A few weeks ago I had a chat with an old friend. In fact I've known this person for about 32 years. We were never super close friends but we drifted in and out of acquaintance because of our history and the fact that her brother was an incredibly close friend for many years.
She was very aware of my heart attack and subsequent heart transplant but she didn't know that details. Providing that I'm terribly comfortable talking about my experience with people I know, she asked questions and I answered them honestly. It'd been a while since I'd gotten into this much detail about the nitty-gritty of what I went through, and I've found that it helps me to talk about it in detail every once in a while. As I watched her incredulity at all that I had gone through, physically and mentally, it finally dawned on me. It finally sunk in. Something that people, Wendy in particular, have been telling me for long time that I don' think I ever truly accepted until that moment.
I am strong.
I finally accepted, realized, the incredible strength it took for me to get through and survive the physical challenges I faced. I survived a massive heart attack. I survived strokes, and infections, pneumonia, loss of circulation, having my chest open for 11 days, and three major three surgeries. I survived all of that and I am walking and talking today. I am strong. More over, while I was in a coma, I battled nightmares of torture, kidnapping, drugging, terrorism, and many other terrifying circumstances, and through every nightmare, I fought. I fought to stay alive, I fought to escape, I fought to get home, I fought to save my self and many of my loved ones, through fear and pain and never ending dark I fought, and I can honestly say that I never gave up. I am strong. In fact, I have no doubt that had I ever given up, in those dark places, I would not be here typing this today.
I am strong.
To this day, I have people tell that I am lucky. To be honest, I chaff at this, probably more than anything anyone tells me about my experience. True, at times I do not feel very lucky for what happened to me. Even now, how I came to go through this seems extraordinarily unlucky. But I think I know what people mean when they tell me I'm lucky, and that is really what bothers me. It wasn't luck that got me through. It wasn't luck that I survived. It was passionate doctors and nurses who never gave up on me. It was a mother and girlfriend who never left my side. It was the dozens of cards and messages I received from friends and family, old and new. It was because of these that I survived It was because I am strong, and calling it lucky not only does a disservice to me, but all of the people who worked and prayed to help me live. It was not luck. I am strong
It is foolish of me to deny luck in this though. I am lucky that I live during the time that I do, when medicine can bring me back from death. I am lucky that lived where I did so that I would end up with the nurses and doctors that took care of me. Some may think that me receiving my new heart merely 8 hours after I was placed on the transplant list is luck, but I say, no, it was love. Love of a grieving family who had it in their heart to donate their loved ones organs so that others may live, in their darkest time.
It is taking me time to process this experience that I have been through, and am going through. It is still one I'm going through, and I have far to go, but I can now tell you this:
I am strong.
