Welcome sweet readers! I am so very honored you are taking this journey with me. This is part 9 of my series- The Heart of the Matter- Chronicling My Journey To and Through Mitral Valve Replacement.
Things feel scary and vulnerable right now and that's okay. I remind myself to let those feelings move through me. I do not try to stop or deny them. Experience has shown unprocessed emotions like to gather in my hips, throat, and shoulders. They will lodge themselves in my body and stay there, slowly becoming tight-knotted marbles embedded in muscle. Avoidance is not growth.
I have learned when you face your fears, you become free and open to all of the life lessons that await you on the other side. You become wiser and more empathetic to others. You draw back your power. We have all lived through our worst days.
I pre-registered for surgery this week. The countdown is on. The hospital is a small facility with dated walls and faded watercolor prints in the classic 90 pastels of pink and blue, but the staff was extremely kind. Kind is different from nice. Nice is surface-level helpfulness, but kind is deep-seated compassion and connection. This staff greeted me warmly, came out from behind their desks to help me register, and updated me on wait times. They escorted me to the different rooms for X-rays, blood work, urinalysis, MRSA swabs, and EKGs. They spoke with smiles and thoroughness as they explained everything that was being done and why. They used words that invited conversation instead of spouting medical jargon I didn’t understand. I do not care if you know medical words, that means nothing to me. We all know the jargon of our professions. I want to know that you can communicate with me. This staff did.
I walked out feeling comfortable and prepared as I carried a brown paper sack full of pre-surgery carb drinks (to give my body energy for surgery and curb nausea from anesthesia) and soap to disinfect my incision areas. It's been an intense three months. I can’t believe in less than a week I will be on the other side of this.
I am proud of the way I have spent my time preparing for this looming moment. I made an intention of presence, service, and joy. I have also practiced advocating for myself so that when I am in the hospital, I won’t have difficulty finding my voice.
I share the following with you as preparation that felt best to my soul, not as things you should do. The only thing you should do is whatever feels healthy for you. Everyone deals with these things in their own way. I feel the life lesson here is to pay attention to what aligns best with you. For those in supporting roles, your words and actions of encouragement are sweet and welcomed. But please, no diatribes on what you think the patient should do to prepare. What you think is valuable isn’t always valuable to others.
I had a very clear picture of my recovery which I was very vocal about. It started with hummingbirds. They are on migration and our tiny island is on their path. I wanted to see the hummingbirds flit outside my bedroom window. Husband, Mother, and a beloved uncle bought plants and feeders that fill my bedside view. I knew I wanted to heal in a clean and orderly home, so Mother and I scrubbed, cleaned, and organized every inch of my house. I knew I wanted to feed my people as they supported me, so my freezer holds homemade lasagna and enchiladas with drinks in the fridge. I also stocked my pantry with soups, crackers, and food items that I would eat, in case of decreased appetite or nausea.
I had an almost visceral need to understand what was going to happen to me in surgery and during recovery. I researched and watched multiple videos of Mitral Valve Repair/Replacement procedures. I watched incisions being made, valves being sewn and replaced, bypass machines, sutures, and wound care videos. I watched first-hand accounts in an attempt to understand how I would feel after and talked with family members who have experienced open heart surgery. And as you may have read, grilled my cardiologist and surgeon. My Spotify playlist is ready, fresh candles are laid out, and essential oils have been packed along with lotion, slippers, BUTTON-DOWN pajamas, and books. (Thank you sweet loved ones who have sent the kindest gifts.)
Fresh sheets are set aside to put on my bed when the time comes, and I saged my house. Only high-energy vibes, please! My children are under the very careful eye of my sister. Which is a comfort that can not be fully expressed.
I have made a daily habit of journaling, walking, stretching, 4x4 breathing, meditating, finding joy, and crying (if and when needed). I repeatedly visualized a gold light around my heart as I imagined it healing. I spend time thinking about my incision. What it will look like, how it will heal, and what emotion I will feel the first time I look at it. The best place to do this type of work is beside the ocean. As the waves roll away they pull out my fears and take them back into the deep blue-green water with them.
I allowed myself to be vulnerable with loved ones and decided to publically write about my journey as a means of advocacy, catharsis, and processing (to which I say thank you for joining me). I have also decided to pay the love and support I have received forward by volunteering as a support group leader for those with Eating Disorders. If my ED is what got me here, perhaps I can help others in their recovery before they reach the point of irreversible damage to their bodies. However, there was one more task I needed to do before surgery.
