Maintaining the engine

February is Heart Month and the American Heart Association does a great job getting the word out about heart disease. It’s important information and we are lucky to live in the time and place we do because doctors have gotten really good at fixing hearts.

Most of the time.

Long before my brain blew up, I was diagnosed with heart disease. It was a no brainer for physicians because I have a strong genetic link to heart disease on my dad’s side.  So are aneurysms, but those are harder to diagnose than heart disease.

While in my 20s, I’d have unexplainable bouts of high blood pressure that would go away. In my early 30s, doctors wondered why my heart beat too fast. It, too, would go away, come back, go away. By my late 30s, my diastolic readings were steadily, gradually elevating. In my early 40s and at the doctor’s office for a sinus infection, my doctor took my blood pressure several times, listened to my heart a lot and said, “I’ve had enough of this. It’s time to get you on blood pressure medication.”  

Dutifully, I took blood pressure medication daily. The problem? It didn’t work as well as my doctor hoped.  Basically, the lower reading was a stubborn sucker. With medication, my blood pressure went from 125/105 to 118/95.

Then my brain blew up.

Doctors and nurses at the National Brain Aneurysm Center saved my life. They clipped and coiled, clipped and coiled, clipped and coiled until, eventually, all of the ticking time bombs were gone. In the midst of those surgeries, a magical thing happened: My blood pressure problems disappeared.

Today I can boast readings that make everyone my age envious: 107/65, 110/72, 105/73…

The brain is the engine that drives the body. It tells the lungs to breathe, the eyes to blink and the heart to beat. The lesson: Take care of your heart, but don’t forget about your head. 

Recognizing Miracles When We See Them

San Diego, here we come! Our youngest son, the Grand Finale, is graduating from boot camp into the Marine Corps. It’s an accomplishment few achieve.  We are proud of him.

The fact that he made it through such grueling physical and mental challenge is amazing. It’s a miracle, actually. When he came to our home, he was one day shy of his first birthday and weighed a scant 12 pounds. In this era of robust babies and toddlers, he was so small his height and weight wasn’t even  listed on the medical growth chart for his age.

Sadly, his size was not as puzzling as his strength. He could barely sit without support. Walking? No way. This little guy couldn’t crawl much, let alone stand.  So I took him to his doctor, a highly respected pediatrician. That doctor checked over the little guy and told me, “Don’t get your hopes up. He was born a low muscle-tone baby and he will always be a low muscle-tone kid.”

WHAT? GIVE UP? Was this God’s plan for the boy?

I remember bundling up the Little Guy and saying, “I can’t believe you pre-destine children.” The next day our family doctor gave that foster baby a going over, discovering elevated lead levels, anemia, RSV and a slightly clubbed foot.  When we adopted him three years later, our boy’s cheeks were rosy, his eyes bright, his smile mischievous, his weight and height smack in the middle of the growth chart. Could he walk? You bet. Run? Like the wind. Climb? Like a monkey. In short, the low-muscle-toned kid was gone. Taking his place was a boy with incredible strength, humor, resiliency and determination.

People said it was a miracle. For a long time I agreed. But now, having defied the odds of survival myself, I see that miracles don’t just happen. They are created.

Would our boy have grown into Marine-caliber strength if I had believed his first doctor’s prognosis? Would he have played hockey, football and lacrosse if I told him he would never be strong enough to compete? Would I be alive to fly to San Diego for his all-important graduation if my own doctors had given up on me? What if they believed the odds of my survival were too dismal to overcome?

Every day is a new adventure. Some adventures are challenging, scary and hard. Others are exciting, easy and joyful. But if we don’t embrace all of our adventures and take each journey with spirit, optimism and resolve, how will we know what can happen?

When Lightning Strikes, You Have to Act

I had a brain storm during dinner one hot July evening. Lightning cracked inside my head. Hot tingling electricity sparked and thrummed throughout my brain. My 17-year old son put down his fork and asked if I was okay.

I remember saying, “No. I don’t think so.” Read the rest of this entry »