The Sum of All Fears - The Saga Continues, Part III

We made it …. Done with the waiting. That “Friday” finally arrived! We were entering the new building where the pediatric cardiologist “lived”.  I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve been going to specialists for so long now that I’ve forgotten what it was like visiting for the first time.  But this was different. I’m not the patient in this office.  I am the parent.  In stark contrast to my visits to the doc….  I felt anxious. Uneasy. Not comfortable. Almost sick to my stomach.  The thought of one of my beautiful, God-given children being diagnosed with heart disease makes me physically ill.  When I would stop to ponder those thoughts for any amount of time, I couldn’t help but get choked up and tears would well up in my eyes. I was feeling completely responsible for passing that mutant gene along to my kids…. UGH….

As I sat with my kids in the waiting room, I tried to take it all in… the sights. The sounds.  What was striking to me were the seemingly healthy kids of various ages.  There were several newborns, a couple new crawlers, a toddler, and a few preschoolers and a couple older kids. Ethnicity varied from patient to patient.  I wondered what was going through the parents minds.  Where they a little sick to their stomachs? Did they experience guilt for passing something on to their new babies? Or were they being seen for something completely out of left field… where they angry about it? Were they scared? I wondered if they lost sleep the night before. I wondered if any shed any tears. I can tell you I rode a wave of emotion.  One moment I was diverting the looks of my children because I was choking back tears and the next moment I was fine – because I was scolding one of them for something appalling – like whining. 

The appointment starting off with a 45 minute wait in the lobby.  Then we were called back to triage where height and weight measurements were taken along with 12-lead EKG’s. The boys were quite uncomfortable taking their shirts off in front of the nurse – they giggled nervously (I wonder how long they will be like that?). Both my kids are incredibly ticklish so they giggled and squirmed through the sticky pieces being placed on their bodies – not to mention complain a little because they were so cold!  I must admit – they are right!   It was a little anti-climatic when we were asked to return to the lobby to continue to wait. But what were we gonna do? Rebel? Begin a picket line? Pitch a fit? Right… I would never do that (besides that never worked for me before).  

We were finally called up to the BIGS…. We were all put in a room and we were questioned by the nurse – she pressed us about my history and then my family history.  And then the doctor arrived.  A vertically challenged, Asian man with a big smile, oversized glasses and a bow tie arrived on the scene.  He asked us similar questions about my heart disease and family history.  He asked the boys who wanted to go first. My oldest jumped at the chance to go first. Brave? Sure.  But he relishes the ability to be bigger, better, first over his little brother. It’s a thing.  The oldest did great.

My youngest was only a little apprehensive about taking his shirt off again… but he climbed right up on the exam table without any assistance and lay down.  Both were great patients. The 4 year old asked an incredibly intelligent question of the doctor.  “So what is the “goo” for?”  The doctor explained patiently to him what the ‘goo’ was for… I think TJ lost interest about midway through when he was trying to explain sound waves.  The boys were mesmerized by the gray, fuzzy shadows and patterns the doctor said was their heart. Both seemed only to mind the procedure when it was time to wipe off the “goo”.  Of course, the “goo” was cold by then.  

The doc said that both hearts were structurally sound, pumping and valve function look good and strong. The electrical disturbance Hunter experienced was not captured therefore, not diagnosed. The doc indicated that we should return if the frequency of the “hard” beats increases otherwise return in 5 years for another evaluation.

I asked why it is so difficult to get to see a cardiologist – his reply is that it shouldn’t be.  I already knew that answer.  So, we all shook hands and I returned to work after agreeing to meet up later for dinner.  My boys and their dad went shopping for my “early” birthday present.  I met them at one of our favorite restaurants. As we were beginning to dive into the food, Hunter puts his fork down and says, “Mommy, feel my chest.”  UGH….. the saga continues.... God is in CONTROL!!

A Lab Rat Goes To Cleveland...