I needed to talk to Husband.
I have rarely written about him because he is a man of few words and keeps to himself. Plus, as one can imagine, this is a very tender spot in our lives. Nonetheless, I promised you (and myself) authenticity, so…
The mother of Husband’s best friend once said to him, You are here just to take a walk in the park. And there has never been a more accurate description of him. He is never stressed, he rarely becomes angry, and his mere presence has the uncanny ability to soothe his family’s fears. He dresses up with Daughter to attend a Taylor Swift Concert (he dared to wear the red scarf (gasp)). He coaches Son through basketball and track and then stays up late with him to coach him through his teenage angst. He’s consistently even keel… unless he is watching football… or coaching basketball. This guy makes friends with plants and spends most weekend morning fishing off the jetties or in his kayak.
On the afternoon of our talk, I found him sitting on our bed after a successful morning of fishing. There will be Flounder for dinner tonight. Fried and wrapped in an HEB flour tortilla, (if you know, you know). I don’t say anything about his fishy clothes on my clean yellow bedspread. Instead, I crawled up beside him and began. Listen, I need to know that you are with me in this space as we head into surgery. There are some things I need to say. The tip of his nose gets red, that is his Tell. I had no idea so much emotion was teetering underneath his calm demeanor.
No one thinks things are going to go wrong. We all have the highest of faiths that everything will go how it is supposed to go and I come out with a working valve. But I need him to know my wishes. He keeps his brown eyes down as I speak. I leave nothing on the table, he won’t have to make any decisions without me. I have filled him in. Everything is updated and by now both of us are crying. This steady, calm guy just admitted he is scared and nervous. And that is okay.
This guy was the one who so long ago told me I needed to get help for my eating disorder. He is the reason I started therapy. He was the one who patiently waited on the other side of the bathroom door when I rushed in to purge my food. He is the one who waited in the living room when I would go for an hour run, an hour bike ride, and then to the gym for two hours. He was the one who went to therapy with me when we weren't even married. This guy thought this part of our journey was over. Guess my heart fooled us both.
He is attempting to talk but the edges of his mouth are tugged down by fear. Big tears roll slowly down tan skin. He reaches out and grabs my hand. He has a particular way of folding my hand into his, we’ve held hands this way for almost 30 years. He is silent for a very long time. Finally, he says things to me in a low voice that trembles and fades. It feels as though he is pulling words from deep within. He finally regains his tone and cadence. He looks up at me. There are those eyes that I love so much.
We don’t hug, we just sit in the reality of the situation. We are present in this moment, letting the fear and vulnerability pass through us. It is hard, I want to cut it off and avoid it, but we hold each other accountable and sit still. When each of us feels the other is steady we unclasp our hands. It is only then that I smile and say something sarcastic about his fishy clothes on my bedspread. He gives me his half smile, a trait he stole from his father, and assures me he will wash it because he knows I want to heal in a non-fish-smelling bed.
I am ready now, see ya on the other side of surgery.
Mitral Valve Regurgitation: a condition in which the heart's mitral valve doesn't close tightly, which allows blood to flow backward in the heart.
Symptoms: (* dictates symptoms I had)
Shortness of breath
Rapid breath
Fatigue* (but I thought it was from being a working parent)
Lightheadedness
Rapid, fluttering heartbeat*
Swollen hands or feet* (my feet were slightly swollen here and there, never consistently)
Swollen belly* (but I thought it was menopause weight gain)
Decrease in endurance and ability to exercise*
Coughing*
Chest pain or discomfort* (but I thought it was anxiety)
**None of these symptoms were overwhelming until all of a sudden they were. I could still talk myself into believing I was fine. Stop talking yourself out of feeling bad. It’s okay to admit you don’t feel well. Listen to your body.
***I could still exercise even though it was getting progressively harder. My doctor informed me that those who consistently workout usually notice symptoms in their later stages because we are conditioned to push through pain and discomfort- as that is the nature of exercise.
****I went to the doctor because I had a nagging feeling something wasn’t right, even though I felt (mostly) fine. Listen to your gut.
Thank you for reading. I am the author of Herstory: A Heartfelt & Hilarious Conversation About Why Beauty Milestones Should Be Options, Not Expectations. I would love for you to check it out online where books are sold. If you are interested in girl empowerment and Women’s History please check out my business Grace & Grit at graceandgritbox.com.
I appreciate you,
H
See you on the other side. xx