The Cost of Looking Calm While You're Falling Apart
After dealing with the worst health scare of my life, while pregnant and alone. I really want to tell you that things got better.
But that’s not real life… At least not mine. Things had to get a whole lot worse for a lot longer before things got better.
I spent the weekend after my ER visit doing what I do best…I shoved it aside, put my blasé persona back in place and went back to work to face the people who hurt me beyond words.
Some other coworkers asked me what happened on Friday so I tell them like I’m reciting a math problem. Bored, casual.
They say the same thing I’ve heard my entire life:
“Wow you’re always so calm.”
— I’m screaming and crying on the inside.
“I’m intimidated by how well you always handle things.”
— I don’t want to always handle things.
“That doesn’t surprise me, you’re so confident.”
— I’m afraid of everything, especially something hurting my baby.
Then like a good task oriented soldier, I go back to business as usual. But I stop covering shifts, and I stop going above and beyond for those who couldn’t for me. Maybe it was petty, but it made me feel better at the time.
The next week I have my doctor’s appointment. We go through all the routine care for the visit and I ask about my ER visit… she had no idea. She never saw my message.
She reads the provider notes and I give her a run down of what I was told about it being normal and benign. I’m still holding myself together just a few more tooth picks and duct tape to cover the crack that started.
Then my doctor says something that I was not prepared for:
“That is not normal or okay.”
I get sent to cardiology, extra scans ordered, I need to wear a heart monitor for the weekend, an echo to check the health of my heart. My normal healthy pregnancy changed in a moment. I was suddenly trapped in a cascade of interventions, and no one was talking to me like a person. I felt like a checklist.
The crack that started, deepened, even as I was holding it together like a robot following a command. Doing everything I’m told to do. All the while still working full time in a place I no longer trusted support.
Even as the tests started coming back normal, it didn’t satisfy my doctor. Her exact words were “your body can’t handle that heart rate, if it happens again you need to go straight to the ER or your baby will suffer and you both could die.”
I’m reeling… the cardiologist said I could be in my arrhythmia for 24 hours before it was concerning, my heart is strong, my baby is healthy and now I could die… she had been an OB for 25 years and had never seen an arrhythmia like mine.
I leave my appointment to drive home. Too stunned to cry or scream like I wanted too. My mind is racing trying to rationalize what this means and how I continue to be confidently unbothered.
I’m hiding everything below the surface, every fear, insecurity, vulnerability until that led to panic attacks. My heart would race, I thought I was going to die. I’d have a heart palpitation, it would trigger a panic attack, and my heart would race, and I thought I was going to die.
I hid this too. Faked hot flashes and hid in an empty office. I was running away from everyone including myself fast.This went on for fifteen weeks. Building, worsening, pulling me under. My husband wanted to help — he didn’t know how. Neither did I.
I had lost trust in myself so I didn’t give anyone a chance to join me in my misery.
Then my water broke at 4 in the morning and I was 36 weeks and 6 days… did I cause this?
Still Here,
Bethany
Protection, understanding, unruly confidence.
—Nettles