Yes! This lab rat (me) is taking the show on the road. I’m headed the Cleveland, Ohio on Sunday.  If someone were to ask me, where would you like to take a week’s vacation, most folks would have replied, somewhere in the Caribbean, New York City in the spring, or the beach somewhere. But NOOOO, I am going to Cleveland, Ohio. Cleveland.  Cleveland is the county seat of Cuyahoga County that sits on the southern shore of Lake Erie and is only about 60 miles from Pennsylvania. Cleveland is home to culturally diverse groups such as Indians (baseball), Browns (football), Cavaliers (basketball) and the lesser known Monsters (hockey), Gladiators (arena football) and the wildly popular, Crush (lingerie football).  Cleveland is a frequent stop on the food network!  An Iron Chef hails from Cleveland and the area touts its own Little Italy. It could be love for me!  Cleveland is home to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Drew Carey, television show, Hot in Cleveland and upcoming superhero movie The Avengers.  Who knew Cleveland would be so diverse and colorful??

Cleveland is also known for the world renowned Cleveland Clinic. Cleveland Clinic is in the top 4 hospitals in the country (so says the US News & World Report) and is ranked #1 for cardiac care 16 years in a row.  They are well known for their complex and difficult case management and resolution…. And they haven’t even met me yet.

The doctors in my local hospitals and clinics are very good. However, my illness seems to have advanced beyond the available technology and experience that is available nearby.  It’s NEVER good when a medical doctor shrugs their shoulders and says, “I don’t know how I can help you.”  We count on the doctors to “fix” things. They went to school. They studied. They studied for years. They have degrees. They have certifications. They have taken and hopefully passed exams.  Yet still, not every patient fits inside the “box”. That dreaded little “box” that I have battle with every time I visit a medical professional. It’s the “T & D Box”… treatment and diagnosis.  I don’t fit.  I have been called “contrary,” “difficult,” “challenging,” “resistant,” “puzzling,” “perplexing”.   Like putting a cat in a bath tub – resistant?? I've always thought I was rather amenable.  Apparently not! 

After much investigation, review and discussion with my fellow “complicated” patients – we decided that Cleveland Clinic is my next step.

Oh well.  The flight leaves on Sunday for my next adventure.  I’m heading up… Up? Up and over? to Cleveland – alone. (Insert music from Three Dog Night “One is the Loneliest Number”).  The kids have too much going on for us to expect a “fill in” to manage on their own.  So, the hubby will attempt to jockey my care from 700 miles away.  Not an easy feat for a guy that truly relishes ‘fixing things’ and taking care of me. 

I am excited…. Cautiously optimistic. Apprehensive. Nervous. Juiced Up about the trip. 

I’ll keep you posted. Stay tuned. Same Bat time. Same Bat channel. Peace! Out!

The Sum of All Fears... Part 2

As you may remember, where we left off was … WAITING! Waiting for the blood work and EKG results from last week.  We were told that we should hear something from ‘someone’ by Thursday or Friday.  Often, when we press for more information about the ‘someone’ who will be calling, I am met with silence and or a long “uhhhhhhh.”  I can only assume that most patients accept the fact the unidentified ‘someone’ will be calling them.  Maybe most folks are happy that they will be receiving a phone call… from ‘anyone’.  Even this guy??


I’m dating myself now… I digress. 

Thursday came and went without a peep from ‘someone’.  Friday arrived.  Of course the call to my husband’s cell phone occurred when he was on the riding lawn mower at the athletic park where the kids play sports…. He didn’t hear the phone ring when that ‘someone’ was trying to call him THREE times.

He finally connected with the ‘someone’ who was trying to reach him. In fact, this time, that ‘someone’ was the boy’s pediatrician.  Of course the blood work and EKG for Hunter was COMPLETELY NORMAL! PTL! However, since there is a ‘dramatic’ family history of cardiac issues, the DOCTOR is recommending that BOTH boys see a pediatric cardiologist for full cardiac workup.  I’m SOOOOO glad she thought of it! Geeesh!  The pediatrician also recommends that we consult a genetic counselor. Ohhh goodie!  That’s  Lovely!  Ok – genetic counseling can sometimes help predict whether they will develop that heart condition in the future. Maybe.  But basically we will be attempting to determine if I inherited the same mutant gene and passed it to my beautiful boys.

