Strong gusts of cold wind rushed through the stubby grass as I hiked up to the hogback, taking in deep breaths to catch the scents of fall. The sun was high up in the blue sky as just a few fluffy clouds drifted east. To the west, a solid blanket of silvery-white clouds hung over the mountains, mostly blocked by the nearby foothills. “Perhaps”, I silently thought to myself, “It’ll finally snow!”
I took my time reaching the crest of the hogback, watching the wind make waves through the golden amber grasses, then began to follow it southward, in the shelter and shade of many gamble oaks and various pine trees. Since it was the end of October, the gamble oaks’ leaves were a fiery rust color, and numerous tiny acorns were scattered on the ground below them. I had to be careful as I hiked, because walking on acorns was a lot like walking on marbles. Every now and then, I’d slip. But, I always managed to catch myself and stay on my feet, and I stayed feet away from either edge of the hogback at all times just to be extra cautious. The last thing I wanted was to slip and fall a hundred feet or more into one of the valleys below.
It was too windy for me to hear any birdsong or animals moving in the trees, but I knew I was still surrounded by wildlife. I was a little more skittish than usual. I didn’t (and don’t) like not being able to clearly hear my surroundings, especially during the time of the year when the bulls and bucks start to get feisty, bears are shoving 20,000 calories into their jaws every day so they can hibernate for the winter, and mountain cougars are a little more courageous than usual.
Still, my need for being out-of-doors and highly active trumped my nervousness being in the wilderness alone on a windy day. My great uncle Courtney’s voice reminded me of all the ways I could save myself from danger as I continued along the narrowing hogback trail, listening to the wind hiss through the drying autumn foliage as followed the hogback trail higher and higher. Besides my nervousness, I was in heaven. Few people hiked that hogback, especially when the weather wasn’t 100% calm and clear. I was alone for that entire hike, with the wind drowning out the noise of traffic, which was refreshing to me beyond words.
Soon, the trees began to clear up, and huge chalky rocks rose out of the fine sandy soil. In the sky high above, I noticed several hawks circling the skies. Sadly, I couldn’t quite identify what kind of hawks they were (though, I hoped they were red-tailed hawks, because those hawks are my favorite kind).
From my place on the ridge, if I gazed over my right shoulder, I could see the busy main road heading into the valley passing by the Ken Caryl stables. A few playful horses cantered around the largest paddock, bucking and kicking each other, but not in a malicious way. In the outdoor arena, several English equestrians trotted their silky, well-groomed horses in a single-file line, practicing for an event of some sort. Not much else seemed to be happening over at the stables. Most of the horses were either grazing on hay, or just stood napping in their lean-tos with their heads low and a rear hoof folded on the ground.
Glancing over my left shoulder, I peered into a wide-open, almost treeless valley sandwiched between two hogbacks (the hogback I was standing on, and the larger hogback that rose up from the eastern prairie, splitting the foothills from the plains). Nobody was on that trail as far as I could tell. However, I did see some odd movement about two hundred or so yards away from me, near the base of the eastern hogback. Whatever it was, it was impossible to tell without a scope of some sort, so I gave up trying to figure out what was out there (besides the wind).
After spending several moments just observing the landscape from the clearing on the hogback, I decided to continue on my way, as there was a favorite place for me to sit down and watch people and animals in the valley. Carefully, I stepped up onto the rocks, making sure not to step on something that was loose, until I finally reached my favorite spot. I sat on one of my favorite chalky rock ledges (one that didn’t dangle over the ridge, because that’s too sketchy for me), crossed my legs, and pulled out a cold can of soda from my hoodie pocket. I also brought a small plastic bag of pretzels along, which I slowly snacked on while I sat perched on the rock, watching the cars on the valley road pass by far below me.
