If you read my last blog post (https://www.lauramuchmore.com/post/it-is-what-it-is) you would have seen the following:
That must be it – this was a test of endurance, of taking the hits and getting up.
Great. Fine. I’ll accept that.
I’d welcome a break – thank you so much.
Fingers crossed – so far, so good.
Next week is our annual Grandparent Vacation with Sophia, and we are headed to Coastal Maine, a place we’ve never been to. We are really looking forward to the change of scenery. We will live in the moment, enjoy nature, and go with the flow. Our Granddaughter has insisted! Only two things are firm on the schedule – everything else is negotiable. She’s been our greatest teacher of living in the NOW, and after all that we’ve been through, we have no choice but to go along.
My good friend Tammi recently reminded me that I jinxed myself just before leaving for vacation when I said, “For all I know, Heath could drop dead while we’re on vacation.”
Could it be that I was unknowingly making a prediction?
Was it my subconscious trying to warn me?
The world may never know… (Mr. Owl licking the Tootsie Roll Lollipop - I know my Gen Xers out there are seeing that in their mind’s eye)
There’s a scene in Heath’s favorite movie, The Matrix, where Neo is visiting the Oracle:
Oracle: I’d ask you to sit down, but you’re not going to anyway. And don’t worry about the vase.
Neo: What vase? [Neo turns to look for a vase, and as he does, he knocks over a vase of flowers, which shatters on the floor]
Oracle: That vase.
Neo: I’m sorry…
Oracle: I said don’t worry about it. I’ll get one of my kids to fix it.
Neo: How did you know?
Oracle: Ohh, what’s really going to bake your noodle later on is, would you still have broken it if I hadn’t said anything?
It’s been baking my noodle, that’s for sure!
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, LAURA?
Heath died. Yep, right in front of me. In a restaurant booth, with our Granddaughter sitting across from him.
Did we notice that something was wrong? NO.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
He began to experience blurred vision while reading the menu. He asked me to order him a cheeseburger, and the next thing I knew, he was grimacing and starting to cry.
I tell our Granddaughter to change seats with me (She ALWAYS has to sit next to her Papa), and I go to him and ask, “What’s wrong?”
Within a few seconds, his head goes back, he becomes rigid, loses consciousness, and stops breathing.
*As I write this, it’s been three weeks since this happened. I thought I had processed it enough to write about it, but as I sit here having to relive it, I know I have not given myself enough time.
We were in a small diner in a booth, and he was against the corner window. I screamed and asked for help, grabbed him under the arms, and threw him to the floor.
You know that saying that a mother could lift a car off of their child if needed – they tap into unknown strength in an emergency? Yeah, that’s what it was like. I can throw my back out sitting on the floor sorting laundry, yet here I was able to, at an angle, pull my “dead weight” (sorry, bad pun. Is it too early?) husband out of the booth and move him to the floor, without hitting his head or hurting either one of us in the process.
LET’S BACK UP
Before I continue with the story, having some background is crucial.
Six weeks before our scheduled Annual Grandparent Vacation, Heath had gone to a routine cardiology appointment because he was nearing the year mark since his last heart attack and wanted to make sure he was going to be able to stop his blood thinners after stent placement. At every appointment, they do an ECG to get a baseline, and even with his previous heart attacks, he’s never had a change in the ECG. It boggles their minds, but Heath is an anomaly.
While he was hooked up, the tech went out to get the Nurse Practitioner to review his strip. This was the first time this had happened. Unbeknownst to Heath, they saw a change that startled them. Calls were made to the cardiologist, and Heath was told that they saw something that concerned them, and the overseeing doctor ordered a cardiac cath. In a bit of a panic, Heath called, getting me ready to meet him at a hospital due to the nature of their reactions. I asked to speak to the NP, and she said, “Yeah, we see something that makes us think there could be a new blockage, but it’s not EMERGENT; it’s just URGENT.”
Now, I’ve been a Registered Nurse for over 25 years, specializing in acute cardiac care, and I’ve NEVER heard anything related to a change in an ECG as “urgent but not emergent.”
We’re told that the office will contact us WHEN they have a spot on the schedule…Huh?