There is so much that is unknown about cardiac stuff (yes, I said “stuff”… I use it as a technical term), it’s scary.  Protocols and procedures that used to be prescribed to treat certain heart diseases are now known as being detrimental to the patient and their prognosis.  Currently, I have not been diagnosed with ANY genetic heart diseases and I have NO structural defect that I am aware of that would cause concern either.  

My point to all the blathering???  Why is it so difficult to have my boys evaluated? Especially, in light of the fact, I am willing to pay for it, out of pocket!! Why do I have to suggest such an evaluation to a pediatrician my youngest has had since birth and my oldest since he was 3? 

And furthermore…. Why are kids not required to have a physical and full cardiac workup every year?? Why do we not require it as discerning parents? Why do we allow a physician that may see your kid once or twice a year make potentially life-altering decisions about your child’s care? I mean, let’s face it folks, some of us struggled to have babies. Some of us struggle to keep our kids healthy. Some of us struggle not to pop the little ankle-biters in the back of the head on a regular basis.  I say again…. WHY??  

This coming Friday, we are taking BOTH boys to the pediatric cardiologist.  I’m so glad they thought of it!! 

More to come! 

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The Sum of All Fears...

I have a few “fears”…. I guess we all do. Or we’re lying about it. I remember being a kid and being afraid of walking to my bed when the light was off.  I couldn’t reach the light switch from my bed and I didn’t like sleeping with the light on. My fix to that situation was to leap like an Olympian from the doorway to my bed. I was quite good at it. What exactly is fear?  The online dictionary I use frequently says, “ Fear, noun, (1) a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined;”  It’s important to note that the definition painfully points out “real or imagined.”  Fear.  I also have an unnatural fear of flying insects that look angry and have the capability to sting me since being stung multiple times by really ticked off wasps as a youngster (my sister’s fault).  

Fear.  My battle with heart disease began when I was in labor with my first child and continued to deteriorate over time and with my second pregnancy.  For almost 9 years, I have silently feared that somehow I passed along a mutant gene that would cause my child(ren) to inherit various shapes and forms of heart disease since then.   Over the years, I’ve often been asked if I passed my disease along to my children or if I inherited my ‘heart issues’ from my parents.   As I spoke the words, “No…. my heart conditions are not considered hereditary,” I often wondered in the back of my head if that was really true.

Fear.  Last Friday night, after finally settling the kids into bed, my oldest son…. Very handsome, intense, funny, dramatic, athletic, 8 year old (almost 9) boy says, “Mommy, come feel my chest.”  I immediately became sick to my stomach.  Somehow, I intuitively knew what that meant. Each step toward the bed where he was laying felt like I had on cement shoes (which isn’t out of the realm of possibility since I am Italian).  I sat on the edge of the bed. His small hand reached for mine and placed it ever so gently on his chest.  I closed my eyes and drew in and held a long breath.   It felt as if my head would implode as I felt to all too familiar hard and irregular heartbeats in his chest.  I wanted to scoop him up, squeeze him tightly and collapse in a fit of fear and rage.  I was so relieved that the room was dark to prevent him seeing the blood drain from my body.   I choked back the tears and suggested that he just relax and take a few deep breaths.  I tried to reassure him that what he was experiencing was quite normal for many people, including kids. Which is true… doctors have told me that for years… I’ve regurgitated that when asked to speak for groups or at meetings….  Or when I’ve been asked in one-on-one conversations.  After several minutes, his heartbeat seemed to return to normal.  I was leaving the room as he was drifting off to sleep I remembered I was holding my breath. As I closed the door behind me, I gasped for a breath and was quickly reduced to a heap on the living room floor.  I could hear me talking to out loud, reassuring myself that this was quite normal, and to be safe I would call the doctor to schedule a physical and a heart evaluation (to include a blood pressure evaluation, 12-lead EKG (electrocardiogram) and an echocardiogram, AKA echo).  All of that would certainly quell my fear. Right?