While snacking, I let my mind wander without pausing. For the most part, I was in a blissful state, watching the world below me, until I suddenly remembered I had another doctor’s appointment I’d been dreading and putting off for a couple of years: my cardiology appointment. That thought pretty much ruined my day from that moment on, as all I could think about was the possibility of something being very wrong with my heart. I didn't want to know what was wrong (if anything), but it would be found out in a couple days regardless. I was especially worried about the possibility of needing another surgery. I never wanted (or want) to undergo something as horrendous and terrifying as an open-heart surgery again. Two is more than enough for one person!
I finished my snack, shoved everything back into my pocket, and spent the rest of my hike hyper-focusing on what my heart was doing, fearing the worst. Logically, I knew that if I could hike up the hogback and clamber up and over the rocks like a mountain goat, then I was probably just fine. Sure, I was a little cold, but that was just because the wind was cold, not because my heart was failing. Sadly, like always, logic didn’t defeat my anxiety, and I felt every heartbeat I had for pretty much the rest of the day.
I felt it working hard (though not too hard) as I made my way down the hogback, charged through the exposed, grassy valley below (I was very cold at that point and wanted to get out of the wind ASAP), and jumped into my Xterra. I felt my heart rate decrease substantially as I sat and warmed up in my vehicle. My heart rate spiked when, on my way home, a huge muley buck leapt out of the ditch in front of me (thankfully, I was able to swerve and slow down to avoid him). Then, I felt my heart beat slow down to a resting pace shortly after I dodged the deer. I didn’t stop focusing on what my heart was doing until I finally succumbed to exhaustion at around three in the morning, scared of what my cardiologist might soon find.
Dread weighed heavy on my shoulders as I got ready for my cardiology appointment in the morning. I couldn't get myself to eat, so I took my morning pills with a glass of water mixed with olive oil instead (it sounds way worse than it is, but it still doesn't taste good). Then, I headed outside into the cool, mid-morning air to try to relax while listening to the birds and people practicing in the tennis courts across the street. But, I couldn't relax. I couldn't stop obsessing over my heart, or what horrible things my cardiologist might uncover that day.
Logic couldn't relieve any of the anxiety I had about the day. I couldn't convince my anxious mind that I wasn't dying, and chances were nothing unusual (at least, for me) would be found. I wouldn't even dare to search the internet for any answers, because of how unique my case of Pulmonary Atresia was. I've made that mistake before, and pretty much shat myself when I read about how awful Pulmonary Atresia was for pretty much everyone who has ever been cursed with it.
Normally, people afflicted with Pulmonary Atresia suffer from severe heart issues their whole lives. Normally, people with Pulmonary Atresia have to get way more than just a couple heart surgeries to keep theirs beating, and oftentimes they require heart transplants shortly after they reach adulthood. Even with treatment, only about 50% of those who have Pulmonary Atresia survive to adulthood. And, very few of those people actually make it to adulthood with an even marginally functioning heart (at least, that's true for people born twenty years ago). But, I'm not at all normal.
For reasons nobody has ever been able to properly explain, my heart miraculously healed itself when I was around five years old, saving me from needing any more medication or surgeries to keep my heart functional (so far). Every cardiologist who has ever looked at my case has just shrugged their shoulders, completely bamboozled by how healthy and normal my heart appeared to be.
If it wasn't for the shunt that my heart more or less used as scaffolding to form a brand new pulmonary heart valve, my main cardiologist has admitted that nobody could've suspected anything was ever wrong with my heart. Let alone, that I was born without a pulmonary heart valve at all (just a tiny little hole in my heart where my pulmonary valve should've been, which is why I didn't die immediately though I was born blue), and doctors needed to construct a temporary one for me when I was a newborn (and were prepared to reconstruct many more pulmonary heart valves for me for the rest of my life, using a handful of shunts, pig heart valves, springs and rubber, and my own skin cells).
Of course, instead of calming myself down with the facts, I sat on my front porch freaking the fuck out over what that day had in store for me. I sat in my metal chair, catastrophizing; convincing myself that something was seriously wrong and would need immediate and dramatic attention (AKA another open heart surgery).
