Quick Pitching & Rapid Heartbeats
Episode 08:21:2023 - Prompt: Recovery
Where Recovery took me…
In the July 22 Round-Up, I referenced shopping for wedding dresses while my mother was in the hospital. I wrote that I couldn’t share the story before it was published in Insider.. which it was, on August 20, the day after the wedding.
Click the title hyperlinked below to read it:
THE STORY OF SHOPPING FOR A WEDDING DRESS
What does this have to do with Recovery?
The emotional demand of navigating potential tragedy - my mom’s sudden illness - during a period that should be joyful - a wedding with friends & family who have traveled a long way - required fast processing.
There wasn’t time to linger in existential doubt.
Why me? Why now?
After buying the dress and learning my mother had stabilized, I wrote about it in an email to my friends who were coming to the wedding.
Downloading the details and emotions in writing was the first phase in recovery after 48-hours of playing out every possible scenario in my head.
Will it be a wedding or a memorial?
I quick-pitched the story to an editor at Insider who accepted it in 30-minutes. This is unusual. It can take days or weeks to hear back from an editor.
I was allotted 600-words for the story I first wrote in a 1,200 word email.
Streamlining the writing for an audience that doesn’t know us was the second phase in recovery. My emotions had become reflective…. And,
The first guests were arriving a week later!
When I was finally diagnosed with tachycardia,
I felt relief.
For three years I had been experiencing what I thought were anxiety attacks. It made no sense because the fast heartbeat & fatigue arose under circumstances I had been under many times.
Standing on a security line at the airport.
Putting on make-up.
Picking up my dog.
Sleeping.
I couldn’t understand why, at 47-years old, I had suddenly become anxious. The episodes happened at such random times, and I couldn’t make it to the doctor’s or a hospital for an EKG.
Doing an EKG without active symptoms proved nothing.
One day during a strong attack, we were able to get to a pharmacy where they have a blood pressure & heart rate monitor.
When the pharmacist saw the results, she marched me to the medical center.
By that evening I was in the emergency room observation area having my heart stopped to reset the erratic beat.
I do not recommend having your heart stopped.
It’s terrifying.
And was so easy to do with an injection into my IV.
Fast-forward to today.
I have not had an episode of tachycardia in over two years due to a lot of yoga & exercise that keeps my heart muscle strong. I also don’t drink as much alcohol or coffee and make myself go to sleep when I’m tired.
On the morning of my wedding day, I awoke with a rapid heartbeat.
I had many people to talk to about the event, and I could barely stand up. I had to stay to my hotel room like a sequestered bride. Meanwhile, my best friends & family who had traveled far to be there were going swimming and eating breakfast together.
It couldn’t have been worse timing, and the ceremony was scheduled for 8:30pm.
My worst tachycardia episodes could last 24-hours!
I replayed Friday’s events and realized I drank more than I had in a while. I didn’t sleep very much after hosting up to 50 people over a 10-day period. I also soaked in a warm jacuzzi drinking wine before going to bed.
Perhaps my throbbing heartbeat was really a hangover.
I went straight into hangover recovery mode and patiently waited it out in bed.
By the time I was getting my hair curled into an updo, I was back on track for a wonderful event.
YOUR TURN: I had thought about the first time I ran a half-marathon in the Saharan desert, something I never imagined possible, and how delicious the “recovery meal” was afterwards.
I thought about bringing my grandmother into our home after my grandfather’s death. She had to agree to rehab to recover from an addiction to Xanax and quit smoking. At 83, she did both so we could enjoy her last 2 years of life sober.
Where does RECOVERY take you?
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Happy writing!
I’ve been thinking about ‘microrecovery’. I thought I invented the term but googling it now, I see some other people have also coined it. It is more than taking a deep breath, but taking a deep breath can kick it off. Taking a minute to turn your mind or your whole self deliberately to something that makes you happy, or to connect with someone who makes you happy, or joke around with a stranger in line, in the midst of something stressful. I remember when my late husband was in the midst of several days of having lots of tests as his stage IV cancer was being diagnosed, about the most stressful time in my life, I waited outside the little temporary MRI trailer, one day, while he had yet another brain MRI. Trailers were used that summer during a Mass General Hospital construction project. The trailer deck functioned as a sort of waiting room. Some kind person brought me out a folding chair and I put my feet on the railing, leaned back and felt the sun warm me. Construction sounds, sawing, hammering were all around, my husband was in the trailer while they were finding God knows what in his brain, and even at the time I had a moment of ‘how odd it is that even now, leaning back, feeling the sun on me, this feels good’. It a well kept secret, well kept from ourselves, that sometimes, not always, but more often than I think to do it, even in the midst of high stress, we can deliberately turn and access doses of microrecovery.
I really like to chase critters up and down the mountain. But then one day, I came back limping like a three-legged dog. Keith and Carole took me in the car—Freya came, too. As we drove down the mountain road, Freya and I stuck our heads out the back windows. We like to do that. At the vet, Freya and I watered the grass. The people there are really nice. They took me to the back, and I went to sleep. Later, the vet showed Keith and Carole my pictures—Freya was there, too. Then we all got back in the car and drove home. Another day, we went for a longer ride in the car to a place with new dog smells. Freya and I watered the grass there, too. The people were really nice. I went to sleep, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, the people gave me food. I like to eat. My leg hurt so I licked it. The nice people said, “Heathcliff, no licking! Good boy.” I cried a little when Carole came to pick me up. To get into the car, I had to climb a ramp, which I didn’t like, but did it because Carole said, “Heathcliff, come! Good boy.” That night, I had to wear a cone on my head. I bonked around and couldn’t sleep. Carole and Keith took turns taking me outside to water the grass then said, “Heathcliff, go to your bed.” I like my nest bed. Carole fed me pills in soft treats—Freya got treats, too—and took me on many short walks. Keith put ice and heat on my leg and moved it, which I didn’t like. He said, “Heathcliff, stay still! Good boy,” and after a while my leg felt better. I got to do lots of fun things during my recovery: going in the car and sticking my head out the back window, walking, sniffing, watering the grass, pooping, eating, sleeping in my bed and getting treats. Soon I didn’t have to use the ramp to get into the car, and I got to chase critters up and down the mountain again. I really like that.