Aftermath of A Heart Attack

Today has been seven weeks since Joe had his heart attack. In many ways it seems so much longer. I still remember being at work when the emergency room called to say that my husband had been brought to the hospital in an ambulance because he'd had a heart attack. How could that be? He was at an appointment at the cardiologist's office doing a stress test.

I'll go back sometime, when I have the time and the strength to recount what happened in the days following the heart attack. What I need, what I want to write about at this time is the aftermath of the heart attack. I think aftermath is the perfect word for the last seven weeks. Aftermath means consequences, repercussion, after effects, etc. Many things happened to Joe after the heart attack. One of the main things is that he died. I was even told me he was without breath for almost six minutes. One day not too long ago, Joe shared something with me. He told me that when he was in that state of death he experienced something. He told me that he was touched. He was touched by someone and it was the warmest, most gentle touch he had ever experienced.

Those eight days in the hospital were long, life sapping long days of waiting on Joe. During that time Joe's kidneys totally shut down, he was on dialysis, he had a pacemaker installed, he went for too many tests to count or name, he was stuck with needles so many times it's a wonder he didn't look like a water sprinkler when he drank liquid, he hallucinated (a lot), etc., etc., etc. I was so glad when he got out of the hospital. I thought it might be easier having him home. I hated going to the hospital. I dreaded those many, many steps from the parking lot to his room. Having him come home hasn't been easy - it's been a living hell most days. It's been an endless round of doctor visits, lab tests, new medicine to be changed, picked up and/or deleted. It's been bills and more bills from the cardiologist, the nephrologist, the anesthesiologist, the hospital, the labs, the emergency room, the ambulance charge of over $6,000 for a one block ride, the $60,000 pacemaker, room charge and the list goes on and on. There are the copious amounts of money spent on the numerous drugs purchased on what seems to be an almost daily basis.

I confess I've been mad. I am mad. I'm pissed with this phase of my life. I feel as though I'm a mother to a very large toddler. I feel boxed in to a life that I didn't ask for. I feel smothered and at the same time sad that I seem to have lost the man who I fell in love with. I am not ready to be a caregiver. I want someone I love to be able to be a functioning, normal, giving to me person. I deserve it. I need it. For over 1 1/2 years I've gone through broken bones, rehabilitation, pneumonia, congestive heart failure, diabetic highs and lows, eye surgery, intensive care, almost weekly doctor visit and everything in between. I'm tired of changing oxygen tanks, sorting and dispensing medicine, fussing about what has or hasn't been eaten, not being able to sleep all night because Joe doesn't sleep when he should.

I won't go into details, but this week was a pivotal point in our relationship. Joe has been mad. Joe is frustrated. There have been issues that came to the surface; that came to a head. There were things that happened that I hope never happen again. There were promises made that had to be reinforced by both of us. There have been things said to each other that should never have been said by two people who love each other. And Joe and I do love each other. But now I understand why some marriages break up under the strain of traumatic and dramatic changes in their lives and relationship.

I went to visit a dear friend after work today. Marla recently lost her husband due to a lingering illness. She was one of the first people I met when we moved to Casper and we always felt that it was meant for us to become very good friends. We have offered each other our shoulders when we both needed a good cry or some encouraging words. Last week I had to call Marla to come check on Joe the other afternoon. He wasn't feeling well, I was 45 miles away at work and she is the one I was able to reach to come to the house. Marla had just gotten out of the shower and as soon as she dressed, she came straight to the house. Things did not go well for Joe and I that afternoon upon my return home from work and Marla had sent me a text this afternoon checking to see how I was doing. I decided to stop by and see her today before going home. That visit became a blessing to me.

During our conversation, Marla said something that became a "revelation" to me. It instantly brought me to a clearer and more loving understanding of what might have caused the strangeness and the madness of Joe. Earlier I wrote about the experience Joe had when he "died". The warm, loving touch. Marla said that maybe Joe was mad because he had had such a wonderful experience when dead and he had "to come back". She also said that maybe he thought it was his time to go and he was "brought back". Maybe it has been difficult to live each day for the last seven weeks knowing that his pain and healing could have all been over and he could be with that warm, loving, gentle touch. When she said this, it was as though a light bulb came on for me.

All this made perfect sense to me as my sweet husband had steadily become someone I felt as though I no longer knew. Whether what Marla said is true or not, I find deep solace and comfort in her words. One day I will share my "revelation" with Joe when our wounds have healed and we continue to nourish our love for each other. Because you see, I do love Joe and I know he loves me. I cannot imagine life without him. I love him from the top of his fuzzy little head to the bottom of his eight toes. Love is not always easy. I can testify to that, but in the end we can only try to nurture that love each day and don't take that love for granted.