Mom, Are You Dying?

death

It’s a strange thing, knowing what will likely cause your death one day.

Sure, anyone could walk outside today and get hit by a bus; accidents happen and curveballs are thrown. But when you are living with a chronic condition, you’re faced with at least one certainty in the death department. What’s even stranger than knowing what will likely cause your own death one day is your children knowing it, too.

I have a complex, complicated, super annoying heart condition. It’s not even something you can google — it’s the unfortunate result of medical mistakes, mishaps and missteps. I have had over eight surgeries, one of which was open heart, and I have a pacemaker. Now, at the age of 35, I am forced to acknowledge that my doctors don’t know what to do next, that my condition will just continue to worsen, and I need to mentally manage all of that while parenting two young children.

My health is not a secret — I am an open book, willing to share the ups and downs with my tribe, including my children. They have literally grown up coming along with me to cardiologist appointments and pacemaker checks. I’ve done the best I can to shield them from any unnecessary fears and worries, talking about it in a matter-of-fact sort of way. But the older and more aware they become, the more they seem to ‘get’ what could potentially happen to mama.

Since they were born, I always made a point to be a mom first, heart patient second. Once, when my youngest was only 2 months old, I had a procedure where they do an ultrasound of the backside of your heart by putting a probe down your throat… completely med free because my little nursling was wailing her tail off at home, refusing to take a bottle. I (no pun intended) swallowed the fear, dealt with the pain, thanked the doc and nurses who thought I was a lunatic, and drove home with the world’s worst sore throat to feed by baby. Mom first, heart patient second.

It was about a year ago that I realized I had it all wrong.

In trying to shield my children from my fears and worries, only giving them the facts and not sharing the emotions that come with a heart condition, I was teaching them to hide how they were really feeling about what’s happening to me as well. So, when it came time for another surgery last month, it was with stifled tears and a quivering voice that my daughter asked, “I’m okay, Mom, it’s just… are you dying?” She didn’t want me to know she was worried or scared, but she was worried and scared. And, to be honest, so was I. I would give anything for everything to be fixed, for this not to be a worry. But I can’t fix my heart, and I can’t take away the sadness or worry that this will bring my children. And that’s okay.

While trying to be a mom first and heart patient second, I would ignore the signs and symptoms from my body telling me I was overdoing it. I would attempt an idealistic beach day with the kids but find myself snapping at them and losing my temper. Soon I would realize that, in fact, I felt horrible. Physically I could not do what my mind thought I could. This heart patient, who happens to be a mom, just can’t swim far out into the waves or run on the beach. Trying to do so made me not only a bad heart patient, but a bad mom — what kids likes being snapped at because their mom isn’t feeling well?

A friend of mine once challenged me to think about how my heart condition has been a gift. While it’s not easy — at times it’s downright impossible — that shift in perspective has been healing. I have been forced to live life at a speed at least half as slow as I used to. I don’t have the energy to overbook my calendar and to say yes to every invite. My inability to go go go, physically, has forced me to be more present with my children. Instead of always thinking about what we could be doing next, I simply sit and be with them. Thanks to my heart condition, I’ve learned to live life at a slower pace with more intention. For that, I am grateful.

Talking about death is uncomfortable, isn’t it? But this isn’t about being scared or even resigned to die — it’s about being realistic and preparing for something that might happen. Whatever does happen, I aim to be intentional, present and open to letting my children experience it however they need to. Be it bus or heart condition that finally does me in.

About the Author

Bryna Rodenhizer calls herself an accidental writer. With a motley crew of two young children providing plenty of fodder, she began contributing to the Jacksonville Moms Blog, weaving tales of potty training and tantrum taming. She’s currently working her dream job as a freelance writer for Baptist Health and Wolfson Children’s Hospital, and now feels nothing but gratitude and honor to tell the stories of the young patients and their families. Bryna and her husband are former ex-pats, having lived in Japan for seven years before returning to Jacksonville with those two boisterous kids and one rather handsome standard poodle. If you ask her if she was able to learn any of the beautiful language, she will respond with a shoulder shrug and say, “Wakarimasen,” which means, “I do not know.” Lucky for us, she has an excellent grasp of the English language.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here