I almost died and now running is my validation

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It is a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Vermont. I ran my long run today. Brilliant sunshine, cool breeze, and rolling hills. Truly idyllic. Past the cows that I actually talk to as I go by, as they walk along the fence as though escorting me down the yard. Their expression is one of incredulity – it is as though they are asking me: “Why are you doing this?” I think I am projecting….

I really don’t like to run….just putting it out there. I run. And I run often. I run at least three times during the week. And I have even gotten to the point of running a long run (for me) on the weekends of at least six miles or so. But, I don’t like running.

I like the idea of running. I like thinking of myself as a runner. I like the way I feel after a run. I like the cool clothes I have to run in. I like that I can rationalize that I ran off enough calories to drink my one Saturday night beer guilt-free.

But I don’t like to run. But I run.

Running was always an ancillary activity for me. I ran to get in shape for whatever else it was that I was doing. But, now running is an end in and of itself; a validation.

After my run today I sat down in the grass, turned my music up really loud, and cried. It was a moment, and I don’t allow myself many. It goes back to one of the reasons I don’t like to run. It gives me time to think!

Saturday afternoon a year ago, I was just out of surgery, in ICU, intubated, with a multitude of tubes, and an external pacemaker literally coming out of my chest. I had a new aortic valve, one to replace the one that had ruptured on just such an uneventful run days before.

I was living in Moscow, Russia (that is a story for another day!) and was at the gym running on the treadmill. Running outdoors in Moscow is a little sketchy. I always run with a heart rate monitor and that day was no different. I felt great and ran hard. I didn’t pay much attention to the ever so slight cramping in my chest. I ran through it, more annoyed with my heart rate monitor that didn’t seem to be working properly, as I couldn’t get a consistent reading. I changed out the belt – twice - finally gave up, and kept running.

The cramping didn’t go away, and was shortly joined by a wicked headache and being physically ill. I went to the Emergency Room of the European Medical Center in Moscow, the first of two visits over the next couple of days, where I was given an EKG, and put on intravenous medication to bring down my blood pressure, which had skyrocketed, and to relieve the accompanying headache. After a couple of hours, I was pronounced fine, assured that it wasn’t my heart, but encouraged to see the cardiologist to “address my heart murmur.” What heart murmur?

I made another visit to the ER on the intervening days because of that nagging cramp, was again given a clean EKG and sent home, this time with an antacid. I almost didn’t go to the cardiologist. I was feeling fine, but for the cramping. I had convinced myself that the doctor was right, that the cramping was nothing more than indigestion or some such, and that I would get my ‘heart murmur’ checked out when I was back in the States at the end of June. But that plan didn’t sit well with my husband, so off I went.

At the cardiologist I was given a third EKG which, again, was normal. It wasn’t until I was given an echocardiagram, and the cardiologist switched from speaking slowly to me in English to speaking very rapidly in Russian to the swell of doctors who had appeared, that I started to worry. She told me that I had a problem with my valve. I was prepped for a trans-[esophegal ] echocardiagram. It didn’t go well. The building tension in the room was contagious and I began to panic. I started choking and vomiting. The words went from the somewhat vague, “you have problem with your valve,” to “you have to have surgery right away.” My response was not vague at all – I said ‘No.”

The cardiologist was the kindest person. She laughed a nervous laugh, addressed me by name, took my hand in hers and explained that my aortic value had ruptured, and that I wouldn’t survive if I did not have surgery. She was very plain and matter of fact, describing massive aortic insufficiency and how my heart could not keep up. It was the single most surreal moment of my life. It was as if she were talking to me, but not about me.

The next few hours are a blur. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do the surgery in Moscow; the survival rate was below 20%. So arrangements were made to transport me to Berlin. My insurance company declined the authorization to transport me – I was too unstable and might not survive the flight. Again, enter my husband. There wasn’t much of a choice or a discussion. I wouldn’t be staying in Moscow. He contacted American Express, who agreed to cover the cost of my transport and we were on our way to Berlin. (There is a ton of drama in between, like having to talk to each of my children thinking that it could be the last time, but that you can imagine.)

I arrived in Berlin, was met by a trauma team at the airport and transported to the Berlin Heart Institute. There were brief discussions and decisions to be made on the nature of the valve (biological or mechanical) and what I should expect from the surgery. I then I was out.

I was in surgery for over six hours and at the Heart Institute for 23 days.

I was given a bye.

From that moment forward (I started walking laps around the hospital ward the day I was released from ICU), and for the last year, I have walked, run, lifted, biked, and swam, working desperately to get my confidence back. I had a fabulous team of doctors, and they quite literally saved my life. They fixed me, physically, and I am good to go. But, as we all know, it is what goes on in our heads that matters. And my head has been a scary place this last year.

Being athletic has defined me to a certain extent – I was a tomboy when I was a child and a jock in high school and college. I thought of myself as one of the guys when I started my career on Wall Street – I could talk the talk and had a better jump shot than most. And, as I had my children, I reveled in teaching them to throw and shoot and catch.

But here I was, being told that a part of my body had failed me, and not because of anything I did, or could have done. It just did. I had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect – a bicuspid aortic valve – and it chose that moment to fail. At that point, my head and my body parted company, so to speak.

Because I was in decent shape and had generally treated my body well over the years, I weathered the surgery and the immediate recovery pretty well. My body was traumatized, but it was recovering.

As well as I was doing physically, I was insecure and frightened, and not a little insane. I wouldn’t swim unless someone watched me and I wouldn’t run alone. I was angry. I felt a tremendous sense of ‘unfairness’. I ordered a new “Road Id” so that all of the vital info about my valve and other details would be immediately available should I have an issue when I was alone. I wore my heart rate monitor 24/7 and took my blood pressure a thousand times a day. I was convinced that chocolate milk and my friend Anne’s home-made granola were the key to my recovery, and I drank and ate them every day.

But I didn’t stop running, or swimming, or lifting, or biking. I met with an exercise physiologist who assured me that I wouldn’t implode if I ran. I worked with a personal trainer, something I had never done before, who helped me gradually build my strength. A message therapist and a stretching specialist helped my body heal and allowed me to dispel the feeling that my chest was going to cave in on me.

I am not, and probably never will be, the person I was a year and a day ago. It may sound canned, or hokey, but my life’s path has been altered. And for that I am grateful. I have come to know myself and my body. I am more aware of my limitations, and more realistic about my abilities. I have learned to include and rely on others for my physical and emotional well being.

I am still insecure and frightened and a little angry – but I am no longer irrational. I have regained control and confidence. I survived because I was physically fit, and I need to stay fit so that, when the time comes to replace the valve (15-17 years), I will be ready.

But one thing hasn’t changed – I was and I am, a triathlete. I am going to do the Danskin at Disney for Mother’s Day…my gift to myself and to all who have helped me on this incredible life journey. I won’t be ‘racing’ or ‘competing’ – I will be validating! I am viewing it as my one-year check up! I will let you know how it goes.

Margie

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There are 2 comments on this post. Join the discussion!

kristenbennett says:

You go girl! Good luck at the triathlon.

Friday, May 6, 2011 at 2:54pm EDT

WildCelticRose says:

Thank you for sharing your story.

In addition to being inspirational, it serves an equally important function.

To remind women to DEMAND adequate attention, testing and healthcare by a system that doesn't always understand that cardiac events present differently in women than in men who are almost exclusively used in trails and studies.

Women are often told that it's "anxiety" or some other less than life threatening issue.

Friday, May 6, 2011 at 10:07pm EDT

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