Soon, my grandma Debbie arrived. She agreed to be my "emotional support animal" for my appointment. My grandma Debbie was a nurse until the pandemic hit. She retired in April of 2020, and has been keeping busy with grandkids and family obligations ever since. As stressful and nerve-wracking as they are, my grandma enjoys attending my doctors' appointments with me, as she takes on the duties of a nurse in a way. Also, unlike my mom (who freaks out just as much as I do at my doctors' appointments), my grandma is able to calmly and logically talk to my doctors, and always asks the most compelling and interesting questions (and takes a lot of notes as well).
I knew I would be well taken care of with my grandma by my side, and it substantially helped reduce my anxiety surrounding my appointment.
I did my best to keep control of my breathing and heartbeat as I plodded towards the hospital with my grandma beside me. We entered through a side door into one of the more isolated wings of the Skyridge Medical Center, and then took an elevator up to the cardiology office floor. It didn't take long to get checked in, especially since I was the only patient there and I'd completed most of the paperwork ahead of time.
Within ten minutes of arriving, a nurse had EKG monitors attached to my chest as I laid down on the paper-covered exam table for a few minutes. I stared wide-eyed at my nurse's face as the EKG monitor printed out my results, looking for any signs of fear or confusion on her face. But, I picked up on none of that. Instead, she put the sheet of results into a portfolio, then left me alone in the room to put on a green patterned hospital gown.
Thankfully, I could keep my jeans and boots on (I was wearing leggings underneath my jeans to keep me warm), but my chest had to be bare under the gown for the echocardiogram and examination afterward. Usually, I really don't like to show much skin around others, especially where my scars show. But, at the doctors' office, I wasn't at all shy about that. Those nurses and doctors have seen hundreds, if not thousands of bare chests with heart surgery zipper scars in their careers. There was no reason for me to be embarrassed or ashamed of that scar in their company. If anything, I ought to be proud of it wherever I am! Sadly, I am still pretty insecure about it, and don't want random people asking me those questions.
A few minutes after I had my gown tied around my chest, and my hoodie and shirts folded and placed on a chair, the technician came to lead me to the echocardiogram room and get me started. She had me lay down in a dimly lit room on a warm hospital bed, and offered to turn the TV on for me. But, I politely declined. I just wanted to let my mind wander uninterrupted and focus on my breathing to stay calm.
The technician understood, and instructed me to lay down on my left side to start. She then opened up my hospital gown to expose my chest and scar, and got to work using an ultrasound device on my heart. I couldn't see what she was seeing on the screen because I was laid down facing away from it, but I could occasionally hear my heart beat as she played back short videos of my heart, before sending those short clips to my cardiologist to look over. To my ears, my heartbeat sounded like any other, but with just a slight abnormal rhythm caused by an occasional, faint extra beat. I took that as a relatively good sign that things were okay, but was still a little put-off by the slight murmur.
When I rolled over onto my right side, I watched my heart beating on the screen like a hawk. However, without knowing what to look for or what a normal echocardiogram looked like, I had no idea what I was actually looking at. I knew I was watching my heart, but I didn't know what the splashes of red and blue against the black-and-white image represented, or what any of the numbers meant either. So, I shifted my focus onto the technician's face to look for any clues, but she never showed any concern. I'd be in the dark till I met up with my cardiologist after the technician was done with the tests.
In the meantime, I continued to focus on my breathing. I refused to let my mind become inundated with all of the anxiety-inducing "what-ifs" I wanted so badly to explore. I needed to stay as calm as possible, so the test results would be most accurate.
An hour or so after the echocardiogram began, it was done, and the technician gave me a warm, wet washcloth to wipe the ultrasound gel off my chest. She then helped me onto my feet, and led me back to the exam room where my grandma was waiting for me.
"So... how was it?" my grandma asked as she put down her phone.