Heath explains that he has business travel in the next two weeks, and immediately after that is our annual summer vacation… “No worries, we’ll be able to get this done in the next two weeks.”
IN THE VOICE OF THE SPONGEBOB NARRATOR, “FIVE WEEKS LATER…”
Call after call to the office was met with “We’re working on it.” We finally got the call that they could get him in the day after we came back from vacation. So much for “emergent.”
Heath had no symptoms, so he felt okay to travel.
On about day four of the trip, he came down with a “bug” – My Granddaughter and I would run into town for lunch, shop, and spend a lot of time in the pool, leaving Heath to rest in the hotel room. She learned how to yell for the pool bartender and request a virgin pina colada to be enjoyed while hanging out in the water.
Heath had missed the lobster fishing boat tour and wanted to attend the 5-hour whale-watching boat tour scheduled on our last full day in Bar Harbor.
He was feeling better, and we headed to lunch before we got out to sea. Something told me to take my medical bag with all my tools—a stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, pulse ox, and blood sugar monitor—just in case.
In hindsight, it was a miracle that what happened next occurred when it did, in a restaurant 5 minutes from the local hospital with people around. This story would have had a very different ending if it happened on the boat 60 miles into the Atlantic.
BACK TO THE RESTAURANT…
I saw Heath leave his body. His face became gray, and he had no vital signs that I could discern. It all happened so fast. The terror that I felt gutted me, yet I knew I had to act if there was any way I was going to save him. Honestly, I knew at that moment that he was gone. I saw my life flash in front of my eyes: me leaving Maine a widow, flying home with my granddaughter without her beloved Papa.
It’s incredible how much goes through your mind in a moment like this. I screamed for someone to take my Granddaughter, to shield her from as much as possible. I couldn’t even look behind me to see where she was or who she was with, which added another layer of fear. I had to trust that God would send just the right person to care for her, and He did.
Once I had him on the floor, I tried to get a pulse. I threw on the blood pressure cuff and pulled out my stethoscope, all in a few seconds. At the same time, a waitress came over my shoulder and began chest compressions, and I remember yelling, “Wait, I haven’t even checked to see if he had a pulse!”
I’m not sure if the drop to the floor knocked him into rhythm or if the thump on the chest did it, but he “rose from the dead” and shocked me again! I was grateful but so very confused – what the hell just happened?
He was confused and didn’t know where he was or why he was on the floor. The waitress was holding his head/shoulders, and he demanded to be let go. I obtained his blood pressure, which was very low, and his heart rate was thready. I checked his blood sugar – maybe that’s it. He hadn’t eaten much in the last few days; it was our first meal. Nope – perfectly normal. He was showing the classic signs of a heart attack - pale, soaked in sweat - just like the last time a little over a year ago.
The police were there quickly, followed by the ambulance. Heath was taken to the local community hospital in Bar Harbor, and my Granddaughter and I followed in the rental car. I really did not know if we would see him again. I reassured her that no matter what happened, she was safe and I would be by her side. She had been cared for by a beautiful older lady with a cross necklace on – that’s all I can remember. I will forever be grateful to her for holding space for her and reassuring her that everything would be okay.
When we arrived at the ER, I made frantic calls to my daughter (my Granddaughter’s Mother), and Heath’s sister, April, and told them to get on a plane ASAP! I couldn’t handle this alone, especially having to care for a 12-year-old and simultaneously be at Heath’s side. I don’t typically lose my composure, especially in an emergency, but this broke me. I had to ask for help.
The EMT who transported him came out after about 15 minutes and had a look on his face that told a very different story than what came out of his mouth. He looked like someone who had to tell a family, “He didn’t make it.” I know that look. I’ve been that person. I’ve had to give that news to more family members than I can count. He told us that he was being stabilized and we could go back and see him. I yelled at him and said, “You need to work on what your face is saying! I was scared to death!”
SIZE DOESN’T NECESSARILY MATTER
We were led back to the small ER and into Bay 1. The room was full of staff, and Heath sat there, his shirt cut open, hooked up to monitors and IVs, with his usual sweet smile.
He looked just fine, yet 20 minutes prior, he was dead on the floor of a restaurant. The entire thing was surreal. It still is. A doctor started asking me a ton of questions: “Does he have kidney disease? What exactly happened? What meds is he on? Did he have any symptoms before this happened?”
