It’s been a life changing couple of weeks.

 

Wednesday, October 7^th, Mr Big passed away unexpectedly.

 

Little did I know in four days, my heart would, literally, break.

 

Saturday, October 10^th, I was out at a farm, two hours from home, arriving at the pumpkin patch when out of nowhere my chest and left arm went into extreme pain.

 

My husband called 911, and I was taken to a hospital two hours from home.

 

The ER decided to keep me overnight for testing and evaluation and while moving me onto a different floor and bed; I went into cardiac arrest and after receiving CPR was on a ventilator for 12 hours.

 

I remember nothing past the time in the ER to the ventilator being pulled out from me and coughing non-stop.

 

I have relied on my support system and best friend, Dan, to tell me all this that happened to me.

 

I ended up staying four days in the ICU and now wear a defibrillator, as I wait for surgery to get a pacemaker.  I am on medications and will endure physical therapy to return to 100%.

 

No neurological or brain damage.

 

However, every day I now notice my breath, feel my heartbeat, am aware of my body’s response to life…because I am always on a new alert as if it will be my last.

 

My heart is still sluggish but technically back to normal.  However, what baffles the multi team of doctors and cardiologists is why I went into cardiac arrest.

 

They diagnosed me as having takotsubo / stress cardiomyopathy, also known as broken heart disease.  Most people who get this, often young and healthy females, do not go into cardiac arrest.

 

So…Mr. Big’s death hit me so hard that three days later my heart broke.

 

He was, after all, my first baby with Dan.

 

My first dog.

 

He taught me how to love and care for someone other than myself, how to prep to care for a little human.

 

He was there with me through all of infertility.

 

Through IVF.

 

Through transfers and my miscarriage.

 

Through my pregnancy.

 

He was there when my water broke.

 

He was there when I got home with Ferris.

 

He was with me for 11 years of memories and suddenly gone.

 

And there I was…fighting for my own life at 37 years old.

 

Healthy, a runner, never done drugs, not overweight, no history of heart disease, and no preexisting conditions.

 

A medical mystery.

 

Suddenly I felt like I did when I was told I have infertility.

 

Alone.

 

Scared.

 

Confused.

 

Sad.

 

Angry.

 

Unprepared.

 

Praying and asking for guidance for one more day.

 

And yet, I am alive.

 

If there is anything I continue to advocate and teach Ferris it is that we are not exempt from anything.

 

Don’t you ever think the world owes you anything because it doesn’t.  The world doesn’t owe you a thing.

 

And that goes from cardiac arrest to miscarriage to infertility diagnosis.

 

I am not exempt from any of this just because I am me.

 

Which is why I will now add this recent chain of events as new pages in my continued work of advocacy.

 

To take you along on the road of infertility.

 

To listen to your stories, one more day.

 

To do all I can to be a role model to my son, one more day.

 

Forever grateful that God hasn’t given me anything I cannot handle,

 

Because we are strongest when we have no other choice.

 

I have a Beanie Baby ghost named Spooky that was given to me when I was in the hospital with an allergic reaction when I was in high school.  It was a gift from the after-school employment I had working for my dad, to remind me that I got through a scary event and people were thinking of me.

 

I decided that I would no longer only have it out for Halloween decor, as I need to see it and celebrate getting through life’s scary moments, all year round.

 

Now I will forever have a defibrillator.  Currently, I wear the Life Vest as I wait for my pace maker to be implanted.

 

Another part of my story of courage, strength, and opportunity to change the world with my work.  And I chose to share this with you, to put this down in writing, because I need to remember these moments as I wake up, one more day.

 

Instead of crying why me, I need to be thankful that I survived.

 

This is a new page in my story.  One I wasn’t prepared to write so soon, but one that has value and meaning and needs to be told.

 

Just like infertility, miscarriage, and now my heart health, they do not define me, but help to create the woman I am continually growing into and becoming.

 

And the future is bright, as I have a lot more work to do as we continue to turn another page.