I have sat down to write this several times today,as my heart is beating hard and feeling like it is going to pop out of my chest.

When we met on Thursday, I laid out my next few months schedule wise, saying how important it was to me to do these upcoming talks, and get away the beginning of May for the death anniversary, and, go on a honeymoon the end of June (yeah, that is happening!!!). I joked and said, if he had time next Thursday, that would be great, as I need 5-7 days after to take it easy, and I had the following Monday off from work because of the holiday. I did not expect him to actually say, yeah, I think I can actually make that happen. To say that it has been a whirlwind since last week is an understatement.

We all have moments when we are faced with our mortality. When someone close dies, when we have birthdays, especially as we get older, when we have a near miss. You get the picture. I am pretty morbid all the time since Jesse and Bella died. Since then, I have tried to get my files and paperwork in order. I got a trust done, and tried to make it easy for whomever had to do cleanup if I died. I was convinced I would die of a broken heart. Yeah, let’s pause there for just a moment. Many of you have read my blogs over the years, and I have talked about the grief around Bella, how it grips my heart until I can’t breathe. When it hits hard, I want nothing more than the pain to stop, I don’t care how in the moment as I fall into that abyss. I have learned how to grab onto my anchors to stay, I needed to, for Oli. The last thing he needed is to add his mom to the long list. Over time though, you have seen me at times get to hold joy alongside that grief, one in each hand. Then F came into my life. I told him the other day as I was working through some of my feelings around this, I said, honey, you don’t quite understand. For the longest time I did not care if I died or not. I was not in danger of doing any self harm, but if a bus hit me, I didn’t care, I figured, hey, I would maybe get to be with my little girl. Again, I did not put myself in danger, as I knew I had to be here for Oli. But I was existing. Not living. I told F that for the first time, I actually want to live, I want to experience life with him, watch my kid grow up (and hopefully be ok and happy). I want to travel the world, make a difference in it, give back, and hold that joy alongside the grief. And I am terrified that I won’t get to.

This is a pretty standard procedure, but it is the heart, and there are risks. I vacillate between freaking out and can’t wait to feel better. I look forward to being able to run again without feeling like my heart is going to burst. I also have never been to the hospital save for a broken arm, never spent the night, never had anesthesia, and never had an IV (ironically, this is one of the things that freak me out the most).

So my past week has been dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s. I went through my file cabinet and organized everything, made sure my life insurance stuff was up to date, got F power of attorney, made a temporary will (as we just started the process of doing that and it is nowhere near done). I went over all of this with F, who understands I need to prepare for the worst, as this preparation helps with my anxiety. Those who have had trauma and loss understand this. When the worst has happened, you expect that result always, as your system is hard wired for it, and are pleasantly surprised when things work out. My sleep is shit as I wake at times and my brain just starts running.

The hardest is talking to Oli about this. I explained it all, the diagnosis, the procedure, and he as usual is pretty zipped up. He has shared that he is worried, but trusts the doctor, and knows I will be fine. Why don’t I believe that? I assure him I will be ok, and can’t wait to feel better. I did the brave face parent thing, while underneath freaking out. The other thing I have to do is write the letter. You know, the letter just in case to him. What the fuck do I say? Seriously? This kid has been through too much already and it breaks my heart (oh the puns) to have to even write it. But I need to.

This past week has also been a fuck you Jesse week. I asked the why question to why I have this. The doctor said, just bad luck. I have no other pre-disposing factors, I am not diabetic, do not have heart disease, am in shape, eat well, etc. There is some research out there about poor sleep and stress possibly contributing to it. Stress. Cortisol levels. Hmm. A broken heart. Yeah.

While I dwell on the above here and there, it is at the bottom of the list right now. I am swamped with all the minor details I want to make sure are done, spend time with my kid (as much as a teenager will let me), my friends, and my darling husband. I had patients yesterday, and have a full day tomorrow. It is weird when they ask how I am and I can’t share 🙁 I think to myself, what if.

I am glad that I was proactive in seeking treatment, I am glad that they caught it. Again, it is not lost on me that my heart is emotionally and literally broken. This is the stuff people don’t realize in terms of long term possible effects. It is not lost on me as well that I am having this surgery on Valentine’s Day. I am hopeful that all goes well and without a hitch, and the fact that it is on Valentine’s Day, it’ll be doubly good. I am as always, grateful for all of you readers as you have been alongside this journey. Many blessings.