Wait, what? Kidney disease?
What a strange question to ask after what looked like classic cardiac arrest. Turns out Heath injured his kidneys because of the complete loss of blood volume. His blood pressure upon arrival was 60/30, and they were pumping fluids in as fast as they could. “Was he dehydrated? How many days has it been since he’s had fluids?” WHAT? He was eating/peeing just fine. If anything, he had been over-hydrated because I was pumping him full of electrolyte drinks and water since he was under the weather. There was NO way he was clinically dehydrated.
Once I was able to impress this upon the Doctor, she began to worry that he was “bleeding out” somewhere. So, we are off to CT to rule out an aortic dissection. Now, mind you, my father died of this, and I was witness to just how horrible a death that is. Heath looked perfectly fine, except for the fact that they couldn’t stabilize his blood pressure. CT results came back negative for any dissection, so we could check that off the list of potential causes.
Even though I was there as the concerned spouse, I was also there as a clinician, trying to figure out what the hell was happening clinically. Nothing made sense to me. How he was presenting didn’t match his vital signs, his labs, nothing.
He’s always been an anomaly – he’s had two NonStemi heart attacks, meaning that there are no changes in his ECG or labs, so technically, no evidence of a heart attack. It’s not until they get into the Cath lab that they see 100% blockages in major arteries and say, “SHIT,” he’s about to die! We’ve got to open the arteries, STAT!” It’s a real thing and happens more than you think.
NOW I CAN BREATHE…A LITTLE…
We had ruled out the stuff that could kill him, but we were still unsure what had caused him to crash. What they did know was that this little community hospital did not have advanced cardiac services, and he would have to be transported to a larger medical center. It was explained to me that Maine had two major medical centers, one in Portland and one in Bangor. The doctors are required to call the closest hospital, plead their case, and SEE if they agree to take the patient.
Really? OMG! Are we going to be held in limbo, stuck in a place that cannot intervene should something happen, and I’m going to be given no other option than to watch him die AGAIN?!
If I hadn’t already crumbled, that certainly pushed me over the edge.
I GIVE UP, GOD!
At this point, I’ve got a kid who hasn’t had a meal all day, living on peanut butter crackers, our Daughter and April trying to figure out which airport to fly into and where they would have to drive. I had yet to determine if we would be stuck in Bar Harbor, transported 4 hours away to Portland, or 1.5 hours to Bangor. I didn’t want to leave Heath’s side in case something happened, and I wasn’t there, yet I had to take care of my Granddaughter. I felt like I was being drawn and quartered, being pulled apart limb from limb. I was on my hands and knees. “What am I supposed to do?”
That’s when I had to “Let go and Let God.”
We had issues with cell phone coverage in Bar Harbor, so connecting via cell phone was unreliable. I used the phone call option on Facebook Messenger on Wi-Fi to make calls, but Heath does not have that option, so we could only use Signal to text. This made me very nervous, but I had no control over it either. I instructed the nurses on how to access his phone and where to find the Signal App so they could contact me should anything happen. I had to take my Granddaughter back to the hotel and feed her. I walked out of the ER with no idea of what would happen moving forward and feeling more dread than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Once she had dinner (she ate in bed) and I knew she was okay, I asked if she would agree to hang out in the locked room so I could go check on Papa. She needed to decompress and was happy to have time to herself. Poor kid had not cried or shown any emotion the entire time, and I told her it would be good for her to allow herself to cry while I was gone. She agreed and gave me permission to go. Luckily, the resort was only about 7 minutes from the hospital, not too far away. She had her cell phone, and at 12, she was aware enough to be alone in that environment. She locked the door latch behind me, and I returned to the hospital for a moment with just the two of us.
OPEN THE FLOODGATES
When I got back to the ER, Heath was alone. I went to his side, rested my head on his arm, and everything flooded out. All the pent-up emotion, the fear, and the grief rose to the surface like a tsunami. There was no use trying to contain it – the dam was broken. I begged him not to leave me and said that I couldn’t go on without him. He cried too, afraid of what was wrong that we couldn’t find. He said he wasn’t ready to die – we had so much life still left to live together. This wasn’t the first time we had faced down death together (this was number 3), but we had always known that there were only so many chances he could pass through, and we both knew that the third time would NOT be the charm. It would be the one to take him. To say that we both felt the looming Angel of Death would be an understatement. I knew then that our lives would never be the same again.
