Matters of the Heart

I’ve hit a bit of a block here. Not writer’s block, more of an emotional form. One where I am struggling with questions like, what am I doing with my life? Does this all really matter? What should I be focusing on? You know, the kind that creeps into your mind and won’t let go. The kind where awful reality tv shows won’t help in quieting those nagging questions. 

You see, less than a week ago, my life was picked up and turned upside down. My 42-year-old, seemingly healthy, husband had a heart attack. It wasn’t super dramatic like you see on TV, but there were a lot of signs leading up to it that we overlooked. And then by being honest with ourselves and then each other…come to find that he wasn’t all that healthy after all. So we had a lot of scary quiet time together in the hospital. Both worried about the unknown. Both not willing to talk about the scariest possibility. Both using our awful humor (that only he and I find funny) as our defense mechanisms. 

When we hit the third day, after his angioplasty and when we were waiting for him to be released from the ICU, he turned to me and said, “you should blog about this.” Of course I laughed as I thought he was joking as we had been for the past three days. Writing about this situation was the absolute last thing on my mind. I was busy creating meal plans in my head and researching different healing yoga retreats. Mostly, I was trying to keep my shit together so I could face my 4-year-old and 20-month-old and tell them Daddy would be home and everything was going to be okay. 

But then he looked me dead in the eyes (bad choice of wording, I know!) and told me I had to stop dancing around what I was feeling. He knew I was scared and I needed to get all of my feelings out on paper (or a screen) so that I wouldn’t drown in them. 

So here I am. Not sure how much I should share, as it may make me look weak. My mind is racing and I’m on survival mode, “faking it until I make it”. I can tell you that I have never been more scared in my life. 

When we didn’t know if he would be okay, I kept thinking of those two beautiful babes (miniature versions of their Daddy) and how much they needed him. How every night when he gets home from work, they drop what they are doing and run screaming with excitement to the door. I worried they would never have that opportunity again. I thought of all of their daddy-traditions (like decorating a gingerbread house, taking a ride on his skateboard, pumpkin carving) they may not get to experience.

I thought of the future…would he miss dance recitals, baseball games, graduations? What about walking our daughter down the aisle? How much would my son remember of him, since he is still a baby?

I wish I could say that my mind didn’t go to all of those awful places. But it did. I didn’t know what life would look like without my best friend, and I didn’t want to find out. As much as I complain about him or get on his case about things, there isn’t a single person I would rather roll my eyes at or laugh with until my sides hurt. He gets me and my weirdness, I get him and his dorky-ness. We have that whole mind-reading thing going that I really dig…you know, the one where you look at each other and you know exactly what the other person is thinking. I don’t  want to experience this whole married-life thing with anyone else. 

Here is what I am ashamed to admit: I was also selfishly scared. I quit my job to stay at home with our daughter a few years ago. It was something we both had wanted, and were fortunate to be able to do so. Before I married my husband, I owned my own place that I paid my mortgage on, budgeted and paid all the bills and took care of everything that needed attention. I continued to take care of the finances of our new house and bills before my daughter was born. After that, I didn’t do a thing related to the household finances. On that fateful Friday, it hit me that I didn’t know any of our account numbers or their passwords. I also had always left things for him to do: put together toys, change lightbulbs. I remember crying to my mom the night of the heart attack that I don’t even know how to operate our sprinklers. I don’t know how “normal” it is to freak out about such insignificant things when you are fearing for your husband’s life…but that’s how I reacted. 

Now, thanks to medical (and divine) intervention my husband will hopefully be okay. With his new arteries of steel, aggressive arsenal of medicine and healthy lifestyle he should be at all of those future functions. He is probably the only person who actually looks better after a heart attack, must be that the blood is actually flowing where it should now. We are adjusting to our new “normal” and taking things slowly. He can’t lift anything over 10 pounds, but I don’t mind doing the heavy lifting (physically and metaphorically speaking) for now and beyond.

I have a list of accounts and passwords and I want to take ownership of that so I don’t ever feel like I don’t know what I’m doing if he can’t do it for some reason. I learned how to turn on the sprinklers. I assembled a toy by myself this week…a scooter that doesn’t always go where my son wants it to because I must have not tightened a screw enough, but hey…it’s a start! And of course the light in the garage went out yesterday, so that’s on my “to-do” list. 

One thing about this situation that has me emotional and speechless is the outpouring of love and support from those around us. The kind messages from people perk him up, for that I am thankful. My family rallying around him and picking up the pieces, I am forever appreciative. The lovingly thoughtful neighborhood friends, for them I am eternally grateful. The thoughtful cards, baskets, flowers, meals, edible arrangements, kid care packages from our friends, his coworkers, teachers at preschool…seriously I can never express the depth of our gratitude towards this amazing village of friends who have made us see the beauty in this terrifying ordeal. 

With all of my fears, lifestyle changes, and hectic pinning of all recipes healthy on Pinterest, one thing remains the same– I am so very grateful for the ones I love and as my daughter calls them… for their strong “heart beeps”. 

With love, 

Shahla