"Uhhh, it was uncomfortable but okay." I answered as I sat on the exam table.
"Ah." my grandma nodded, "Are you dying? Did the nurse gasp in horror while she looked at your heart?"
"Uhm, no." I snickered.
"Then you're probably just fine." my grandma smiled, "Relax. You're all tense and it's giving me anxiety!"
I didn't have time to respond before there was a knock on the door.
"Come in!" I called, and in came the cardiologist that has known me since I was fresh off the operating table at three days old.
"Well, hello!" he practically shouted, "Before I say anything else, I want to let you know that your heart looks great. Now, get outta here and I'll see ya in three to five years!"
We all had a good laugh, and I felt much of my anxiety and dread lift off my shoulders instantly. In all seriousness, my cardiologist was still very much stunned by how well my heart was doing. He still emphasized the fact that I've always been a true "freak-of-nature", and I remain his healthiest and most baffling patient to-date.
"You were a very sickly little thing when I first saw you..." He said very matter-of-factly, "You had all of these hoses and tubes sticking out of you, and every day one of [the doctors] had to change the dressings we had around your scars and tubes... But hey, you survived! Not only that, but your body decided to permanently fix the issue before anyone else had a chance to-"
"And, have you figured out why that is, yet?" I interrupted him.
"No!" my doctor replied, "Again, you're just a real weirdo, a freak of nature through-and-through! I mean that in the best possible way. It's great that you will probably never need another heart surgery or catheter procedure for the rest of your life. Besides the scars and hardware, as well as a minor murmur and very slight leakage through your shunt, your heart is extremely healthy and average-looking. It's incredible to look at!"
After several more minutes of discussion surrounding my heart, my cardiologist finally got around to listening to my heart with his stethoscope, as well as feeling my neck, wrists, and ankles for a pulse, as well as examining my extremities. My hands and feet were both cold as usual, and my feet were a pale shade of blue (also as usual). Yet, my doctor could feel my pulse very easily wherever he checked for it. I asked my cardiologist why my hands and feet were cold and blue if my heart and veins were strong and healthy.
"Well, I don't think we'll ever really know." my doctor answered honestly, "What we do know is that whatever is causing your hands and feet to be cold and blue, is very much benign. Just make sure to wrap your extremities up in warm, insulating socks and gloves, and carry around a bunch of heat packs if you plan to be outside for a long time in the cold. I don't want you coming in here in three years walking on a peg!"
Finally, he examined my surgery scars, and declared that my scars were faded significantly, and I was much healthier than most normal people my age without heart conditions. But, before I could leave, he stuck a USB heart monitor onto my chest, just below the base of my neck, which would collect data of my heart for the next 24 hours. My doctor just wanted to be sure that everything was running smoothly when I was out of his office and back to my normal life. When 24 hours passed, my cardiologist instructed me to unplug the USB from the sticky part of the monitor, and send it back to his office in a pre-paid package he left me with. The sticky part was to be thrown away at home.
With that, my cardiologist shook hands with me, told me to come back in three years, and that I was free to go. I got dressed in my normal clothes, leaving the gown behind, and rushed out of that office before my cardiologist could change his mind about anything.
Once again, I found myself hiking on one of the many private hiking trails Ken Caryl had to offer. More specifically, I hiked on the least traveled trail I knew of in the valley; one that led through grassy plains and alongside a creek, which if followed, would lead between two hogbacks and spit me out in a field by C470, where huge electric poles ran along the front range. I didn't plan to go that far, but to instead follow it till I reached a boulder that was in the grass near the trail. There, I'd perch myself up on that granite boulder, and take in the sights and sounds of nature of that autumn evening.
Golden light basked over the landscape, casting my shadow ahead of myself as I hiked towards the eastern hogbacks. The dried autumn grass hissed in the wind, their seeds occasionally blown off by stronger gusts and sprinkled like flower pedals across the red dirt path I followed. Wispy clouds hung high above in the teal sky, tinted pink, purple, orange, and golden by the setting sun. Besides the wind, it was once again silent. I hiked totally silent and undisturbed.