The Doctor told us that the large hospital in Bangor would accept him, but we were waiting for an available room. It could be that night or the next day; they didn’t know. After about an hour, it was determined that he was stable enough to be admitted to the telemetry floor for the night, with the plan to transport him in the morning via ambulance to Bangor.
Our Daughter and April were meeting in Portland to drive to Bangor and would meet us at the new hospital around the same time we would arrive the following day. It was all set, and I had to, once again, leave him to go back to the resort to take care of my Granddaughter and pack our stuff to check out in the morning. She and I slept in the same bed, snuggling and holding hands as we drifted off to sleep. Good thing because tomorrow was going to be a long day!
AND WE’RE OFF!
My Granddaughter and I woke up early to have breakfast and get the five suitcases to the car before 9 am. The resort staff had gotten used to seeing us every morning and had known that Heath had been under the weather, so when they saw us alone, they asked how Heath was feeling. They were genuinely shocked when I told them what we had been through the previous day and offered their prayers and concern. It was then that I became aware of just how wonderfully kind everyone was in Maine. This would be the silver lining of our entire experience.
By lunch, Heath was transported via ambulance to Northern Lights Eastern Maine Medical Center, and my Granddaughter and I followed, stopping for a much-needed cheeseburger meal at Wendy’s (Her request.)
To add to my already overwhelming stress levels, the cell signal remained spotty throughout our drive, causing me to lose GPS and my way. Trying to explain to a 12-year-old how to read a map while driving in these conditions was no easy feat, but we managed to find our way to the hospital in Bangor.
My stress level was immediately lowered when I spotted our Daughter and April at the entrance. I handed my Granddaughter over to her mother, and April jumped in to park the car.
Heath had been admitted through the Cardiac Holding Unit—I really don’t know what else to call it. It’s where patients are taken to prep for procedures and looks similar to an ER unit. Only two people were allowed back at a time, so my Daughter and I went back first so that she could see her dad for herself.
My Granddaugher had already seen too much and wasn’t interested in going back, so April stayed with her while we visited. Once my Daughter was satisfied that he was alive and stable, she was willing to take my Granddaugher to the Airbnb she had found for us, six minutes away from the hospital. It would be our home base for the immediate future and was a tremendous blessing – a three-bedroom house that gave us the feeling of home when dealing with a very stressful situation.
April came back to visit her Brother, having been ‘ordered’ to be there. I needed her more for me than I needed her there for her Brother. I knew I was running on fumes, and if things went sideways again, I did not believe I would have the physical, mental, and emotional energy to deal with it.
We were met by a young male PA who reminded me of the medical show with the autistic doctor—he had difficulty meeting your eyes, spoke in a robotic tone, and yet seemed genuinely concerned. Before leaving the Bar Harbor hospital, I made sure that Heath’s medical records from his Cardiologist in Virginia would be sent so that they would be available to the new doctors, and he confirmed that he had them.
He asked all the right questions, listened intently, and was just as shocked as we were that he had such an extreme experience, yet other than the blood pressure dropping to nothing, causing kidney injury, there was no other evidence to tell them what happened.
Not having clinical evidence is not only scary for a patient and their family but for the clinicians as well. Labs, scans, x-rays – they all paint a picture for medical staff to know where to start, but the only thing on paper was low blood pressure requiring 8 liters of fluid to stabilize and labs that reflected kidney injury that was being corrected with fluids. What the hell caused him to die?
Then he threw a curveball at us: “Did they tell you about the diffuse bilateral pulmonary nodules?”
Wait…What?
Uh, no, they didn’t!
He said they were all small, and it would be nothing too concerning if he didn’t have any risk factors. But he does have risk factors – his mother died from lung cancer; he was exposed to dangerous chemicals during his time as an Avionics Specialist on the Stealth Fighter plane in the Air Force. They would strip the classified material off the aircraft with giant sanding machines and inhale it. After these sanding days, he would come home with black stuff in his nose and sneeze it out for weeks.
