At The Brink of Death

As I opened my car door to drive home, I relished that bright moment when I felt on top of the world. I had just finished a boxing class, had drinks with friends, and was on my way home to enjoy a quiet evening without any distractions or anything that could potentially upset me. I vividly remember that day; it was one year post divorce, and I was getting used to loving my own company – I was mostly either praying and having an intimate communion with God, dancing to my favourite 80’s tunes (Elton John, George Michael, Phil Collins) with the music blaring, or simply having some quiet time reading vintage literature or catching up on K-drama. Life seemed to have continued in peace, it was far different from the frustration and sorrow I had experienced in the weeks before my divorce became final.

But then, one day, something was amiss. I was driving home from meeting Ben (whom I met after a year of being single), and my heart was racing. I felt like passing out. I panicked a little and contemplated driving to the side of the road and stopping my car. But the palpitations only lasted for about a minute or two and my heart felt fairly normal after that.

It wasn’t so much that incident that brought me to see a cardiologist, it was just an instinct that made me decide to see a doctor. As he pressed his stethoscope on my chest, he heard an unusual sound; somewhat of a ‘whoosh’, a murmur. He interrogated me to quell any doubts of potential danger, asking typical questions of my lifestyle and my habits, and he was pretty much assured that I was healthy. However, just to be thorough, he ordered an echocardiogram to be done.

I entered the room with a smile on my face, confident that the echocardiogram was just a minor procedure without anything to worry about. At that point, I believed that after living with the dark skies that had gathered and hung over me for many months, a ray of sunshine would finally seep through the clouds. I was ready to embark on a new chapter and leave the past behind. The technician pressed a device on my chest. After a while, she looked a little suspicious but did not say anything.

Then a senior technician came to the room, and I heard inaudible sounds as they talked to each other, looking rather alarmed. I asked them what was the matter, only to be told that I should speak to the doctor. Afterwards, I waited impatiently outside the doctor’s clinic when he suddenly appeared and ordered a chest X-ray to be done, saying, “we found something that may be of concern”.

Recalling the day when I received the worst news of my life still sends chills all over my body. It was a nightmare that I wish to forget, but I remember my doctor’s words clearly, I remember him saying – “a hole in the heart”, “if nothing is done”, “blood could flow the other way, and if that happens, it is a point of no return.” A surgery was imminent to save my life, it must be done. Just like that, my hopes for a happy start after grieving the loss of my marriage turned abruptly into one of the most horrifying ordeals I had to go through.

What happened in the weeks leading up to my surgery was harrowing, and recovering from the surgery was even more tormenting – the first few breaths I inhaled after waking up from anaesthesia was so painful it felt like I was being stabbed every time. Apart from struggling to breathe normally, I also had to endure excruciating pain in my chest. Breathless was what I felt most of the time following my recovery in the hospital and at home. Feelings of hopelessness bred in my soul as I ruminated what I had lost and contemplated my fate. But I had to muster every trickle of courage and be strong to survive, or I will die.

Forcing myself to eat despite the metal aftertaste that’s left in my mouth due to the anaesthesia, breathing through the spirometer every hour so that my lungs do not collapse, walking around the ward with the nurse as I attempted to keep active, sleeping so that I would get enough rest… I had to hold on to the flicker of light in order to get through the darkest moments of my life.

The weeks following my hospitalisation were both crucial and depressing. I found myself crying at the edge of the bed, weeping, “Dear God, I don’t know… I place my trust in You.” As tears rolled down my cheeks, I don’t know if I was ever going to be healthy again. But then the hours slowly passed by, and then the days, and then the weeks. Looking back, I managed to get through this ordeal because of Divine Love and if there’s anything that I have learnt, it is that in the darkest recesses of the Universe, His Mercy doth reach.

To be continued.