I’m told that at some point in time we all inevitably have this moment where we sit back and say “is this really my life?” This moment of disbelief could be the result of good things, or bad things, and it may happen in an instant never to be thought of again, or it may inspire someone to completely change their ways. Well, I just had the day-equivalent to one of these moments. What I need most right now is to purge my brain.
It’s been a few months since a trip to the heart center at Columbia Presbyterian hospital has served me a hard dose of reality. This summer, I’ve managed to feel very far away from the real life health concerns the doctors (and probably most people I know) hold for me. But today was one of those days where I had to bathe in reality.
It starts when I’m in the waiting room. I’m always the youngest one in the Center for Advanced Cardiac Care. Not the youngest ever (unfortunately), but the youngest I’ve seen at any given time in one of these waiting rooms. It makes me feel like a loner, out of place. I do things like dig through my purse for my Medicare card and stop because wait –-this isn’t the purse that should hold a Medicare card. No, that’s for people over 65 who have lived their life, met their grandchildren, people who have sucking candies and tissues in their purses and not shiny peach flavored lip gloss and ticket stubs from rock concerts.
I proceed into the rooms of doctors I’ve grown to trust yet, for some reason I still can’t believe anything that comes out of their mouths. Not because I don’t understand what my situation is and not because I think they are incompetent…. no, that’s not it at all. It’s because I truly do not believe that this is happening. I do not believe that I will need to have open heart surgery or (I even hate the words) a heart transplant. Today the doctor was talking about my life in years… in YEARS. I felt like a spectator at a sport I know nothing about and the crowd is going wild. I should feel something… anything… or at least join in and pretend? But I haven’t been able to get on that train yet.
I sit on the examining table and watch my mother ask her questions. Sure, we’re getting better at this whole thing: our business-like approach, our support for each other. Neither one of us cries or breaks down because we have a mutual protection for each other in these appointments. We hold it together. I think if one of us started crying we would never stop. I’m happy she’s there, though. So happy that we can do this together –although I’d much rather do mother/daughter shopping than mother/daughter heart failure appointments. I ache as I listen to her ask bitter questions and I study her face as she processes the answers. The doctor doesn’t look at her in the eye as she answers. I realize this is the most human trait I’ve ever seen in a doctor… in that moment I saw that she knew this couldn’t be easy for my mom (or any mom) to hear.
I’m not upset or angry or sad when we leave. We finish our business at the hospital and continue our day, and we don’t talk about it for the rest of the time we spend together. We’ve had our fill for now.
Hours pass and everything eventually gets quiet. I sit in my bed thinking about it all. “This is my life?” How could I ever begin to make decisions like these? How do I fight the urge to submit to planning your life in numbers, feeling robbed, and throwing a pity party after you hear things like “this operation could potentially give her 10-15 years…?”
Then my ever-optimistic husband says something so simple yet so right. We do our best, and we have hope. And that’s how we live. With deep, immense, hope.
Lauren, you are an inspiration to all of us. I pray for you regularly. I love you and you husband! And he is right… But you not only hope, but you have to believe!! The reason you were sitting thinking… Is this my life? Is bc you were busy living your life, just like you should. I love you… And keep living your life. Love your updates btw.
Lots of hugs and kisses,
Pauline
Pauline, you are a great support always and thank you, it means so much to me that I’m in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you. Love Lauren.
lauren, you are a beautiful soul. hope is all we have, and i have hope for you and your husband and family too. my dad was in the hospital for heart trouble two weeks ago, and i thought of you.. i remembered stumbling across your blog weeks ago and being so touched and inspired by your drive to heal yourself – i wanted to do the same for myself and my dad. i believe in mind healing the body too.. please don’t give up that hope. hope is all we have when pain is a room with four walls and no exit. hope is the window that opens out of nowhere and sets us free. i try hard not to get weighed down by the realities but it’s unbearable – i know you know this. but i just wanted to let you know that i am so touched by your spirit and am sending you love and light. so glad that you have such wonderful support in your husband and family.. truly – all we have is THIS MOMENT. all of us, every single one of us. it matters how we use it, how we live it. don’t give up hope. <3
Lauren you are the best. I know it must be difficult but you and T have done so much to make life wonderful. Keep thinking positive and you know your always in my thoughts and prayers. Keep living the life you want.
Love aunt b
Lauren, I have never met you …but your words bring tears to my eyes. I am neither elocuent or wise enough to offer advise but I want you to know that I wish you the strengh and wisdom to enjoy every moment of happiness you possible can. I have been lucky enough to have avoided major tragedies in my life and my kids and wife are my life. I wish you mother and husband the same as your pain is experienced by all who love you and right now you can add me to that list. Please stay strong and if there is anything I can help you with let me know.
Thank god for T. You’ve already had one miracle finding him. And exactly when you needed him and his wisdom. All the more reason to believe that greatness like that is possible again. You WILL win the battle in the end. Hope you enjoyed the nice weather yesterday.
I reread this, not crying this time, and it is a REALLY well written and composed essay. It says so much but is so perfectly stripped down. Have you considered writing a book? If Bethany Frankel can be a NYT best seller, your book would fly off the shelves. Who needs Bourdain?
Katie, I love you. Just read your emails, gonna respond today. I like what you’re thinking xo
I stop by here regularly, but never commented. It seems like 100 years ago that we danced together at Marylou’s. I remember growing up with you. I remember you being one of the only girls in tap class who didn’t get involved in the cliques and who didn’t make me feel like an outsider. I remember dancing with you at my Sweet 16. I remember the smile that was always on your face. And I remember how beautifully you danced on the stage every year.
Lauren, you are an inspiration. And although not so great news isn’t what you wanted to hear, stay strong. It has only benefitted you. Seeing the hearts that everyone sent you was so completely awesome. That is the positive energy that you need around you. You have come so far. Take it day by day and believe that you are going to go far. Because I really believe that you will.
xoxo
Lisa V.
Lisa this is the sweetest, and such a thoughtful note. Thank you so much. Reading it made me feel really good and I needed that these past couple of days as I trekked through doctors offices… thank you . much love xxL