GREAT! Another thing we need to worry about.
Having walked my Mother and Mother-in-law through Lung Cancer and having been a Hospice nurse for years, I knew that what happened was more than likely unrelated, so I told him that we would put that on the back burner until we could figure out this acute problem. He agreed and suggested a routine follow-up in 6-12 months.
I was teetering on the edge of hysteria internally, and I could not let anyone see me lose it, so I stuffed it down with all of the other fears and promised I would deal with it later. I reassured Heath and April that it was not related, probably just an anomaly; it could be related to the viral bug he had the previous week (he tested negative for COVID and the Flu) and asked that we focus on finding answers for what caused this Sudden Cardiac Arrest.
Immediately following the PA’s visit, Dr. Earl, a Cardiologist, came to see us and put us at ease. He was a good ole boy from the south with a gentle and genuine bedside manner. I chuckled that here we were, as far north as you can go in Maine, and we’ve got a doctor from the south (Georgia or South Carolina, I can’t quite remember).
He listened as we told the story AGAIN and was just as perplexed as we were. He agreed that the only logical next step was for the Cath lab to see if there were any new blockages. Since it was nearing 4 pm, we would be on the schedule first thing in the morning. In the meantime, Heath would be transferred to the Acute Cardiac Unit while he waited.
Since he was reasonably stable (his blood pressure was back above 100/70 (and his normal BP with meds is 130/85), I felt secure going back to the house and sleeping. I would need to be back at 6 am to be present when they took him down for Cath, and for the first time in two days, I could be alone and sleep uninterrupted.
SHIT – A SORE THROAT?
April and I got up early and headed to the hospital, hopeful and excited that he would be taken to procedure and the offending issue could be found and dealt with. I noticed my throat was slightly sore when I swallowed, but I pushed it aside because I honestly didn’t have the time to worry about it.
We sat and sat, watching the clock tick the hours away. By 10 am, I called the nurse in and asked about the Cath lab’s status. She said she would call down and find out where he was on the list, but another hour came and went without a word, and here Heath sits, starving once again (one meal a day for three days at this point).
Suffice it to say, I was growing more and more pissed by the minute. It was 11:30 am when the nurse came back and informed us that he WASN’T on the schedule; he was on the “Side Board,” meaning they would only take him down if someone didn’t show up or cancel.
WHAT THE F*CK!!!!!!
I might have been exhausted, but I dug deep and went to war!!! I demanded to speak to the Charge Nurse of the Cath lab, the Cardiologist on call, and nurse management. This was wholly unacceptable!!!!!! I have been a charge nurse in these units and know triage protocols. An outpatient does NOT take priority over an unstable inpatient brought by EMS.
I stood outside his room, staring at everyone who dared walk down the hall. I was not going to sit idly by while my husband had a potentially fatal ticking time bomb in his chest, and they were allowing someone who scheduled the procedure as an outpatient to kick him off the list. OH, HELL NO!!!
AND THEN SHE WALKS IN
About thirty minutes after I’ve raised holy hell, a female Cardiologist that we’ve not seen comes to the room to explain their bullshit protocols and that he will be taken down, but probably not today. I clearly explained why this was unacceptable due to the nature of the event that caused him to be there and his previous medical history.
The Doctor asked us to describe what occurred (she hadn’t bothered to read his chart), and that’s when she made her fatal mistake—she called us both “liars.” She proceeded to question everything that we described, saying things like, “That’s not possible,” “Or maybe this happened,” and “Are you sure that’s what really happened?”
Oh boy, it took everything in me not to lunge over my Husband’s hospital bed and punch her in the throat! Heath was trying to explain to her his previous heart attacks and cardiac caths that followed, revealing near-fatal blockages, and she completely rejected his story.
Anyone who knows Heath well knows that he does not like confrontation. He avoids it like the plague, but I could see in his face that he was about to lose all composure. He told her, “Well, I guess I’ll just go home to Virginia and have the heart Cath that I was scheduled to have today anyway since you aren’t taking anything I say seriously!”
