Life has been quite busy - quite normal- and I've had quite a bit on my mind. There are lots of things to talk about - Cameron's transition from infant to toddler, my ongoing discoveries that restaurants billed as "healthful" alternatives are wolves in sheeps' clothing, what I've learned about marriage in the last 10 months, the definition of a best friend (bestie!), and my anticipation of reaching major milestones this spring (Cameron's 1st Birthday, the 1 year anniversary of my SCAD and heart attack, my grandpa's 90th Birthday, and my 3 year wedding anniversary). But what my mind keeps sticking to (and what I avoided writing about for the better part of January) are people like Ben Breedlove, Bethany Haveard and Liz Logelin. Google them. They each have a story that deserves to be read. But if you're lazy (or a working parent!), the common thread is that they all died young from cardiovascular disease. Bethany and Liz both died after the birth of their children. Liz didn't even get to hold her daughter.
So I find myself asking the question - "Why me? - fairly often these days. I have felt this way since the day of my heart attack when my doctor shared the only studies found on SCAD were autopsies. This is a fairly lonely place to be - most people think I'm incredible lucky. And in a way, I do feel that way too - I'm lucky to be here, to see my son growing, to continue to live in the world and hopefully make an impact. But surviving a heart attack is something few people my age can really empathize with. Perhaps it's akin to being haunted - the heart attack is like this ghost always in the background, always peeking over my shoulder (and really, who wants to hang out with the creepy girl and her ghost?!). And then there's this pressure, which really only comes from me, to live the life that Ben, Bethany and Liz don't get to.
This is an unrealistic expectation and the practical part of me knows it. As a working mom and date-night loving wife, there's little room much else. I'm happy to work for a nonprofit and I volunteer when I can; I've tried to be a better friend, daughter, sister, etc.... but honestly, it's exhausting. And pretty much impossible. But I'm here!! And they aren't. Ben doesn't get to go to college and Bethany and Liz don't get to see their child off to the first day of kindergarten. I don't even know these people but what happened to them seems monumentally unfair. Which makes me feel that struggling to accept my survival is just silly. Oh but that unpractical side of me never backs down from a challenge, especially one so emotionally charged.
I don't think I survived my heart attack because I'm a better person and I don't think surviving a heart attack makes you a better person. As I've remarked through the course of this blog, I have been FORCED to think harder about how I spend my time and who I spend it with. And I'm slowly learning to do this in the context of the life I already had.
One thing I can do is advocate for those who did not survive and raise awareness of heart disease. If sharing my story saves someone else's life, then you're never going to see the end of this blog. You can help too - this Friday, February 3rd, is Wear Red Day. I'll be wearing red to celebrate my survival and honor the memory of women lost to heart disease. Sorry to get all sales-pitchy on you, but if you've read my blog or shared it with a friend, I encourage you to wear red on Friday in support of me and the women in your life who have been/are/will be affected by heart disease. And if you're so inclined, send me a picture! I am also excited to share that Brian and I will be participating in the American Heart Association's Heart Ball on March 10th at the Ritz in Clayton.
“What I have since realized is that if people expect you to be brave, sometimes you pretend that you are, even when you are frightened down to your very bones. ”
― Sharon Creech
― Sharon Creech
“That was the thing about the world: it wasn't that things were harder than you thought they were going to be, it was that they were hard in ways that you didn't expect.” ― Lev Grossman