After I came home from the hospital after my heart attack I expected sympathy, to be fed in bed, my kids would clean the house, clients would give me recovery time and space, and rest.
As soon as we walked into the house after my 2 day hospital stay my daughter said, “Hey mom, what do you give a heart patient? Three weeks.” Ouch, there went the sympathy. My doctor put me on an exercise routine (35 minutes a day) and a Mediterranean meatless diet. And then there were the pills. My kids ‘decided’ it would be better if we all made like nothing happened. That meant they didn’t change their lifestyle and add cleaning to their roster. I guess that’s good that no one went around like they were always doing the pledge of allegiance.
My doctor gave me a list to make sure I was educated:
1. Know the names of everything you take.
2. Be clear on how and when to take them.
3. Know the side effects.
4. Learn what each medicine does and why you’re taking it.
5. Make a list of the things you take. Keep it with you in case of an emergency or if you need to talk with another doctor about them.
Then I was told to see a mental health specialist. My reaction was, wow, not just a psychologist. I needed a mental health specialist. My doctor must have seen something special in my issues.
I also had to go to rehab. I really didn’t see any outward differences in my appearance. As my aunt always said, “It’s not how you feel honey, it’s how you look, and you look fabulous.”
No more salt. Ugh. No more fatty meats. Ugh. No more doughnuts or trans fats. Ugh.
Life just got serious.