Risk, Courage, and Women: Contemporary Voices in Prose and Poetry

a heart to run

245 a heart to run Valerie Bridgeman Davis We had just finished an 8-mile run along the Town Lake Hike and Bike trail in Austin. All of us, novice marathoners, were tired, but exhilarated. I decided on my fortieth birthday, January 15, 1999, that I would train for a marathon as a challenge to myself. I joined the Leukemia Society’s challenge, sure that running for a good cause would keep me interested, and running with a group would keep me motivated. The day of the first 8-miler was March 13. When we started training just over eight weeks before, none of us imagined that we would get to 8 or 10 miles and not keel over from exhaustion. We high-fived each other congratulations around the water cooler, then headed for our cars. We were proud of our selves and of each other. By the time I reached my car, I began to feel light-headed. My heart was racing. I thought, “it’ll calm down in a minute; I’m just excited.” But by the time I reached my car, I was afraid that I would pass out. I got into the car and pressed the horn. My running mates thought I was saying goodbye. To get them to come over, I leaned my seat all the way back and put my foot on the horn. Several people ran to the car. I was reaching for my cell phone; people were screaming. “I’m having an asthma attack,” I reasoned, trying to calm myself down. I tried to take deep breaths, and then use my inhalant. But my arms and legs were getting heavy, and my chest felt as if someone was sitting on me. I called 911. So did three other people. Within two minutes, a police car was on the scene; right behind them was the fire truck. A minute or so later, ems was giving me oxygen and an aspirin. I thanked God for cell phones, and closed my eyes trying to calm myself. When I arrived at the South Austin Hospital, my husband and a friend met the ambulance. Hooked to monitors and prayers, I just kept telling myself to calm down. I nodded to my husband, trying to let him know I believed I would be okay. I watched the team of medical personnel work around me and told myself that they were doing all they could. When the emergency room doctor came in, he said my ekg indicated that I had a rarely seen congenital defect. “Did anyone ever tell you that you had a 246 Risk, Courage, and Women heart defect as a child?” he asked. No one had. “I’m bringing in a cardiologist ,” he said. “He’ll be here within the hour. In the meantime, try to relax.” Relax. I consciously had been trying to relax all along. Now I was curious about a congenital heart defect. Hospital personnel walked in and out of the room, looked at the monitor, and made grunts and nodded at each other. Whatever was in my iv made me relaxed and sleepy, so though I noticed them, I tried not to be concerned. Finally, the first doctor came in and said that people were coming in because it was a teaching hospital, and I was probably the only person they would see with wpw in their practice. “What’s wpw?” I wanted to know. Wolff Parkinson’s White Syndrome, the doctor explained: too much firepower in the heart. By the time the cardiologist Dr. Tucker arrived, I was just anxious to go home. Dr. Tucker came in dressed in a leather jacket and Texas boots. A biker doc, I laughed to myself. “Well, now. I see your heart decided to attack you,” he said. So, I’d had a heart attack. No one had used that phrase. “You had a heart attack because of the congenital defect,” Dr. Tucker explained gently. “But your heart saved your life. There’s no damage to the walls of the heart. Good thing you were training for a marathon. And, if you’re going to have a heart problem, better an electrical problem than a plumbing problem,” he said. The look on my face said I didn’t understand. “You have an extra electrical path in your heart,” he said. “We need to go in and repair it. I’d like to do it tomorrow.” Tomorrow!!! I was not ready for heart surgery. “Do I...