Tag Archives: anxiety

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My Next Chance: Surgery Round 3.

I haven’t shared much lately on my heart because honestly I haven’t known what to say. I’ve struggled with a heart condition for the last 6 years. It doesn’t get easier, but you become more numb.

Numb to the pain.

Numb to the understanding that you might never have a normal day again.

I can normally tell when my heart is getting bad again. Since January I’ve had bad chest pain and numbness in my left arm. It comes and goes, lasting for days at a time. Breathing has become difficult, especially when standing or walking.

It’s my normal. 

Yesterday I finally saw my doctor for my regular check-up. My anxiety was so bad the night before. I cried for hours. I dreaded this appointment. The morning of, I sat in the waiting room, wanting to leave.

I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know what to expect. I figured another medication trial.

I got into the room,  and they did my routine EKG. I then explained the episodes to my doctor. His face told it all. He instantly was concerned, but he wouldn’t say much to why. He held my EKG report, and he asked for the technician to come in to check my implanted monitor. She scrolled through many pages of episodes.

My doctor immediately said, “it’s time for another ablation. Sooner rather than later”.  I instantly knew why I was dreading this appointment.

This will make my third ablation. The first one was failed from the beginning. The second lasted less than 2 months. Third time is the charm, right?

I’ve accepted it.  Accepted that my life might never be normal.

It might always be filled with cardiologist appointments every few months.  Routine EKG’s, and monitor readings. I might never be able to remove the flash drive sized monitor from my chest. It might always be filled with medication. With dizzy spells. Black outs. High heart rates. Bottoming out blood pressure. Chest pain. Arm numbness.

Simply pain.

I’m terrified of this surgery. But I’m more terrified of not trying. This is my next chance at normal.

It might only last a few months.

It might not work at all.

But it might work for the rest of my life.

The outcome is unknown.

All I do know is this is my next chance.

It’ll decide whether I’ll be able to walk up a flight of stairs without blacking out.

If I’ll be able to walk to the kitchen from another room without being out of breath.

If I’ll be able to stand without the room spinning.

It’ll decide if I’ll be able to run around the park with my son.

It’ll decide whether my heart and body can handle another pregnancy.

It’ll decide a lot of things.

This is my chance.

I’d be lying if I said I was certain this chance will be successful. I’m scared. Doubtful. And worried. Worried the outcome won’t be what I want and need. But I’m more worried about the alternative.

Six years of appointments. Six years of heart rates over triple the normal rate. Six years of black outs. Six years of crying, not able to breathe from the chest pain. Six years of my arm going numb and not being to pick something up. Six years of Herald. 

I am very thankful God placed my cardiologist in my life. I am very thankful for technology used in the medical industry that helps keep an eye on my malfunctioning heart to tell us when it’s time to have another round of surgery. 

I am very thankful for all the lessons my broken heart has taught me.

But I am ready. Ready to take on my next chance. 

Herald and I could use prayers as we navigate through the summer, off medication, as we prepare my heart to handle the surgery. 

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The impossible becomes possible.

This tiger I bought when I was 5 weeks pregnant. It was the same time that a nurse told me to consider an abortion. She only saw concern for my life, when I saw concern for the life growing inside me. There were so many fears I had, and losing this baby was one of them. I was not going to purposely choose to lose him or her. I saw this at Target and it was the first purchase I made for my little one. It seems like such a little thing but it was such a big deal to have something tangible to hold onto while I was trying to not lose all hope…. all it takes is faith the size of a mustard seed and the impossible becomes possible.

He brings so much joy to my life, and I look back and wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I knew to enjoy the pregnancy more. I wish I knew to not be so scared to lose the baby and embrace the life growing inside of me without fear of it slipping away. I wish I knew to trust God with every ounce of my being, instead of being scared of Him not answering my prayers.

I am so thankful that he allowed my sweet baby to be laying here, happy and smiling.

We don’t know the future. Right now you might be scared of what is to come. But one day you’ll look back and wish you had trusted a little more. Everything works out the way He plans. Sometimes it’s not the way we want, and sometimes it’s everything we prayed for… all it takes is faith the size of a mustard seed and the impossible becomes possible.

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Left vs Right

These are two medications I take daily.

The left is a medication for my heart. It works to slow my heart down and allows my heart rate to be normal around 75% of the time. It doesn’t make my life normal but manageable.

The right is an antidepressant. I have taken it for the last two years to help with depression and anxiety. It allows it to be reduced tremendously. It’s not a ‘happy pill’ but it makes every day a little more manageable.

Both help me daily to be healthy so I can be the best wife and mother I can be.

Yet, the one on the left society says is okay. The one on the right they say is “the easy way out”. Both are used to make me healthy.

One’s goal is to make me physically healthy and one is to make me mentally healthy. But the outcome is the same: I’m alive, and able to be the best version of myself. Society needs to stop shaming people for doing what’s best for them.

