My Open Heart
I didn’t plan to take four months off from life, but my heart had other ideas.
When my first-ever doctor’s appointment with a heart surgeon ended with a date for open-heart surgery, my world turned upside down.
Unlike most patients, I was very calm and reasonable. “Sorry, Doc, you’ve got the wrong patient. Can you recheck the name on the chart?”
Four days later, on June 2 of this year, my very first stay in a hospital began in earnest. They said I had an ascending 5.2 cm aortic aneurysm and a leaky valve; I was a walking time bomb. Lovely.
Once the process begins, there is no stopping it. Like a well-rehearsed play, the nurses, technicians, anesthesiologists, PAs, and surgeons all know their parts and enter on cue. Too bad no one bothered to share the script with me. As an actress, I have had those well-known but terrible dreams where I found myself in the wrong play, in the wrong costume, and with no idea what I should say. Despite having no time for rehearsals, the show will go on—and I had to improvise.
All of this is to say that the next four months of my life had to take a back seat to the requirements of recovery: re-discover basic bodily functions, endure sticky EKG pads, take pills, tolerate constant beeping, swallow more pills, shuffle along hospital corridors, breathe into plastic tubes, sleep fitfully, and have little idea of who slipped in and out of my hospital room. By the time I went home, the entire process was rinse and repeat—gratefully, I got the “bodily functions” down before I had to use the downstairs port-a-potty.
Travel plans were re-routed to a later date, volunteer responsibilities were re-distributed, family obligations were suspended, and hardest of all, my latest book languished on the publisher’s desk.
Don’t get me wrong, some amazing people poured out love upon me, and I am humbled by their generosity (and great cooking). My brother and best friend traveled hundreds of miles to be my nursemaids, and my immediate family ran errands and handled logistics. In case you’re wondering, it’s difficult to make a claw-foot tub user-friendly.
And although my physical heart and arteries began to heal, it was my spirit’s heart that remained weak, unable to dream or create, to plan or initiate anything. Even prayer was elusive.
To whom then, do I attribute my determination to stay the course of recovery? As a woman of faith, of course, there’s the God factor. But honestly, I had little to do with it. It was God in them that made the difference. They held a banner for me and waved a flag with my name on it, and cheered me on behind the scenes.
And so, I walked, first one block, and then two, and then all the way around. I walked to the water. I walked the promenade. I walked the Joe K Trail. I was rejuvenated by nature, first here at home and then on a road trip to the Maritime Islands, orchestrated by my brother. And finally, my long-dreamed-of Camino pilgrimage became a reality, and I walked those last 100 km in nine days and received my “Credencial del Peregrino” in the shadow of the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral in Spain. A turning point.
On Wednesday, November 5th, Swan Out of Water—the eagerly awaited stand-alone sequel to Children in the City of Czars—launched. It will be a casual affair with little razzmatazz, but heartfelt. After that, I’ll be available for book events, book clubs, and I’ll be featuring my books at local stores in Havre de Grace.
Thanks to everyone who has supported me on my journey, both in health and in my writing.
