There is nothing like having to have a terrifying procedure done, at the hospital, to throw your life in perspective. This past Thursday, I had a procedure done called a Catheter Ablation for SVT and AFIB. Basically, that means my heart would go crazy on me. It would beat out of rhythm and far too fast.
My doctor called this a fairly common and low risk procedure. Ok, easy for her to say. She was not the one that would be on the table.
She was going to mess with my heart. The idea of anyone getting near my heart, skilled or not, was very scary.
One of the most terrifying moments was having to sign the consent form. Risks of procedure; permanent pacemaker, collapsed lung, punctured heart, heart attack, stroke . . . death! It made me shake with nervousness when I held the pen.
I knew this was the best option for me though. People with AFib are 30% more likely to have a stroke and when I had an “episode” I was miserable. It was this, or remain on medication for the rest of my life. Medication that had side effects that made me feel awful. I am young. I hope the rest of my life to be a very long time, so surgery it was.
Even though I know I shouldn’t have, I couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. I thought about what would happen should I not come out of this procedure. What would happen to my husband, my children? The idea of my babies growing up without me was beyond what I could fathom. How tragic that would be. That is not something that you ever get over. I cried thinking of it. I cried thinking of how much I would miss.
I was extra attentive the couple of days before the procedure. Said extra ‘I love you’s’, gave more hugs, spent more time hanging out at bedtime. Should this be my last days, I wanted to make sure that my family never questioned my love for them.
I know, overly dramatic, for sure, but I just couldn’t help it.
The night before my surgery my daughter cried and said, “I don’t want you to go.” She must have sensed my fear. She hugged me extra tight and extra long.
That night I took extra care in making sure my husband knew I loved him. He knew I was scared. He hugged me and told me everything will be alright. Four very powerful words indeed.
That is one of the perks of a good marriage. There is always someone there, when you need him most, to tell you that it is going to be alright. To balance out your fears with calm reason. To hold your hand when you are frightened.
Obviously, the procedure went well. Time will tell if my AFIB has been cured. My husband was strong when the doctors wheeled me away from him that morning. He gave me a big kiss and said, “I will see you soon.” He didn’t look worried, which helped me be calm.
When I saw him 7 hours later, after I left the recovery, he came in my room and cried in relief. He had been worried, he just didn’t want to show me that he was. He wanted to be my rock. It was so incredibly sweet.
When I came home from the hospital, I wasn’t supposed to use the stairs, so he carried me up the stairs and put me in bed.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude. For my sister who watched the kids. For my sweet children who were so happy I was home. For my amazing husband who carried me to bed.
How lucky I am to be on this beautiful planet today!