But, just like I'd talk to a friend, I began to speak aloud to God. At first, I just spoke about the nature I was surrounded by. How beautifully colorful the skies above me were, how mesmerizing it was to watch the wind rush through the golden, auburn grass in great, fast-moving waves, and how I was still so baffled by the age of the massive rocks and boulders that formed the hogbacks ahead of me. However, once I reached the boulder I mentioned before and perched up onto it like a gargoyle, the conversation turned serious.
"Lord..." I began, gazing up at the colorful sky, "I don't understand... I don't get why you allowed me to be born and created as I was... Why you didn't let me die when I absolutely should've... Why you have continued to let me suffer and get sick, only saving me at the very last second... It isn't fair!"
A bitter taste tainted my mouth as anger and envy reared their ugly heads, "I am no longer so naive to how normal people live and feel... I have a better understanding of how easy their lives are compared to mine... I've been healed so often, to the point that I know now just how sick I used to be... Why me, God? Why was I allowed to live and be so healthy, when so many others never even made it out of the delivery room alive... Why was I allowed to live, only to turn into the godforsaken creature I am today... Shouldn't have someone more grateful, more fearless, and less skeptical than me been given such a wonderous gift, because I can't seem to accept it... I'm angry, God. I'm so angry... And hurt."
The quiet sound of wings fluttering above me caught my attention, and I watched as a large hawk of some kind landed on a telephone pole about thirty yards or so away from me. He was facing his chest towards me, his head twitching around as he scanned the wilderness for something to eat. But, then he locked his eyes in my direction, his yellow beak shimmering in the last rays of the evening sun.
Without breaking eye-contact with the creature, I got back to praying, talking as though God had taken the form of a hawk and was perched up on that telephone pole, listening to me pour my heart and soul out to Him.
"God..." I sighed, "Thank you for listening to me rant about and pretty much shit all over the things I know, damn well, I ought to be nothing but grateful for. I mean... I'm alive! I'm well! I'm healthier than ever before, and still improving! Why can't I accept that, take advantage of that even? Why must I feel so guilty, unworthy, scared, and alone? Why am I still so prone to disbelieving in You and all other spiritual and miraculous things, when it's plainly obvious that there's so much more than just this universe... I don't expect these questions to ever be answered, at least not while I'm still alive in this universe, Lord. But, they haunt me. They keep me up at night. They frustrate me. They make me hate myself so damn much... I wish I could just be happy, grateful, and faithful for once..."
My eyes had wandered to the grass below the boulder I was seated on, but when I lifted them up, the hawk was still on the telephone pole, watching me. So, I continued still, "Maybe, one day, after years and years of wrestling with all of the bullshit I've been through and will go through, I will finally come to terms with everything... I will finally find peace, and will be nothing but grateful and faithful... But, right now, I'm nowhere near that yet, as badly as I wish I was..."
All of a sudden, I heard the hawk's wings beating against air as he soared eastward. Then, I noticed that the air around me had become intensely still and silent. So still, in fact, that I could hear my heart beating in my ears. It was as though nature herself was holding her breath to hear what I had to say next. But, I struggled to really express with words what I was feeling and thinking, so I trusted God to know and listen to what I had going on in my mind while I just sat, still and silent as the world around me.
Not quite sure what to say or do, I pulled the neck of my hoodie down to expose the heart monitor my cardiologist stuck to me hours earlier. Every few seconds, a little green light would flash, signifying that the monitor was on and collecting information. I wondered what it was capturing as I hiked, and as I prayed. I wondered what compelled God to suddenly and instantly heal my heart when I was five years old, facing a lifetime of open heart surgeries and other related procedures. I wondered how the data that little USB was collecting from me would compare to data it could collect from someone with a completely normal, healthy, unscathed heart.
