I’m alive

It is weird to think that I had heart surgery less than two weeks ago. I am constantly awed at the advances we have made in western medicine that they did not have to crack me open to do this.

I think one of the first things I said when I woke up was “I’m alive!” in a surprised voice. When I asked the doctor why I had this (because I did not have any of the “normal” reasons), he said it could just be bad luck. I actually admire a doc admitting that, however, when one has had the worst luck in their life actually happen, you have to pause and say, seriously? So add that to never having anesthesia or surgery before, and then having it on ones heart, of course I was surprised when I woke up. I just assumed I would have more bad luck.

I was so happy to see my husband and son there, and them me. As I said in my last blog, I actually have things to look forward to, which is such an new and different feeling from the first few years since Jesse and Bella died. Then, it was survival and existing. So to see their sweet faces, I cried.

I had to stay in the hospital overnight, and expected it to be crap, but did not expect my PTSD to kick up as much as it did. I was in a room with an older woman who was really struggling and in a lot of pain. The alarm on her machine kept going off. All night. Sometimes it was her doing, like getting up when she wasn’t supposed to, her taking something off, etc. This went on for as long as I was in the room. Every time the alarm went off, my heart and chest constricted and I tensed up, as that was the PTSD at work. Tensing up in my chest and heart, and frankly my body in that moment was very painful, as I just had heart surgery. I explained to them that I had PTSD, and the alarm was triggering it, could I move. They said they were full (though another nurse said they were not). At 2am, I was losing it as I wanted to rest. I get you don’t sleep per se in a hospital, but I was desperate for some rest at least. Plus that alarm. I finally shared with the nurse (the super nice one) that listen, I am not kidding when I say I have PTSD my husband killed our four year old daughter then himself and I found them and this alarm is messing with me badly can you please please move me. It may have been a run on sentence like that, I was delirious. I got moved to a peaceful room with a quiet roommate an hour later. My question was why did I have to do that? Could they have just believed me when I said it the first time? It sucks to have had to get to the place where I had to share the details in order for them to do something. I get it, really, my sister was a nurse, the stories she shared, it is up there in one of the hardest jobs out there. But damn. Anyways, I was able to finally rest, then I got to go home around lunch.

What have I learned over the last 12 days? I have limits. A lot of them. That has never been my forte per say to admit and accept them. It is a double edged sword in a way. By not accepting them, I am alive. I kept pushing and pushing even when I did not think I could. I went to things for my kid when my anxiety was so high that I wanted to crawl under the bed. I pushed myself when my PTSD was bad and went for a run to burn through some of the emotions. I pushed those limits (and still do) when dealing with the grief around Bella. The other edge of that sword though is not knowing that edge, not knowing when I push so much that it wipes me out. Those times when I say that I am fine, when really I am not and should be asking for help. This time, I did not walk that edge or push, I rested. I asked and accepted help. I took care of myself. There is a selfish part, I did not want to do something stupid and mess something up to land me back in there! I mean, I may need to have this done again at some point, but then there is the me being stupid and ending back there sooner than necessary. So I am taking it easy for me and can say that every day I am doing a little better.

I am optimistic. I have walked around the house commenting my chest is so quiet. Which tells me it was a whole lot louder than I ever realized. I already feel better in a lot of ways, and hoping that will continue. As always, I have that appreciation of stuff that happens after traumatic loss. But this has deepened it in a different kind of way. Much like a painting that you think is done, but you try one more thing, a little flair here, and it brings out a depth you didn’t expect. I keep hugging my husband and kiddo. The husband is used to this by now, but the 14 year, who is not a big fan, is letting me, for now. I am kinda loving that.

I am starting to gear up for the next couple of months, which is busy in the Suicide Prevention community, with two conferences coming up that I am speaking at, one in Bend, Oregon and one in Denver, Colorado. I look forward as always to sharing, educating, supporting, and helping in any way I can. I am grateful for the advances in western medicine so that I can write this today and as always for all the love and support in my life.

The map of my heart pre and post procedure, you can see the 3D pic more clearly at the bottom

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