I looked at her and very calmly but forcefully said:
“With all due respect, YOU were not there at the time of the incident, YOU did not have to intervene, and as an Acute Cardiac Care Registered Nurse of over 25 years, I think I have the ability and credentials to make a clinical determination as to what happened in my presence to my husband. We are done here, and all I need from you is to find out in the next hour if my husband is going to have a Cath today. If not, allow him to eat. I want evidence that he will be on the ACTUAL schedule first thing tomorrow morning.”
Once she was gone, I called in the Nurse, and we both told her that we would not allow this doctor to be part of his care. Her unwillingness to listen to either of us, to outright reject our experience and his medical history, made us both very nervous that she would have any ability to make medical decisions as to his care moving forward. I wanted it reported to the Hospital’s Nursing Manager and Medical Directors. I have my suspicions as to her lack of respect or concern, but it was more than likely racially/religiously motivated.
At this point in the day, I began to feel what can only be described as an internal quaking. I was sitting still, yet I could feel my insides shaking uncontrollably. My energy was drained from the constant “fight or flight” that I had been experiencing for so many days, fighting for my husband, caring for Sophia, and coordinating travel/locations for my Daughter and April. I was circling the drain.
You know how it is – you get stressed, and it lowers your immune system. Yep, I was getting what Heath had the week before. I knew it wasn’t the “baddies” since he had tested negative, so I would have to deal with it. I stopped and bought cough drops, Dayquil/Nyquil, and lidocaine throat spray, hoping it would be short-lived.
FINALLY - THE DAY IS HERE
After a night of what felt like I was swallowing razor blades, April and I once again got up early and headed to the hospital by 6 am. Would they keep their word and take him first thing in the morning?
We were going to find out. Lo and behold, they came at 7:30 am and whisked him to the Cath lab. Everyone we encountered was kind and empathetic. I was beginning to feel that we might be seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and was once again grateful that April was there, holding my hand and holding space for both of us as we faced the unknown.
What would they find? What if they didn’t see anything new? What then? What if he’s a mess in there, and they want to do open heart surgery? Will I have to extend the Airbnb indefinitely? Go to a hotel? Stay in his room and shower? What would I do about a car? I didn’t want to spend $1000/week on a rental car when I had cars at home. Would I have my Son drive up to Maine (14 hours) and then fly him home? Could I count on him to do that? He couldn’t even get on a plane to accompany his Sister without making a mess of things. All this and more was running through my mind as he was in the procedure.
I had to get out of this mindset, so April and I went to the gift shop and got some retail therapy. I bought a cute green sundress, a matching jewelry ensemble, and some chocolate, and we felt uplifted.
It wasn’t long before a nurse came out to get me and told me everything was okay, and they didn’t find anything new. Usually, that kind of information would cause you to feel relief, but it actually caused me more anxiety because it meant that we didn’t have an answer and nothing could be fixed.
The Cardiologist who performed the procedure went over his findings and reassured us that nothing had changed in the last year since his last CATH and heart attack the previous summer. Heath and I were both dumbfounded and asked, “Then what the hell caused this to happen?” He could only guess at this point and said it was either a Sudden Cardiac Arrest or potentially “drug-induced hypotension” caused by some weird acute reaction to his usual cardiac medications. He suggested that Heath stop one of his meds to see if that was the potential cause but other than that, we really had nothing to go on.
NOW WHAT?
After Heath returned to his room, we sat and pondered what to do with this information. While we were grateful and relieved to know that there was no worsening of his coronary arteries, which was suspected, we were terrified. How could we even attempt to get back to everyday life with the possibility of this same thing happening again, with no warning it’s even coming? How could he travel for work? How could we travel together on vacation ever again? Would we always live in fear that just around the corner, he could collapse again and die? It felt (and still does) like the Specter of Death lurked around every corner, and we were trying to outrun him.
We saw our life shrinking around us – limits being placed on everything that we loved to do.
Heath was discharged the following day. He felt okay but was emotionally shaky at the idea of leaving the safety of the hospital. We were advised not to fly home, so we spent the rest of the day figuring out how and when we would all travel home.
We tossed around the train idea but quickly realized it was cost-prohibitive (twice as much as flying home, so weird). We called the rental car company to change the drop-off of the car to Dulles, where our car was parked, and it would cost $1000 in addition to the $1600 they charged us for the rental and extension.