My husband suggested that he take the boy to the pediatrician and when we arrived at the cardiologist stage…. THEN I would attend. Only after I gave him several minutes of both verbal and written instruction, I conceded.  The appointment was scheduled for Wednesday.  As I suspected, the pediatrician did not hear anything abnormal when listening to my son’s heart through a stethoscope.  Ain’t that always the way??  This is when my hubby was informed that the pediatrician cannot order an echo. The only way to have an echo is to jump through several hoops that would make any circus clown cringe.  After a quick consult with my husband over the phone, I asked him to jump through those hoops.  So off they went.  Hoop #1: blood work.  Completely expected yet despised by the kid.  Somehow, when a needle is produced within a 10-foot radius, the kid develops super human strength that would rival that of a comic book hero.  Hoop #2: leave the hospital building where the pediatrician’s office is and transport the now ‘jabbed’ and VERY suspicious kid to a different local hospital to be seen by a technician to conduct the 12-lead EKG.

EKG’s are relatively painless with the exception of the removal of the hairs on your arms, legs and chest where the sticky pieces for the electrodes go and are often removed abruptly by the tech  – it’s all good.  Hoop #3: WAIT.  Ugh!  Apparently, the process is to have the EKG done…. Then wait for someone, a Cardiologist hopefully, to read the report, then hopefully said Cardiologist with call the pediatrician and discuss the results.  Most people I know…. Don’t do well with the wait… but that’s where we are. Allegedly, if the EKG is “normal”, which I completely expect it to be…. We do not qualify for an echocardiogram regardless of our willingness to pay for it out of our own pocket.  Of course, I got hot and bothered over that information.  After my husband talked me down from that ledge, I agreed to wait for the results of the EKG and THEN ask/tell the pediatrician we want to have the boy evaluated by a cardiologist… if THAT is what is necessary to get this kid an echo, that I willing to pay out of pocket for.

I don’t understand.  An estimated 20 young, active kids die EVERY day in the U.S. from sudden cardiac death for various reasons. Cardiologists know that you cannot detect a structural defect by listening to the heart or seeing how it behaves in an EKG. Some conditions may be detected that way, but not all.  We also know that electrical issues in the heart that cause irregular heart beat (aka arrhythmias) are incredibly difficult to diagnose. I get the fact that we are tied to the medical insurance rules and regulations.  But I’ve already told you that I will pay for the echocardiogram out of my own purse… So tell me again, WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?? Listen, I am all about playing by the rules. The rules are there for a reason.  Respect the rules!  Where I get sideways is when the rules DON’T MAKE SENSE.   There is a FAMILY HISTORY (risk factor) of heart disease. The kid had an “event” (risk factor). I’m willing to bear the costs associated with getting him tested (obstacle)! Let’s do this!

I’m not any different from many of you, my stupendous readers!  I’m a pseudo-normal, funny, passionate, understanding parent until….. you mess with my kids.  Then I become, a finger pointing, voice-raising, head shaking, “Oh no you didn’t”, kinda mom that tends to become terse and very outspoken.  I’ll own that. Don’t. Mess. With. My. Kids.  So… in the meantime, I will do my best to continue jumping through the hoops in order to ensure my kid is ok. I will not rest until I do.  My advice to you? Do NOT take no for an answer.  Think about it this way… NEVER put yourself in a position to say, “I should have___________ but now it’s too late!”  I love ya peeps!! Peace. Out.

This Sums It Up...

I’ve experienced several defining moments over the course of the last 8 years.  Most women are released from the hospital soon after the birth of a child. Unfortunately, for me, this was not the case. I spent ten days in the hospital fighting for my life. After delivery of my first child, I suffered dangerously fluctuating heart rates between 300 – 400 beats per minute. The doctors told my husband that there was nothing they could do for me. Amazingly, after four days in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, my heart reverted to somewhat of a normal heart rate on its own. At 35 years old I was diagnosed with Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. After numerous attempts to correct the arrhythmias surgically, I opted to have my first pacemaker implanted.