I then switched my attention to my fingers. While still slightly clubbed, they were nowhere near as deformed as they were before I got my CF and heart issues under strict control. My hands were also quite warm. Unusually warm, in fact. Despite the cold air, I was so warm, but not in a bad way. I was just... normal.
Smiling, I took in a long, deep breath, making sure to fill up my chest with as much air as I possibly could. My airways were perfectly clear and open. My torso expanded without rattling or squeaking. I could smell the earthy scents of the grasses around me, as well as the slight damp smell of the creek about twenty yards ahead of me in the ditch. I swear, I even caught a whiff of someone's grill from the houses a half-mile west of me.
At that moment, I realized that I was actually feeling and expressing gratefulness. I was suddenly joyful and content, glad to be alive. I wasn't sure how long my gratefulness and peace would last, but while I was experiencing it, it didn't matter how long I'd remain that way before anger and envy seeped back into my heart. All that mattered was the present. Well, almost.
It was getting dark, so I made my way back to the truck before twilight (as safe as I felt at that moment, I still didn't want to get ambushed by a rabid raccoon on my way back). As I hiked back up the hillside, I felt much lighter and less bitter than I did when I first set foot on that red dirt path down through the golden grass. Sure, there were still hints of that negativity, but they were greatly overshadowed by my appreciation for the things God blessed me with.
And, all it took was a prayer, where I released my inner demons to God.
Whatever peace and happiness I felt after that prayer that came directly from my shattered, bleeding heart, (as well as the peace I still feel after that prayer, that almost makes me fond of the things that have hurt me the most) was most definitely supernatural. Again, there's nothing I could ever say or write to put into words what that was like, to suddenly be at peace with my life, the universe, and God. It's like no other peace I've ever felt before. And it only came after I spent nearly a half an hour pissed off at God, and letting Him have it!
Perhaps, that's what an all-loving, all-merciful, all-just, and all-empathic God does. He's not the angry, jaded, fire-and-brimstone God so many at church say He is. He's a God that can handle everyone's anger and frustration with grace, Who cries with us when we are hurting, Who shows us our deepest fears and sins gently and without scorn, Who celebrates with all of His angels when His most fucked-up, prodigal creatures turn back to Him, Who chases down the lost and alone no matter how far they stray, Who heals the sick and weak regardless of if they believe in Him or not.
I think I will forever wrestle with survivor's guilt, resentment towards my conditions, and severe anxiety. But, at least God is always there when I need Him most, and also when I don't think I need Him. Even if it turns out there hasn't been a God after all, it is still very healthy to simply voice aloud my victories and defeats to the wind. But, after twenty years of living with several deadly conditions, enduring shitty family and school situations, and overall just not having the best time, I find it quite absurd for me to deny that there is a God out there, Who loves and cares for us. Who heals the sick and relieves suffering.
However, He doesn't always heal the sick and wounded like most of us would want Him to. For years, I begged God for a cure. To make me normal. To take away the things that made me sick and hurting. In fact, I still do ask those things from Him. But, God's never answered my prayers in the ways I've wanted Him to.
Instead, He's let me suffer, experience what it's like to die both slowly and quickly, endure bullying and abuse from others, so on and so fourth. But, not out of any sort of malice. I believe He allows us to suffer so that we learn how to grow and be strong, how to have empathy for others and serve them accordingly, and most of all, know what it means and feels like to truly love. After all, you can't know love unless you've experienced hate, and vise versa. Which is why, when I really think and reflect on my troubles, I become grateful for the things I've suffered from, and I would never press a giant "reset" button to relive my life as a normal, healthy, happy girl to a normal, healthy, happy family.
Of course, this stuff is pretty much impossible to explain, especially to those who simply don't get it. There are simply no words to describe what I've experienced. I think people just have to live through similar shit I have to understand what I'm struggling to express. And, even then, no two people come to the same conclusions.
