BROKEN HEART

Broken Heart I was never concerned about my health growing up. I rarely even caught a cold, so I never paid much attention to the nagging warnings of my mother, “You better take care of yourself; Billy you only have one body.” I thought I was invincible. Even after my mother had a heart attack, I was obviously very worried about the health of her heart, but it never entered my mind that I needed to worry about the health of my own, as well. A near death experience is exactly the kind of thing that changes a person forever and suddenly reminds one of their own mortality. What I believed was important in my life was drastically altered. The first time my heart went into Paroxysmal Atrial Tachycardia (PAT), I was thirty-three years old. I was at Sparkles Roller Skating Rink for my oldest daughter Kristen's sixth birthday party, and having a wonderful time celebrating with my family and neighbors. I roller-skated, gliding along to the beat of the obnoxiously loud music with a daughter on each arm. Then it was time for pizza, cake, and presents. I was so excited to give Kristen the birthday present her mother and I had bought, a Barbie Dream House. I video-taped the entire party so I could always revisit the moment Kristen opened the enormous dream house and watch her little face light up with excitement. Finally, the party ended and we said our “good-bye’s” and “thanks for coming” to our neighbors. I walked out the door heading toward the car when Kristen said, “Race us daddy!” I quickly took off running pretending that I was going to win, but knowing really that I would let my daughters beat me. When I reached the car, I realized my heart was racing abnormally fast and I was gasping for air. The beating in my chest felt like uncontrollable vibrating. My wife, a nurse, became very upset when after an hour my heart beat had not slowed down at all.