After the birth of my second child four years later, I was misdiagnosed pregnancy induced asthma, bronchitis and pneumonia. In the meantime, my mother passed away only 4 weeks after the baby was born. Two and a half years pass (December 2009) and I find myself driving to the emergency room at 4 a.m.  I was diagnosed with postpartum cardiomyopathy and congestive heart failure.  For the second time in my life I was told that there wasn’t much more they could do for me.  These additional diagnoses led to numerous cardiac and diuretic medications and the implantation of a second device, a biventricular pacemaker with an internal cardioverter defibrillator.  So basically, I have had 8 cardiac procedures in 7 years…. With two small children and a professional career I was attempting to maintain.

Despite all the challenges, I am grateful and obstinate! I refuse to allow my broken heart to defeat me. The love of my family and the support from my friends reinforces my passion for living life and promoting heart awareness.  You need to know that “heart disease has no regard for age, gender or ethnicity – but no matter what – keep fighting!” I’ve become an American Heart Association volunteer and Advocacy Leader. I’ve spoken at several AHA events over the last years.

In my spare time… I am married and have a two energetic and talkative boys; Hunter, 8 and Tanner (a.k.a T.J.) 4.  We are VERY involved in their sports and church. Other than that - well – I have no spare time so nevermind. I strive for balance, harmony, health and internal peace.  A tall order is an understatement.  But I am hopeful! Be blessed! Peace!

The Kid Is Just Trying to Make a Buck!

I have worked for as long as I can remember.  I was quite an enterprising youngster with keen negotiating and survival skills.  My first enterprise was to negotiate or extort compensation for the evil deeds my siblings might have been involved in that our parents were not aware of.  However, my mission statement needed to be rethought when it became hazardous to my health to continue with that venture.  I believed my next venture would be more fruitful.  I embarked on a project that involved obtaining compensation for the ‘other duties (a.k.a. chores) as assigned’ by my parents.  It was about that time my father decided I was old enough to pay rent plus utilities and food.  We inevitably settled out of court.  I cannot comment any further on that issue without violating the terms of the settlement. At which point I became the car washer, babysitter for the neighborhood and scorekeeper, timekeeper, and Administrative Assistant for a local basketball league until I was of legal age to pursue corporate opportunities.

At the age of 13 my parents decided to retire and move across the country to Arizona so they could play golf every day. I begged everyone I came into contact with to allow me to move in with them in order to avoid the move – unsuccessfully.  Shortly, thereafter, I found myself kicking and screaming in the backseat of a Buick Riviera driving for FIVE days.  To date, I can’t stand driving long distances.

The first real paycheck paying employment was my dream job at the age of 15.  It involved ice cream. No one could put the Dairy Queen curl on the ice cream cones like I could.  It could not get better than that.  Unfortunately, my first big corporate experience involved my unforeseen release from D.Q. due to a corporate restructure (Ha! Summer was over).   The ensuing couple of years were blurred with a myriad of jobs and employers; sales associate at a retail store at my favorite mall, weekend secretary at an airport, hostess at a restaurant, weekend PBX switchboard operator. Finally, after a series of interviews, letters of recommendation from my teachers and guidance counselor, and review of my grade point average I was given the opportunity to go to work in a Cooperative Education Program at First Interstate Bank of Arizona during my senior year of High School.  Being the shrewd corporate player, I of course seized the opportunity.  It paid $4.15 per hour.  I wasn’t crazy.   I was offered a permanent position with the Bank midway through the nine-month program. That opportunity lasted for nine years. At one point, I was the youngest Manager and Bank Officer in the Southern Region.  I was also attempting to put myself through college on a sometimes full-time sometimes part-time basis.  Anyone familiar with being on the 10 year plan? Soon thereafter, I was promoted into Human Resources.  I have been in various positions in H.R. ever since.  My second big corporate experience involved my unforeseen release from First Interstate Bank due to bank acquisition – that was a rarity.

What's A Little Nausea Among Friends?!

