I know I have mentioned heart issues here before. Here's the scoop on all of that.
Three years ago I was sitting in the NICU, minding my own business (read, feeding my tubed and cuffed little guy), when BAM! A fence pole went through my chest.
Well, it felt exactly like that.
Next thing I knew, people were talking and trying to get me to answer questions so they could transfer me to another hospital. I don't remember what they wanted to know, but I think I might have given away my first-born and my truck. I do remember telling the EMT's that I wanted the cute one to cut my shirt off. I think I might have spent about five minutes complaining that the heart monitor stickers didn't have cartoon characters on them. If I am paying good money for an ambulance ride, I want cartoon characters!
I might have said something funny to the ER doctor. Then everything went black.
I won't say there weren't warning signs. I will say they masqueraded as occasional fatigue (This was baby #7, of COURSE I was tired!) and mastitis (fevery, clammy, achy chest, bleh). So, like any self respecting person, I got online, read the “Don't jump to the worst diagnoses!” articles, and assumed it was lack of sleep. Or low iron. Or...
Then I woke up. Tubes everywhere like my baby, only more of them. And bigger. And ouch, why can't I talk? Oh, tube. Wait, what?
The technical term for what happened is Sudden Coronary Artery Dissection, or SCAD. I know the Mayo Clinic is working hard on figuring out the causes and best treatment practices, but right now, no one really knows what causes it. It happens to both men and women, usually the healthy runner types with no other issues, and sometimes to postpartum women (no, it wasn't the 7 kids, it can happen after your first!). If caught early, doctors can use stents to open up the artery and keep things flowing. In my case, I had a full on rupture that resulted in a triple bypass at 38 years old. They cracked my chest open, pulled out a vein from my groin, pieced my heart back together with it, and wired me back together.
Then, they expected me to walk around the unit the next day.
I had little old ladies trucking on down the hall with smiles on their faces, and I was standing in the doorway of my ICU room begging to be carried back to bed. You want me to do LAPS??? Nooo!!!
But I did... eventually. That was rough. Meanie ol' nurses, making me get up and walk and feed myself and stuff. The worst was trying to breastfeed. YES they made me do that! I begged, I pleaded, but the nurses of doom insisted I would be glad later. Are you kidding??? I just had my ribs cracked open like a freaky alien sci-fi movie and you want me to do what!? How on earth can my body still do that after major surgery in the same area? I have no idea. Ladies, our bodies are incredible things! Somehow, I did it. Thank goodness for the football position! In fact, I was able to nurse him to 11 months old.
Three weeks later, they sent me home, where I involuntarily vegged on the couch for the next year. I couldn't lift more than the baby's weight for months, got winded quickly, and slept a lot. They made a big deal about changing my diet, but we had already switched to a low-salt, real food diet years ago so that wasn't a big deal. I watched a lot of Midsomer Murders and Monty Python that year and the boys learned to cook real quick.
The best part was the medicines. They gave me about 5 different things to help keep my blood pressure low so my heart wouldn't have to work as hard. I am not sure what else the meds were supposed to do, all I know is I run about 80/60 or lower and have to guzzle Pepsi just to have energy to stay out of bed all day. Not that I am complaining. Being on digitalis for a while was fun, too. Okay, I know, weird. But every British murder mystery show out there uses digitalis at least once! You know, the victim had heart trouble, was already on digitalis, so the murderer uses foxgloves from the yard to make a tea, adds it to the victim's drink and they overdose and croak. So it was kind of cool to be on it! Yeah, hubs thinks I am crazy.
That's actually one downside to the SCAD: the brain damage. Since I was low on oxygen during the attack and spent time on the heart/lung machine, I've sustained some slight damage in the areas of list memory and short term recall. Before anyone freaks out, I am not a danger to anyone. I am used to shutting off the oven so that is something I remember to do. But if you call me to invite me for dinner, I will forget. If you send me to the grocery store, you better write down what you want. I have to write down what I promise the kids, or I end up a big, inconsistent loony. Some of the heart meds contribute to this, especially the metoprolol, but I will be on those for the rest of my life, so I just keep trying to cope with it.
The memory issue has a huge impact on my research writing. I have difficulty reading a passage and then writing a concise essay about it because I am having trouble picturing or remembering what I read. I am an English major. This is not acceptable. I am working to solve that by reading more Shakespeare (and I was already a big fan), and more Jane Austen (again, a big fan). Studies show the brain benefits quite a bit from those two authors, and I can see it slowly helping to rewire the connections in there.
There is a bit of PTSD involved with my SCAD as well. I didn't realize that was it, I thought it was part of the brain damage. I do not handle new stress easily, and dealing with certain people/personality types related to the incident puts me in bed with a sedative for a day or so. Grinding, beeping and siren noises make me white-knuckled, so the boys have to play cops and trucks in a different room. After being awake for about 9 hours, I have to go low light and quieter in the house, or I get overwhelmed and have to go hide under the covers. I am trying some things my psychologist recommended, like mindful meditation and mental exercises, and so far it's working for the minor triggers.
The biggest challenge is people. The idea of buying an island somewhere is looking better and better all the time. You have the neighbors. They all know about the heart attack, I mean, sirens and a big gaping scar on my chest kind of gives it away. They feel sorry for me and want to help. Oh, look, she has so much on her plate. She has 7 kids, she home educates, and she has heart failure. We are stressed out just watching her, so she MUST be really stressed and incapable. She needs our help! We need to get involved! So, instead of asking how we can help, we will just complain about her inadequacy to everyone and hope someone calls a government agency so they can watch her like a hawk.
On the other hand, you have the strangers. They have no idea I am dealing with an invisible disability. Having heart failure and the associated fatigue issues means I can't work. The memory issues make me seem scatterbrained. The PTSD makes me seem antisocial, when in fact, it's pushy people that cause that one, the PTSD just kind of sends me to my closet sometimes. They assume I am acting strangely on purpose and don't have anything wrong, so they judge. Look at her. She is a lazy mom. She won't help her family financially. She isn't involved with her kids because they never come to our activities. She won't answer her phone. She has all of those kids and they probably sit around all day. We should complain about her to everyone.
Honestly, people. I don't really care what anyone thinks, until I am around people who can't mind their own business. Then I get into real trouble, because SCAD is rarely a one-time thing, and the stress of dealing with judgmental people can and has sent me back to the hospital. I am a walking time-bomb. You don't poke something like that, you run away and leave it alone. Do they not teach that in schools?
My friends of course, know better. They see my challenges come up, and they see me take out my big mama bear stick and beat them into submission. They know I am perfectly capable of the mom gig, in fact it's made me better. They see me loving my kids, living the most out of my life, and taking better care of myself. I am much less inhibited, and I firmly believe in following your talents and dreams to the end of the rainbow. Love everyone. Try everything. Nail those goals and roar. And for crying out loud, leave people alone unless they ask for help or opinions!
Most of all, question authority, especially doctors and the internet. Make your doctor check your heart even if you have no symptoms of anything. Listen to your body. SCAD can happen to anyone, and it often is misdiagnosed or found postmortem. For more information on SCAD, go to
www.scadresearch.org.
