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The Heart of the Matter

What a new day really means.

By Chris Dunmire, CurrentLiving.com

My personal life has been in such transition over the last month that I haven’t even turned the page over on my SpongeBob SquarePants wall calendar to the current month. Today is October 16 and the calendar still shows September 2007.

It was nearly a month ago when I received the unexpected life-changing phone call from my mother.

"I have something to tell you.” She said with a strain in her voice.

“Okay, what?” I responded slowly, half curious and half afraid to know.

“I’m having heart surgery.”

I was stunned silent, waiting for more.

“I’m having triple by-pass heart surgery after having tests….”

She continued on to tell me how after experiencing intense chest pressure while walking her new dog around the hilly roads in her desert-mountain neighborhood, her doctor instructed her to wear a heart monitor for 24 hours. It revealed a high level of stress on her heart during exertion. This new information led to more serious tests which uncovered the life-threatening artery blockages that could be managed with bypass surgery.

This was stunning news. My parents have always been relatively healthy people. We didn’t have health issues like this in our immediate family. This was new territory for all of us.

“They want to do the surgery as soon as possible. I’m waiting for them to call with the date. It could be as soon as two weeks or less.”

I already knew what that meant. It meant that as soon as the surgery date was set, I would be making flight reservations and planning a minimum 2-week stay at my parents Arizona home. No questions asked. I was ready to put my life on hold to see her through this critical time. There weren't any other options.

Later that evening my dad called with the surgery date, September 25. It was 10 days away. I made my plans and booked my flight to arrive two days before the surgery. And even though mom was technically feeling “all right”, I knew that things weren’t all right.

I spent the next eight days at home preparing mentally and emotionally for the surgery and aftermath, building myself up so I could be my best supportive and loving self to help mom through this unexpected event. Each anticipatory day was different for me. Some days were a haze. And some days I cried. The night before my 6:00 a.m. flight out of O'Hare, I just didn't know how to feel. About life. About death. About watching your parents growing older and possibly losing them. So I just allowed myself to be. I began taking it all a moment at a time. That was the best I could do.

The surgery was successful. There were no complications. After four days, mom came home from the hospital and I ceremoniously walked her from the car to the front door of the house, a slow symbolic gesture with my arm linked into hers, my physical strength holding her up and guiding each of her steps. And in the small moments surrounding this act, I suddenly felt how important our lives were to each other. All of the emotional energy from the previous week climaxed into an epiphanous moment were I simply understood the deep connection of our mother-daughter relationship. I was at peace with the surgery and accepted that life would be different now.

Each new day of the following week at home, mom was feeling stronger and stronger. The oxygen tank she came home with was no longer needed after four days. She saw her doctor mid-week and everything was looking good and healing as expected.

The day I flew home out of Tucson, mom came along for the 1 1/2-hour ride to the airport. She was back to her old self again, and with the exception of the new large "pirate" scar in the middle of her chest, you would never know that this 68-year-old petite woman just had heart surgery.

A week later I called mom from my suburban Chicago home to touch base on her healing.

“Everything is going well. Each day I’m feeling better and better.”

This seems like the perfect happy ending to a prevented tragic story.

I’m so happy, mom. I'm happy that you and they caught this in time. I'm happy that you went into this strong. I'm happy that your husband and your children were there at your side before, during, and after the surgery. I'm happy that you're healing. I'm happy that the quality of your life was extended and greatly improved, thanks to the advanced technological and medical age we live in. I'm happy that you're alive and well and are gifted with a new day today and tomorrow, and hopefully many days and years after.

I just reached over and turned over the SpongeBob calendar page to October. Today is a new day for all of us to cherish our lives with one another, create with joy, and drink our cup of laughter. •

© 2007 Chris Dunmire, CurrentLiving.com. All rights reserved. (10/16/07) Please do not duplicate this article elsewhere without my permission.

About the Author | More by Chris Dunmire
Chris Dunmire is creatively engaged in life as an artist, writer, humorist, and publisher of the popular Creativity Portal Web site. She's trained as a creativity coach with Eric Maisel, Ph.D., and Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching founder Jill Badonsky. Chris develops Web-based projects and playbooks to encourage creative thinking, artistic expression, and imaginative play in people of all ages. Learn more about Chris's books at CreativeSlush.com.