This is the very beginning of the wildest story of my life. In 2009, a normal case of the flu caused my heart to fail. I went from being a normal 27 year old newlywed to having heart transplant discussions in three crummy weeks.
I started writing notes on Facebook almost immediately, sharing the story as a play-by-play. This is the very first blog. Almost 100 follow it. As I wrote this, I had no idea what was in store for me.
At first, I wrote the blog so I didn’t have to repeat myself, telling the story over and over. But from this very first post, I realized writing on the internet isn’t a one-way street. The notes and comments and love I got from my family, friends, and strangers was overwhelming, addicting even. The responses to my little stories were the highlight of my day, a bright spot in the sea of blood draws, scans, and grim discussions with cardiologists where I did my best not to read between the lines.
So here it is, the beginning. If you’re interested, the rest of the story can be found here.
Thursday, October 29, 2009 at 6:55am
Hi Friends and Family,
Things have been pretty bananas in our neck of the woods lately, so I thought I’d write up a note to share. The upshot is that I’m in the hospital because I developed a heart condition due to a virus that settled on my heart and did a ton of damage.
About a month ago, I started feeling sick. I was vomiting, had a low fever, achy—general autumn sickness stuff. Then a few days after that I found I couldn’t breathe when I laid down, so I slept sitting up for four days. I visited my GP and she ran some tests. All in all, everything looked pretty okay. She had me come back a few days later for a follow up, and I was feeling tons better by then, so we let it go.
So at that point, I was feeling much better than before, but I was still getting tired really easily and was still getting sick to my stomach. I chalked that up to being tired and not getting enough rest due to my insane schedule at work.
Then on Thursday of last week, Nick and I headed to the Bay Area for a birthday wing ding for his mom and grandmother. The morning we left, getting ready exhausted me to the bone. I had to rest every two minutes, sitting on the edge of the bathtub to catch my breath, sweat beading up on my nose (I’m a nose sweater. TMI? Nah). I wore all black that day because matching anything sounded like way too much effort.
The whole weekend was filled with fun, family and San Francisco beauty. It was also filled with sneaky trips to the bathroom to barf, sweat, fuzzy memory, gasping, and exhaustion. I like to think I kept holding on to Nick’s arm like a fancy-pants aristocrat, but I think the fact that he was borderline dragging me the whole time. (Oh, THAT’S what they mean by ball and chain...)
I took a pregnancy test to see if that could be the reason for my pitiful situation (it wasn’t, sorry Mom). By the time we flew home on Sunday, I didn’t know how I’d make it home. Walking in the airport, I had to stop to rest every ten feet or so. But Nick carried absolutely everything in his arms (including my prized fake Dooney and Burke giraffe purse) and waited for me as I stopped every ten feet to rest. After what seemed like years, we made it home.
That night, I was sleeping in my chair, propped up with three pillows so I could catch my breath. But every time I’d fall asleep, I woke up gasping and my heart pounding in my chest. This happened about forty times. It was a rotten night.