Taking medication for mental health is just as important as taking something to make yourself physically healthy. Don’t be ashamed to do what’s best for you. Whether that’s taking a pill everyday, or not. That’s a personal choice and you shouldn’t be shamed for it if that’s something you decide is best for you.

I’m alive, and able to be the best version of myself because of these two bottles.

They are both equally important.

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Admitting is half the battle.

I’m exhausted. Two years ago I began taking an antidepressant. It helped, and I knew it helped. But it wasn’t till the past few weeks that I realized how much it helped. Five weeks ago, after my son was born, my prescription also ran out. With being new to motherhood, and putting everything into taking care of my baby, I’ve put myself on the back burner- like trying to renew my meds.

I was off of them the first trimester of my pregnancy, and I could tell a difference in myself, but I honestly thought it was just pregnancy hormones- now I know this feeling isn’t and wasn’t just hormones.

Depression is real. Anxiety is real. Needing medication is real. 

This is what goes through someones mind with depression.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not. Not at all. I’m depressed. I have anxiety. My biggest fear is rejection. I want to tell someone. Maybe I should tell you. I need someone to hug me. Tell me it’s all gonna be okay. I want to tell someone. I want to spill out everything. But what if I tell you, and you reject me? What if you think I’m asking for attention?”

“I’m fine, just tired. Thanks though”

We think this way. We try to say something. Anything. And we are frozen. A million things go through our minds. We decide to wait. We can tell someone another time. Another day. When it’s more convenient.

Let me tell you, it’ll never be more convenient.

I thought I could handle it. Being off medication. I wanted to be okay off it. Society tells you that you are weak if you need it.

But I want to tell you, admitting you need it is what makes you strong. You already won half the battle by just admitting those three words- I need help. 

Don’t be afraid to admit it. Talk to someone. Anyone. Opening up to someone is scary. I know. But going through this kind of darkness alone is even scarier.

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I want to be labeled as healthy.

7 years ago I made the decision to become a vegetarian. It was an innocent decision that lasted for a few years that way.

Then it slowly started to become my excuse. 

My excuse to not have to eat much.

My excuse I could use when I wanted to skip a meal. “Oh, there’s nothing here I can eat“

My excuse to eat as little as possible. 

Vegetarianism can be healthy. For me, it wasn’t about a lifestyle change or better eating habits- it was a way to hide the fact that I hated my body. It was the excuse that people would believe when I wouldn’t eat. 

Vegetarianism is also a diet. A diet that you can use to constrict food. It limits the amount of food options, and most the time it even completely eliminates any food options depending on where you are. 

It also creates a sense of control. You are able to control something. Even something as simple as food, it’s control. 

For me, vegetarianism was a way to restrict my food options, and have some control over my life when my heart was getting worse. Meat slowly became a fear food. 

Over the past few months I’ve been taking a lot of medications for my heart condition that happens to make me not have an appetite. So that doesn’t help either- but that I have no control over. This- I can control.  

When I’d have a bad day with my heart, skipping a meal was my release. It was how I’d handle the anger I had towards God for giving me this. It was how I handled the insecurities I had about my weight and my body. It was how I’d handle the depression. It was how I’d handle life.

A few months ago I decided I wanted to stop this unhealthy eating habit, or whatever you want to call it. If I had to deal with my body already failing, I didn’t want to be the reason it was failing even more. I decided that I was going to start eating meat again, stop using vegetarianism as a cover up for eating as little as possible, and get healthy. 

That idea lasted a few days and I literally couldn’t bring myself to end it. So I didn’t. 

Here I am, months later, into my 7th year of this, and I’m ready. 

With my health getting worse, I’ve decided that I need to do this. It isn’t easy. Probably going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I want to get to the healthy version of me.

I want to be happy, and healthy, and that’s what I am working to become.

I post this to say that I’m not perfect. I make mistakes and this was one of the biggest ones I’ve ever made. I truly believe this vegetarian lifestyle can be healthy, and who knows, I might decide to stay one and turn it into a healthy one. All I know is that I’m finally taking this into my own hands. Whether or not I eat meat isn’t a big deal honestly. The important thing is that I live a healthy lifestyle. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do in terms of this. I’m figuring it out along the way. The ache has just been getting stronger and stronger and I know it’s time to surrender it all. 

I’ve been scared of what people will think when they know about this. Which is why I haven’t opened up much. But I know no matter what I choose, I am strong enough to handle this. Whether on my own, or with support, because my God is with me every step of the way. 

I’ve struggled for years with not being enough. I am learning that I am. 

Size doesn’t define me.

A measuring tape doesn’t mean anything.

Food shouldn’t control me. 

I am strong enough to get through this. My goal isn’t to end this vegetarian lifestyle. It’s to become healthy again, vegetarian or not. I’m tired of labels. I don’t want to be labeled by the foods I choose to eat. If I decide to stay a vegetarian, I don’t want the label to define me. If I decide to eat meat, I don’t want to be defined by that either. 

I want to be labeled as healthy.