There’s this organ in your body and it’s called a heart. It’s the centre of your existence outside of your brain. I’m an over thinker which coincidentally often results in my heart beating faster than it should. This is especially so when I have a panic attack.
This past fortnight I’ve done a lot of thinking and yet I haven’t noticed a thing my heart has done. I was too busy preparing for a broken heart, metaphorically speaking.
You see my partner had chest pain, left side pain, and shortness of breath, but because the last time he felt iffy they blamed his mental health and he was put on a 24 psych hold, you know the kind where you were an electronic wristband, take your shoelaces and tie your shoes on with cable ties, you pants too and the bathroom door had a two foot gap under it so when the staff stick their head in the room and say “checks” they can find you even if you’re pooping, he waited to go to the doctor and by then he was having a heart attack and they couldn’t blame his mental health and instead transferred him to a bigger hospital because he crashed in the ICU.
He’s ok now. Two operations, two stents, a twisted artery, a pacemaker because he died briefly each night in his sleep later I guess you can call that ok.
I’ve had my own trip in an ambulance this weekend, blood pouring from a head wound I suffered from tripping on uneven footpath. I broke some bones, got a black eye, got glued together because I’m too needle phobic to have needles and stitches so close to my eye.
I realised though all this how quickly his life, my life, our lives can all change and in between I turned 45. Saw my brother for the first time in 14 years.
So many emotions rolling around. And yet I’m putting on my rockabilly outfit, feeling 20 not 45, now realising it’s more than half over, this thing called life and I’m a journalist and paralegal and copywriter and editor but I don’t do these things. Have I wasted years getting educated only to find I’m too old now, not employable and I’ve missed all those years I should’ve been living, not merely existing?
I’m 45. It’s time to do before doing can’t be done, before there are no more heartbeats left to leave me broken-hearted. Even a negative is better than nothing but stillness.