. When they realized I was awake they walked over. Dr. Wescott placed his hand on mine and said with the biggest smile "You did good girl." He then looked at my mom and Steve and said " I told you I would fix your girl."
Now I'm not a super religious girl, but something sent me to this man. This man who I barely knew, but who I will dearly love for the rest of my life because he did just that, he fixed me. He placed five stints in an artery that every other Dr had said was impossible. He saved my life.
Over the next two weeks I was in a lot of pain. Like give me all the morphine type of pain. But I was fixed. I finally got to go home and be a mama again. I got to squeeze my babies and sleep next to my husband.
And it was during these three weeks that I realized that beyond everything that was going on, I was so blessed. My mother in law and her friend (who drove 4 hours to help) were taking care of our house and girls. My other friends were taking my kids for sleepovers and picking and dropping them off at school. Other friends and coworkers (mine and my husbands) were dropping off meals, groceries and sweet cards and gifts. Friends visited and sat with me, washed and brushed my hair. And my husband was so so strong. He coordinated everything and made sure he was there with me but was also there to tuck the kids in at night. He was my rock. He was the girls rock. And these people, my dearest friends and family, they became my village, my tribe, and I will forever be indebted to them.
I know people say that life is a gift and we should treasure every day. Well I say treasure every damn second. The good and the bad. Do the things you always dreamed of doing (even if it's just writing a silly blog.) Go on adventures and cuddle in bed all day. Read books and listen to music loud. Call an old friend, go on long walks and stay out late. Wake up early and do yoga and drink good wine. Do whatever the hell you want. Just remember to tell your tribe you love them every chance you get.
XO, D
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