I was out shopping with my mom, who was visiting for Thanksgiving, when I felt nausea, pain, and an incredibly loud banging-in-my-ears heartbeat. I was at the doctor's office in an hour running on a treadmill with ten electrodes stuck to me, only to be told I flat-lined on a few of the readings.
Prepare for probable angioplasty in the morning. Keep these nitroglycerin pills near your bed.
No blockages. No cholesterol problems. No heart attack. Metabolic, they said. Like faulty wiring, they hinted.
It has been a blessing to be more aware of my heart. For 40 years I knew it was in there, but I didn't think about it much. Now a day doesn't pass that I don't stop here and there and feel it. I measure it. Monitor it. Not always with my little cuff I have at home, but with my surrounding body. I say to it, Relax. Breathe. Everything will be ok.
And this has helped me to be more aware of my own mortality. I hold things in there. I love with it. I fill it up.
I heart my heart.