I had a heart attack on July 18. A moment before, everything was fine July 18 was a normal day; everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion. That was the tricky part. An instant before my heart attack, I was laughing. One hour later, an ambulance, sirens blaring, was rushing me to the hospital.
I constantly wonder about this riddle – the moment before, the moment during and that which comes afterward. If I am hugging my son, Noah River, at 6:30 p.m., which I was, and at 6:31 my heart went under attack, and the following moment was the beginning of me changing forever, how am I to live life? If we don’t know what surprise is waiting for us around the bend, how are we to latch onto the present? How is it possible not to fall into a well of fatalism or fear? God created a mystery and called it life.
I had a heart attack on July 18. It hurt.
I will always remember the look on my mother’s face immediately following my angioplasty. Never had I seen such great concern directed at me, one that said, “You are my son and I wasn’t ready to lose you.” Never before I have seen so many I know and love looking back at me with brows creased and eyes squinting with worry. Only then did I begin to feel fretful about my situation, realizing Avrum Rosensweig, 48, – me – was a patient in the cardiac care unit (CCU) and the cardio machines beeping incessantly were connected to my body. We worry more about others.
Before leaving the CCU, I was wheeled around by a student volunteer. I remember thinking, “When I was young, heart attacks were for grandparents.” I looked at the men and women lying in the CCU beds. They appeared so fragile and vulnerable. They were my mirror. One man was well coiffed and had a look of fortune about him. But he was hunkered over with oxygen tubes coming out of his nose. Why, I considered, did the Pharaohs have themselves buried in a sarcophagus with their gem-studded statues? A sickly, dying or diseased body finds no meaning in gold and silver.
July 18. A new narrative.
Ask me a question about my life, and I will respond, “Pre- or post-Heart Attack?” Was my heart attack a blessing, as people said it would be, allowing me the opportunity to rest and rebuild after a few rough personal and professional years? I am beginning to see that lining, yes. The movement of one foot in front of the other, walking, is so much more relevant. I love those I loved, harder. Life, however, is more puzzling.
Thank you for your caring, well-wishes, and the messages that said you missed my column. Knowing I was missed is part of my recovery. Everyone has their angels. Mine are my mother who says Tehillim (Psalms) for me every day; Michael who saved my life; Miriam who was always by my side; my sisters and families who took care of me in their homes; all my patient colleagues and volunteers, especially at Ve’ahavta, the Canadian Jewish Humanitarian & Relief Committee, who showed that the organization is bigger than me; the medical personnel at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre; loved ones and friends; and Noah River, whose antics and little-boy Godliness makes me laugh and hope, which, according to shtetl medical care, is a refuah (a medicine). I am blessed!
Take care of yourself. Eat well and walk a lot. Visit the sick, if they want visitors. Love! On July 18, I had a heart attack. Moments before, everything seemed fine.
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