Don’t let your husband’s heart attack kill you

“Don’t let your husband’s heart attack kill you,” our cardiologist warned.

I nodded absently, my mind on a hundred details of taking my husband home from the hospital
Yes, he made it. Now he’s going to recover and rehab. He doesn’t need to go into a facility after all. He can walk the hospital hall, feed himself and use the bathroom. Everything is paced at a crawl. The next four to six weeks will determine what the rest of his life will be like.
The heart recovers very slowly and any extra burden can hinder the progress.

It’s like getting hit with a baseball bat. Initially everything goes numb. The heart muscle goes into hibernation from the shock. This prevents further damage if you heed the warnings and take it easy. Rest is the great restorer.

He’s to rest, so who has to do all the fetching and carrying? Of course it’s me.
Take him home. Set him up in the living room with the tv changer, something to drink and a newspaper. Go to the pharmacy for his medicine: eight prescriptions that he never took before. Remind me to tell you how that got messed up. Take them home and put the right dosage in the right dispenser for am or pm. Go to the grocery store for food. I sort of depleted the fridge and cabinets over the last week. Unload the bags and bring them inside. Make his meal without using salt, fat or anything with vitamin K since he’s on Warfarin. Get the bedroom ready so he can get up when he needs to without stumbling over anything.

Bill and Dixie enjoying the surf

Our dog had decided he was gone too long and if she lays on his feet he can’t leave again. She is right in the middle of the floor, but I don’t have the heart to shoo her aside. She missed him, too.
I sit down just as he wakes, ready for a nap myself.
I’m tired and when my son calls, I realize I lost a day.
My husband needs extra care. He doesn’t want to sit and wait to get better. If he feels a little better, he’s up and walking around. Then the fatigue hits and he growls as he climbs back into the recliner.
He is angry. Shot-tempered. Impatient. And I’m in the target zone. I understand.

I really do since I have my own heart problem to deal with.
That’s probably the source of the doctor’s dire warning.

I’m tired. But I can’t tell you how happy I am that he made it. Sure it’s a long haul to full recovery, but we’ll do it one day at a time.

 

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Author: Barbara Edwards

Riveting Romance with an Edge

15 thoughts on “Don’t let your husband’s heart attack kill you”

  1. Oh my. So glad you both are okay now. Healing is slow. Very pokey. You’ll find there’s such a thing as The New Normal. It doesn’t have to be bad, just different. Good luck and good wishes to you both.

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  2. I agree with everyone’s comments, Barbara. Caretakers need to take care of themselves, too. I’m so glad your husband has made it through this. It’s not easy, but let things go if they’re not essential. Can you get groceries delivered? That saves you a trip, and you could still eat healthy. Do you like music? Maybe you can wear an ipod or turn on a CD/Pandora. I’m sending healing and positive thoughts your way…

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    1. Tkx for the prayers, my sons are coming over to finish several projects he started. That will help keep him resting.

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  3. Sounds like you are holding a good attitude, Barbara. That’s important, but the doc is right. Beyond caring for him, those little things that need doing can wait. Take what rest you can for yourself now and when he is well again, go on a CRUISE and be pampered for a while. Continuing to pray for you both.

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  4. Thank God you’ve made it this far. You both need rest and patience. And don’t forget humor. Laughter is the best medicine. Very hard to come by when you are bone tired and stressed to the max. Praying for you both.

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  5. Aww, what a harrowing account, Barbara. In all this, you’ll somehow need to find time for yourself, your own needs. Easier said than done, I know. I’m glad, though, that your husband is slowly recovering. Take a day at a time.

    Sending you positive energies, thoughts and prayers.

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