This week-long vacation that turned into two weeks was costing us as much as it would have been to go to Europe and stay at 4-star resorts. This is all before we even see the hospital bills.
We decided to return the car to the Portland airport, where we picked it up, and start a new rental agreement from Portland, Maine, to Dulles, Virginia, with a more reasonable fee of $270. So, plans were made—my Daughter and Granddaughter would drive to Boston on Sunday and fly home on Monday to Reagan, where her car was, and we would start driving home on Sunday, take our time, and get home when we got there.
This left us with two days of rest in Bangor, and boy, did we need it. At this point, whatever bug I had was in full effect – horrible throat pain, fever, cough. I was miserable. I could feel the burning in my chest that I always get when I come down with Bronchitis, and I knew I couldn’t ignore this if I was to be responsible for getting Heath home safely. So, while he was napping, I took myself to a walk-in clinic to be tested. Everything came back negative, even strep, and I was told to go home and rest. Yeah, sure.
ONE MORE LOBSTER ROLL, PLEASE
After a good night’s sleep (me on the couch), we all felt like we could use some fresh air, and we went out for a few meals, drove by Stephen King’s house (beautiful and spooky at the same time), and ended the day with a HUGE lobster roll at a local dive on the river. If I’m honest, the last two days are a blur, and I know we did other things, but I cannot remember the order or the day. Either way, we were trying to feel some normality but not overdo it for all our sakes.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
We packed up our cars, said our goodbyes, and headed out in different directions—my daughter to Boston, Heath to April, and I to Portland.
We took our time, stopped often, and took turns driving. I was so grateful to have April with me in case something happened.
We have always been the Three Musketeers and have taken many fun road trips. We travel well together and never have a dull moment. April always looks for an adventure - the largest ball of yarn or an old bridge. If she sees a historical marker on the side of the road, it is mandatory to stop, read it, and take a picture. It was tough for her to squash that reflex in the 14 hours on the road, but she was a champ as we continued.
We were almost home on the second day of driving, just into Maryland, when we saw a sign that read “National Shrine for our Lady of Lourdes.” It stopped us all in our tracks! I was driving, and I asked, “Do we feel the need to stop?” Every other time we had been enticed by a roadside sign, the same question had been asked, and it was usually a grumbling NO. Not this time. We all felt the pull, and at the last minute, I turned onto the road and headed for the giant golden Mother Mary statue that sat atop a very tall pillar on the hill.
It was hot as hades outside, and I was not feeling overly comfortable having Heath out walking around in the heat, but he felt the call, too, and the Three Musketeers made their way up the hill.
We walked the path through the gates into a beautiful and serene wooded area with statues of various saints, Archangels, Mother Mary, and Jesus, as well as scenes from the Bible in mosaic art depicting Christ’s condemnation and journey to the cross.
At the end of the path was a grotto filled with white candles and pew benches for people to worship. Signs along the path asked patrons to be silent, allowing others to pray or meditate without interruption. I knew this was all man-made, but a sacred energy coursed through the trees and into my heart, starting to crack the stranglehold caging my heart.
Tears began to flow, and I felt held by the Divine Mother as she gave me permission to hand over my pain to her to be washed away. I was so taken that I had lost track of Heath and became panicked – Where was he? Was he okay?
I found him sitting on a low wall next to the Grotto Fountain, hands in his lap, head bowed. Still in the mode of protector, I ran over to him to make sure he was okay, only to find him in tears himself as he pondered what he had just been through and thanked God for his third miracle.
In the middle of this park was a large water fountain and a wall with three spigots that advertised free sacred water from the grotto well. We didn’t have any containers, so we took handfuls and drank to fill ourselves with whatever healing power it could offer. Heath went as far as to bathe in it, figuring he needed the most coverage! He doused his head and face and thanked Mother Mary and Jesus for healing him.
Heath has referred to himself as agnostic his entire life. He’s walked alongside me for over 30 years as I’ve been on my own spiritual path and has supported my beliefs but never taken them as his own. In the past few years, he’s grown in his spirituality. His past heart attacks have brought him to his knees, but a daily reminder of the power of prayer has genuinely been the impetus of his awakening.
