MY BROKEN HEART
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As he inched into his 80s, Dad frequently said, “Old age is not for sissies.” He was right, dammit.
Shortness of breath, a suspicious EKG, several troubling twinges and a telling echocardiogram revealed my ticker is in trouble. I am now a 24/7 cardiac patient wearing a Zio monitor, attending weekly heart-focused exercise and nutrition classes, recording my blood pressure and oxygen level daily, and hoping all this significantly boosts my very low Ejection Factor.
A month and a half ago, I was blithely sprinkling salt on fried eggs, snacking on creamy D’affinois cheese, sipping a nightly Scotch Old Fashioned, sometimes two. But I also drank morning smoothies laced with spinach and blueberries, walked two miles a day on my treadmill and lifted free weights during a challenging Curtis Adams tape. Life was pretty darn good too.
Life is still good today, just different. I had to buy a larger pill box to accommodate new meds — Valsartan, Carvedilol and Lasix. I’m now a regular at the Maine Health Heart Failure Clinic (which drastically needs a better name) where I get tested, poked, prodded and evaluated. In the past I’ve written about my melanomas, fractured jaw and an L4-L5 spinal operation, so I decided to share my broken heart with Wandering readers. Maybe you’re experiencing similar things, and maybe this will prompt you to make an appointment with your doctor.
Do not pity me! My heart may be “extra weak and dilated” but it’s pumping. I get winded going up and down the stairs but I’m not marooned in an armchair. The cause of all this is debatable. Doctors say it could be the result of a virus I had last summer. Then again, heart disease is in my family gene pool. And I am 81 years old.
But I strongly subscribe to Satchel Paige’s wise words: “Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”
So I’ll forgo walking and instead use a motorized cart playing golf at Webhannet this summer. I’ve discovered that salt-free crunchy peanut butter is absolutely delicious and Dash salt-free lemon pepper revs up broiled salmon. Last week my friend Jean and I drove to Portland to take a Mocktail course. (Yes, I’ll blog about that soon. A total hoot!) And I can assure you that my evening ginger beer is most satisfying.
Honestly, this is not my first broken heart. One doesn’t get to be 80+ and unscathed. I survived a tough divorce. I still mourn the loss of my wonderful parents, treasured aunts and dear friends. I’ve wept with my kids over their heartaches and struggles. When Mr. Wonderful bravely and stoically handed me his car keys because severe macular degeneration made driving unsafe, I squeezed back tears. He hates to be housebound.
This morning at cardiac rehab as I was lifting 2-pound weights, I noticed a sign on the wall. In big bold black letters, it said STRONGER THAN YESTERDAY.
That’s the plan.
