Five years ago on a beautiful March Day, my life changed forever when I walked into the heart failure and transplant clinic. The name on the door startled me and I almost turned around to go back to work, but something was seriously wrong with me, and I needed answers. A week earlier I had received a diagnosis of pulmonary hypertension and my heart was beginning to fail, the question of the day was why?
For approximately three hours I underwent multiple diagnostic tests ending in a bubble study, an odd one which required an IV injection of agitated saline (to create bubbles), that would find its way into my heart. A nurse was brought in to administer the IV and the previously chatty echocardiogram tech suddenly stopped talking as she intently concentrated on the sonogram screen. I wondered what she was looking at because I was quite sure my heart was IN.MY.THROAT. instead of my chest by that point. After two saline injections, the right and left atria, aka the top 2 chambers of my heart, filled entirely with what looked like smoke. As it cleared, even my untrained eye could see what turned out to be a large hole between them.
A doctor was called, and in walked a heart transplant surgeon. I was so scared that I forgot I was half naked, and as a "never nude" that is saying something! (if you are a fan of Arrested Development you will get the reference. 😜) When he walked in my heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach in 0.2 seconds. How in the world did I find myself on that table, talking to him? I was too young, just a few weeks shy of forty-seven! Why was he saying things like, "that's odd?", and "why would it do that?", when talking about MY heart? He left to consult with the critical care pulmonologist, and I was allowed to get dressed and then escorted to an exam room. The pulmonologist gently explained that I was born with a congenital heart defect. The good news was that I would NOT need the heart transplant surgeon, but I would need more tests to determine the size of the defect and why blood was shunting left to right. I had NO idea what that meant but it sounded bad. My tears were abated by a deep state of shock, and I was released to go about the rest of my day.
It was surreal. I had walked into that clinic with what was originally thought to be a lung disease and walked out with a diagnosed heart defect. As I walked outside to find my car, it did not take long for me to spiral into a panic, and I struggled to hold myself together. I called a friend, maybe my youngest brother; the details are fuzzy. Soon enough I blamed myself for failing to maintain my health. I had tried, and had gone to so many doctors seeking help, but they blamed me and were uninterested in digging deeper. Most told me I was anxious and depressed. A few told me I had mild asthma. One hinted that I was a hypochondriac. One told me I was lazy. After years of seeking help and being failed by the medical establishment, I started to believe that they were right. I labeled myself as a fat, lazy, depressed hypochondriac. And I became many of those things.
*********************************************************************
Although it was a heavy thing to find out something was seriously wrong with my heart, the defect explained so much. I found myself crying from relief that I WAS NOT crazy. I was NOT a hypochondriac. I was sick! There was a cause and effect. My heart had done the best it could until it simply could not do anymore and went on strike.
Click on the links below to read some of my favorite blog posts about my experience:
*********************************************************************
Monday, April 4, 2022, marks five years since my surgery. Inexplicably this anniversary is stirring up more emotions than I was anticipating. I thought this year would be like the others, but it is not. Yes, I am grateful to God for healing, rescue, mercy, GRACE upon GRACE - yet I am unsettled, tired, afraid, generally out of sorts. The past few years have been difficult. Grieving and years of recovering from the damage the defect had on my body have been grueling. Other heart holes have been revealed, just not physical in nature. Most I have tried to fill myself, others I have ignored, and they have caused damage, but God in his mercy is "helping" me face a few of them now. I would rather not, because heart surgery, whether physical, spiritual, or emotional involves a lot of recovery time.
In this season of Lent, I am more aware than ever of my flaws and my failures. Growing and changing is challenging work and the process can be overwhelming, emotional, messy, and immensely difficult, but God still shows up for me in big ways and loves this flawed creation of his. Oh, how I hope that this year will see me resting in him and increasing my faith as I allow him to love me deeper still.
If you find yourself facing your own heart full of holes, just remember, new growth is possible and Easter is coming.