There’s a small church on the road that we take from our house to the main street in Stafford that had little signs spaced apart along the road that read “Five-second prayer, one, two, three, four, five, Amen.” He would drive by this twice every morning, going to and from the gym, and said his prayer of gratitude for peace, for me, our kids, and whatever was on his mind every day. He began to feel a connection to God for the first time, and it blossomed into a beautiful rose that filled his heart.
RETAIL THERAPY
I digress…on the way out, we stopped back in the gift shop and purchased a small bottle to fill with more Holy Water – Heath said, “I need all I can get.” I had my eye on a gorgeous painting of Mother Mary holding baby Jesus and a lamb that brought me to tears when I looked at it. Heath felt a similar emotion, and we agreed it would be a welcome piece to place in our home. It would provide revenue for the facility, and we would have a beautiful reminder of our time there and the healing we were given. She now resides in the hall just outside Heath’s office.
HOME SWEET HOME
We made it home later that day, relieved to be able to BE at home. You know how it is when you go on vacation for several weeks and when you finally come home? It’s our sanctuary, our safe place, welcoming us back. I felt the trees exhale in relief as we pulled into the driveway.
Now what?
I had called before we left Maine to make a follow-up appointment with Heath’s Cardiologist the day after we returned home to get him a Holter ECG monitor. The Cardiologist in Maine ordered one, but because we were not residents there, they could not give us one. We were advised to get one as soon as we returned home. We got into the doctor’s office with the expectation that he would be set up that day. NOPE. “We’ll call you…”
Two days later, as we drove back from taking April to the airport, I told Heath to call and push the issue. We were told, “Come straight here, and we’ll set you up.” That wasn’t so hard.
THREE WEEKS LATER
Two weeks of heart monitor complete. Waiting on Cardiac MRI to be scheduled. We’ve asked for a Brain MRI as well. (Update - the cardiologist won’t order because they will be liable for the results, so we have to find a PCP to order - have to tell the whole damn story to someone else! I think we’ll pay for it ourselves)
Heath continued to have a strange pressure in his head and had one episode where his vision started to become blurry, and he felt the familiar “zoning out” that he felt on that ill-fated day in Bar Harbor. We’ve removed one of his medications as a precaution and trial to see if it could be the cause.
So far, he’s not had another episode as described above, but he does continue to feel a low, dull pressure in his head. He says that it takes a few seconds longer to recall details/facts, but they eventually come.
Could it be residual from the lack of oxygen during his collapse? Could be. But I’m not taking any chances. I’ll continue to push for the brain to be scanned and will pay cash if I have to.
WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
We find ourselves vacillating between living in a constant state of fear and trying to act and feel normal. Heath expresses concern about leaving me with this big house and land to deal with if he should die – should we attempt to sell again? Where would we go? We’ve already been through THAT, and neither of us has the energy to entertain that exercise again. Do we stay where we are and know that we have a support system?
Speaking of support systems, I am incredibly blessed with a wonderful group of women in my neighborhood, led by Tammi Burkhardt. They brought us gourmet meals every night for nearly two weeks as we settled back into daily life. Food heals the heart and soul, and every bite of the food so lovingly prepared by the Angels that I’m so fortunate to call “friends” made us feel whole. Their care and concern brought Heath to tears on more than one occasion.
Where we go from here is still being determined. We may get answers in the upcoming MRIs. Perhaps not. We may be forced to chalk this up to a mystery, an exit point in Heath’s life that he didn’t take.
We do know that we aren’t ready to throw in the towel. We are a power couple, soul mates who aren’t ready for the end of our love story.
Out of precaution, we have been forced to live our lives very differently for now. We don’t venture too far from home.
If Heath has to travel for business, his Boss and I will work together to ensure his safety and protection, even if it means I go with him.
Poor kid is afraid to stay the night with her Grandma and Papa because she doesn’t know if “it” will happen again. This breaks our hearts, but I can’t blame her. Thankfully, she has a therapist that she can talk to and work through the trauma.
Life will never be the same again, but we are grateful for the opportunity to have this life, however long it may be.
I know this was a long read…I wrote it for myself, to heal.
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