The heart attack I had at the age of 39 was
totally unexpected. I knew intellectually that I was mortal, but that is a far
cry from knowing it with every fiber of your physical and mental being. I had
had no warning symptoms before that afternoon when I started feeling unwell.
While I was still conscious in the
emergency room of the hospital, I suspected that what was happening to me was
serious and had a sense that I might not survive. When the cardiologist came to
examine me, I asked him, “Is my life in danger?” With a concerned look, he simply
answered, “Yes.” Strangely enough, I was not at all afraid. I was, however, seized
with a sense of urgency to see a priest and I requested one. The doctor’s
initial reaction was, “There are more important things to do right now than
that!” But a minute later, I heard him ask a nurse to call for a priest. As
soon as he had done that, I felt a deep peace, deeper than any I had ever felt
before or have felt since.
In the hours that followed, I was in and
out of consciousness, but completely unable to open my eyes, or speak. I was conscious
when the priest came, and I was also intensely conscious of another presence
there. I remember praying silently, “Lord, whether I live or die, it’s OK. I
trust you. J’ai confiance en toi.” To this day I still believe that, because my
body needed every single ounce of energy to fight for survival at that moment,
the grace to “let go” that was given to me then saved my life.
Physically, I recovered rather quickly. I
was back teaching two months later. Psychologically it took much longer. The
peace I had felt in the hospital was gone. For almost a year, I went to bed at
night wondering if I would wake up in the morning. Anxiety seized me
frequently, at times so intensely that I had to call in sick. I would then go
walking in the neighborhood where I lived until the fear subsided.
The staff and students at the high school
where I taught were kind and considerate. I could sense their concern for me,
and I am extremely grateful for that. But not one of them ever asked me to talk
about what had happened. The subject of my heart attack was never raised. It
was several months after the heart attack that I realized how much this silence
weighed on me. I was talking to a friend about how things were going when, suddenly,
I burst into tears and blurted, “If people reject my death, they reject me! Mortality
is part of who I am!”
Since then, I have made a conscious effort
to grapple with death, mine, and that of others. It is part of who I am and
part of every single person I meet. I do not want to reject any part of myself
or any part of them either.
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