Vicious. Vicious and abrupt. All I could comprehend was my body was clammy & going limp, with the inability to see anything other than pitch black. Completely unaware of what was happening. To the ground my body went, involuntarily. Panic rushed through me. My body wasn’t my body in that moment. Wake up and brush it off, that was my mind on constant repeat trying to get my body to do as my mind was telling it to. It’s just an episode of passing out, it happens to everyone once in awhile. So, I had assumed. Keep moving forward, leave it behind me, those were my intentions. Let’s be real, out of sight out of mind so why let one episode consume me; although I knew I needed to see a cardiologist, I could feel it deep in my chest.
Sounds cliche, but in that moment I realized I was ill or maybe I was just being a hypochondriac. Ill and 27 years old didn’t go together, so being ill couldn’t be right? Remember, this isn’t being ill as in I need to leave work and rest for a few days (Although,we all could use a few days of resting 😉), but ill on a deeper level that would require further testing on my heart.
A hypochondriac certainly wasn’t correct, but being in denial was. Ever been in denial about something, minor or major? Let me tell you something, denial is a son of a bitch. Letting concern show on my face felt like defeat, especially in a work setting or even worse, to Sierra and Lydia. So what did I do? Want to take a guess?
Work, work, work, work, work. Okay, okay, work probably should’ve waited, but I was so adamant about not letting an illness consume me. Internally denying and not vocalizing to others my concern was my solution. Medical offices are fast paced and I appear healthy on the outside, meaning I wasn’t going to be taken serious anyway, so repeating to myself “I’m good”, mentally allowed me to accept I could handle it without a cardiologist.
Well, here’s the kicker with that son of a bitch we’re going to call denial. Denial consumed me, it consumed my thoughts, it consumed my ability to listen to what my body was trying to tell me. A failing heart inside of my chest and while this was happening and progressively getting worse, I was in denial that it could be a reality.
Reality hit, hard. It hit hard while laying on an operating table, wide awake being told the risk of not only the surgery that was occurring, but what my future could be. That’s reality. That surgery, my very first surgery, incision after incision, burn after burn, agony and pain, wet tears down my cheek, ugly wet tears. Hours after hours of laying on an operating table had to be successful….it just had to be, right!?
Or so I had thought.