It all began with a slight fever, body aches, nausea and a visit to the doctor’s office with what she thought was the flu.  After hearing, “Fortunately, Mrs. Rossi you don’t have the flu.  The rabbit died (which was code back in the 60's for.... You are pregnant!)”  My mother swears she broke down in tears and continued to cry for three months.  Please understand she is a wonderful mother.  However, she believed her child-bearing years to have gone by.  Mother already had four children…. ten years prior.  She announced the good news at the dinner table where my loving father, three brothers and sister, aged 14, 13, 12, and 10 were inhaling their food before someone else began eating off of their plate.  After my mother shared the news, my father rejoiced by exclaiming, “What?! How can that be?!  I wasn’t even home!”  I believe this is where I got my sense of humor.  My siblings were quite excited.  My sister was especially thrilled…she always wanted a little sister… until I actually arrived and she was met square in the face with the fact that she was not the “baby” of the family any longer.  Someone else was the center of all the attention.  And so it began… my sister began plotting my demise.  Recently, after 40 +/- years, my not-so-loving sister admitted to have flung me out of the old-timey baby carriage in a subconscious attempt to rid me of the family. I am pleased to say those attempts on my life were unsuccessful.  At least to date… all this took place in Hewitt, New Jersey which is about 45 minutes outside of New York City.

My mother was born in 1924 and raised in Michigan Center, Michigan to hard working parents, Clarence and Anna Fox. She was 1 of 6 children.  She was one of the very first girls who played basketball in high school which was an amazing feat for that era.  My mother was amazing with many accomplishments.  She attended nursing school, graduated with honors and was installed as an officer in the Navy – a lieutenant.  Mother worked as a registered nurse for almost 50 years. She retired at the age of 76 – amazing.

My father was born and raised in New York City, New York to Italian immigrants Michele (Michael) Rossi and Carmela Papalardo.  Interestingly, my grandmother came to the United States as a single woman.  She worked in a factory embroidering on women’s gloves. She was informed by her family in Italy that she would soon be married to a young man from her home town outside of Naples, Italy. They were married shortly thereafter.  Together they had 3 children.  So apparently, they got along. Michele died unexpectedly.  Consistent with Old Testament Catholicism, the family ‘sent’ the next eligible brother, Rueben (my grandfather), to marry Carmela. Again – they must have gotten along because they had 3 more children.  My father enlisted in the Marine Corps as a grunt. My parents met on Paris Island, South Carolina. This is where my father had to.... wait for it.... salute my mother!  Epic!

To be continued.....

Praying for Daylight, article, Part 3 of 3

Just days earlier, we were so thrilled with having a baby – a gift from God. We never dreamed this would be how we would say our final goodbyes to each other. It was about midnight, when the I.C.U. nurse encouraged Randy to go home and get some rest since I was drifting back into oblivion. He drove home – alone. Randy called his parents with the latest news. They have always been unwavering in their faith in God and support of their children.  As Randy was overtaken by the realization of what was happening, he asked his folks to pray.  And pray they did! They called and emailed everyone they knew and asked for prayer.

I came back to my senses around 3 a.m. I watched the clock as the second hand slowly ticked away the night. I prayed. I prayed for Randy and the baby. I thanked God for my life and the privilege of being married to such an awesome man. I thanked Him for the gift of a strong, healthy baby boy.  As I felt myself begin to drift away again, I prayed for daylight to come.  In my stupor, I felt the most warm, brilliant light shine on me as it escaped through the cracks between the timbers of the largest door I’d ever seen.  I knew this was heaven’s entryway.  It appeared to be made of aged craggy wood. I knew I was Home. I waited for that enormous door to open for me to enter. I basked in its warmth. There was a knowing, an understanding, a peace about that place. I was happy. I waited…. And waited… and waited…

After what seemed to be an eternity, I could see something …. a light.  It was different from the warm light that I enjoyed just a moment before. It began to hurt my eyes. I had to squint and blinked several times to try to focus on my surroundings.  I could see glimpses of the sunrise through the blinds. I looked around carefully and realized I was still in my I.C.U. bed – still no change in my condition. 

Randy was relieved to learn I lived through the night.  Later that day, we learned that my heart would either revert back to a normal heart rate within the next few hours or there would be permanent, irreparable damage to the heart muscle and I would perish. Even though I made it through the night, I was handed another death sentence. I was strangely at peace.  Don’t get me wrong. I did not want to leave my precious newborn baby boy and my wonderful husband. But I was ready to step over the threshold I saw the night before.   In the meantime, family, friends, people we don’t even know, and churches from all over the country were praying for us.  A couple hours shy of permanent heart damage and certain death, without any extraneous means, my heart reverted to a normal rhythm (80 beats per minute).  I was not exactly ‘out of the woods’ as they say – but this was a good start.

After about 10 days of being in the hospital for what should have been a 3 day stint, I pleaded to go home.  With hesitation, my doctors released me.  I cried as they wheeled me through the hospital with my 10 day-old son, Hunter, in my arms. I got in the car and cried, “I lived! Thank you, Lord!”

The road has been a long and bumpy one.  When, Hunter was about eight months old, I had accumulated almost four months of intermittent hospital stays and emergency room visits.  It hasn’t been easy. There have been ‘dark’ periods where I felt alone or angry. We wondered each day if I would live to see the next. With faithfulness and prayer, I have.  

 

It’s been 3 years since my stay in the ICU.  It’s also been 3 years since my handsome son, Hunter, was born.  I have undergone five heart surgeries that took us from one end of the country to the other for treatment.  I am not ‘cured’ as they say but I am learning to live with my condition.  I know there is a reason for suffering through this. My family and I have learned so many valuable lessons. Among so many lessons was the necessity and power of prayer.  Prayer does not have to be fancy words – just genuine and sincere. I know in my heart, as imperfect as my heart is, God has something BIG for me.  I handed those “keys” over to Christ a long time ago…. I am thankful to know who is really in the driver’s seat.  I am just along for the glorious ride!

Praying for Daylight article, Part 2 of 3

My husband Randy, an ordained minister and pastor, is a happy sort, always laughing and having fun.  He was raised in a very warm, loving and faith-based environment.  It was that strong faith and confidence in God that kept us on the right path all along. In many ways, I learned from Randy about trusting in God and having that ongoing relationship with Him. It was what I learned from Randy that kept me focused during the next days and months.

I suffered a second Torsades episode and inexplicably survived. The next hours and days are a blur.  The heavy doses of medication took over.  I was in and out of consciousness. I remember very little about that time. A couple things really stick out in my mind. I remember my husband Randy sneaking the baby into my room in ICU so I could see him.  I remember sneaking out of ICU in a wheelchair with my nurse to hide in a supply closet behind the newborn nursery so I could hold the baby for a few fleeting moments.  Other than that, I was void… void of all understanding and emotion because of the medication.   

Hiding in the supply closet...

I was initially diagnosed with Atrial Flutter which is a heart arrhythmia disorder. In laymen’s terms, the top two chambers of my heart do not exactly contract; they flutter and typically beat between 240 – 400 beats per minute. Later, I was also diagnosed with other Atrial Fibrillation.  I remember one evening, the I.C.U. doctor, who was a diminutive man with a kind face and always holding a clip board, told my husband, “there isn’t anymore we can do for her. We will have to wait and see.”  I heard Randy loudly say, as he grabbed the lapels of the doctor’s lab coat, “Yes, there is something we can do.  We can pray!”  The doctor shook his head in sympathetic agreement and patted him on the arm and retreated from the room looking intently at the floor, as if the answers were in the linoleum.

Randy took a long deep breath, staring at the vacant space where the doctor had stood.  He finally turned to me and unsteadily walked toward my ICU bed.  He knelt at my bedside.  His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and bouts of tears. I asked him to pray with me.  As he held my hand, through his tears, he choked through the prayer.  After a moment, I said, “We need to talk.”  Randy was a little surprised, “About what?”

“You need to send the bank (my employer) a death certificate so they can pay on the life insurance policy.”

            “NO!”

“Randy, we need to talk about this.”

            “NO!”

“There is another small life insurance policy in the desk drawer at home.”

            “NO!”

“I want you to sell the house. Make sure my mom is taken care of and move back to Alabama with the baby.  I want you to raise him there with your family.”

            “NO! We’re not talking about this.”

“We have to talk about it.”

            “No, God’s going to heal you.”

“But what if it is my time?”

            “I don’t believe that! God didn’t bring us this far to let it end now!”

“Well, just in case…”

            “NO! We can’t lose you.  The baby needs you… I need you.”

After a few very difficult and tear filled moments, I quietly reminded him, “Just remember what I said.”

Randy left that night unsure if he would ever see me alive again.    To be continued...

Praying for Daylight, 2006, Part 1 of 3

The following is an excerpt from an article I wrote for a Christian magazine. It gives you a small peek into the series of events that took place when I just gave birth to my first child in 2000 words or less.


I looked up from my hospital bed in the Intensive Care Unit as I heard the sound of the sliding glass door and the privacy curtain being flung back. A team of hurried people in white coats, surgical scrubs, and booties rushed to the foot of my bed with pained looks on their faces.  A few were breathing heavy, as if they had run some distance before arriving at my bedside.  The faces now are all a blur. The only word I spoke was an alarmed, “What?!” After a long silence, one of them asked, “How do you feel?”  My mind was swimming.  How do you describe how you feel after you’ve just had a baby by emergency C-section because your heart rate shot up higher than the baby’s about 24-hours ago? How do you put into words how you feel when the nurses rush your sleeping newborn baby out of your room because of how disturbed they are over your high heart rate?  How do you describe how you feel while looking at your husband’s concerned face and watching the blood drain from it until he is a sickly shade of gray?  How do you describe what it feels like to have your heart beat over 240 beats per minute? I responded as I craned my head around to see the vital sign monitor that was strategically placed behind the hospital bed, “About the same, why?”  As the words came out of my mouth, I realized why the team of medical professionals rushed to my bedside.  My heart rate was “slowing down” to 310 beats per minute and my blood pressure was 220 over 110. 

Just then another someone in scrubs was causing a raucous as they rolled a metal machine over the doorsill of the room –later I learned it was the “crash” cart…. From that time forward, that ‘cart’ was stationed just outside my room.  All at once, I thought my head was going to explode, literally.  Each attendant went to work. It seemed all six or eight of them were working on one of my extremities.  One was repositioning my blood pressure cuff, another was listening to my heart with a stethoscope, another was taking a pulse, another was working on all the sticky pieces that connected me to the monitor, another was checking all the I.V.’s, and still another was running from the front desk to my I.C.U. room with strips from the E.K.G. machine and murmuring under his breath, then whispering to another very authoritative looking person – both were shaking their heads and looking up at me from time to time.  The medical experts began to leave my room two by two murmuring to one another.  I was eventually left with just the I.C.U. nurse who was assigned to me.  He was a pleasant man with a beard and colorful smock.  I asked him, “What just happened here?”  He responded without looking at my face,

“You had an episode.” 

     “What kind of episode?” I asked. 

“It’s called a Torsades des Pointes.”

     “Ok….”

 “That is when the points on your EKG don’t point anymore, they curl”

     “So what does that mean?”

 “That means we were waiting for you to arrest or have a stroke”

I stared at him blankly.

 “You are lucky. I’ve never heard of anyone surviving a Torsades,” he said matter-of-factly.

My head fell back onto my pillow and tears streamed down my face. I began to pray, “Lord, I just had a baby. I would like to see him grow up. You know we dedicated this baby to You long before he was born.  I trusted in You with all of the problems I had during the pregnancy (Prior miscarriage, bleeding, placenta previa, toxemia, diagnosed with a blood clotting disorder, high risk of the baby being born with Down Syndrome, genetic counseling, etc.).  I turned over “the keys” long ago. If this is Your will and this is my time, I am ready to come home to You.  All I ask is You to strengthen Randy, give him the wisdom and perseverance he will need to raise our son… alone.”          To be continued...