MY FIRST HEART MONTH

I was surprised at how much American Heart Month meant to me. Maybe because having a disease is, at its core, a very lonely thing. No matter how much others care, no one really knows what it feels like -- or how it makes you feel -- to just be.

So I set out to connect as much as possible. To not be lonely, or sad, or scared, or depressed. But to be active, engaged, positive, and happy instead. It worked, and I was.

I shared my story a few places, like guest blogging for friends and colleagues, writing an article for the Minnesota Women's Press, and speaking at the United Hospital Foundation's annual "Celebrating the Hearts of Women" event. I went to the American Heart Association's Go Red for Women Casting Call (an on-camera interview that they use to choose annual spokeswomen; I will find out if I made the cut in May) and my yoga instructor and I set up a Go Red class session where I shared my story and information on women and heart disease. Today, on the last day of the month, I volunteered with the AHA-Minnesota at Whole Foods, which is donating 5 percent of that day's sales to the fight against heart disease.

This blog featured guest posts by my friend/best-running-coach-ever Breanne about how to get moving, and my husband shared his story. I'm thinking of turning over my blog to him; his post has the second-highest views of all time! 

Last weekend, I had a red wine-themed party and celebrated life, fun, and wine (though some also celebrated beer). But my favorite part of the month was receiving all the photos of friends and family and readers wearing red on February 3; never have I felt less lonely while being all alone. 

So, yeah, Heart Month is a big deal to me. Thank you for all you did to make it great!

YOGA POWER

I heart yoga.

I started about 18 months ago, shortly after leaving my full-time job. It had been on my I-really-should-but-don't-have-time list for years, and I finally screwed up my courage and took a beginner's class at a studio down the street from me. I had the best teacher who seemed to read my mind (she could always tell if I stopped focusing on my breathing and let my frantic thoughts take over) and who taught us very slowly and carefully. In that stressful transition period between ending my career and starting my new life as an at-home mom, yoga was the perfect partner. Where had it been all my life?

After a few beginners sessions and then continuing classes, I started heading out on my own to different drop-in classes, like the one on Wednesdays at a community center close to our house. The instructor is very good and has a devout following at the various classes she teaches around the city.

So I asked her one day (again, screwing up my courage) if she would consider having a Go Red for Women day at her classes. Her response was an enthusiastic "I love this idea!" I told her about my heart attack (I had just stopped coming to class and then appeared again weeks later with no explanation, and she didn't ask) and suggested we could wear red and I'd get some materials from the American Heart Association. She included my story and an article I wrote about women and heart disease in her email newsletter for three weeks, reaching 275 women.

Our Go Red for Women Yoga class was today and it was so empowering. I got a little choked up seeing all the people in red, and I shared a bit of my story. What struck me, though, watching everyone's reactions, was how little people know about women's risk of heart disease and heart attacks. They really don't know that it is the number one killer of women.

I said what I really wanted them to take away was knowledge of the risk factors for heart disease, and the knowledge that 80 percent of cardiac events were preventable through healthy choices. But I also wanted them to know that if they did everything right and still had a heart attack, then they needed to know the symptoms and to toss aside women's typical "don't be a bother" behavior and get themselves to the hospital, pronto.

The only man at class that day raised his hand. He is a paramedic, he said, and he wanted to tell us more about the signs and symptoms. Don't smoke, he reminded (I'd forgotten that one), and told us that for women, unexplained shortness of breath can mean a heart attack. I confessed I drove myself instead of calling 911 and he covered his face with his hands with frustration. I'm so glad he was there; I think his message really made an impact.

Yoga always makes me feel calm and strong and powerful, and it was even more so today. There's power in knowledge, power in community, and power in women. I felt it today and it felt amazing.

Namaste.

Yoga in my backyard with my nieces.

AFTER MY OWN HEART

My sons' school participates in Jump Rope for Heart every year. The children learn about heart health, jump rope for as long as they can (in our school it is a gym class unit), and raise money for the American Heart Association.

This year, Jump Rope for Heart is a big deal to my 10-year-old, "because, you know, you had a heart attack Mom."

Owen figured he had a pretty persuasive fundraising argument and could raise a lot of money, so he set his goal at $1,000. With five days left to go, he's at $850. My husband and I have decided to match whatever he raises.

Here is the text that Owen wrote on his fundraising webpage, of which he is extraordinarily proud: 

Hello again! I would like to introduce myself. I'm Owen.  I want to tell you a little about me. First of all I am doing my homework so I have to get this done fast:

• I'm 10 yrs. old
• I have a little brother[Noah]
• My Mom had a heart attack last summer!

I hope you will donate to support the American Heart Association. My fundraising goal is $1000. The money is used to help other people keep their hearts healthy.

I have donated $71 of my own money already. My mom and dad are going to match any donations I get.

P.S. "Please donate!"

Who can say no to that? It was so rewarding and humbling to work with Owen on his fundraising goal, an email to family, and his web page. He was so mature, so generous, so idealistic, so young. He smiled and hugged and wanted to check over and over to see if any donations came in. He couldn't wait to tell his gym teacher.

Of him I am extraordinarily proud.

If you'd like to donate, check out Owen's personal fundraising page or support a child you know doing Jump Rope for Heart.

ARE YOU GOING RED?

My family and I, wearing red!

I'm very excited about my "very first" National Wear Red Day on Friday, February 3 - first post heart attack, that is. It's a simple way to show women that raising awareness about women's risk is important.

But, having left my job last year to stay at home with my boys, I'm without a natural group to Go Red with. I will wear red that day - but I'll mostly be at home, dropping kids off at school, or at the gym. My boys will wear red, and maybe my husband will finally wear that tie I bought him with the red dress symbol on it. (I promise, it's not girly.) But I won't have a group photo to post or submit to the American Heart Association just for the fun of it.

So I wonder if you will help me. Will you wear red on Friday, February 3, and get your family, colleagues, or classmates to join you? Snap a photo on your phone and email it to me? (jen (at) mylifeinred (dot) net). I'll put the photos I get on this blog and we'll have a virtual Go Red community.

I am working on some extra posts and features to commemorate American Heart Month in February, and I look forward to sharing what I've learned. Heart disease is number one killer of American women, taking more mothers, sisters, wives, daughters, and friends than all forms of cancer, combined.

Find out more about the Go Red For Women campaign and plan to wear red February 3!

WHY WAIT?

"I think there's something wrong with me. In case I don't get back in time, you'd better stay here and take Owen to camp."

I said something like this to my husband around 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning, after I'd spent the whole night awake, whimpering in pain and popping Advil four at a time. Once I finally told him how I was feeling and we decided I had "better get checked out," I didn't call 911 or rush to the ER.

Nope. I ate breakfast, helped pack for camp, took a shower, styled my hair, supervised a pre-schooler potty break, and put on makeup. For my date. With a heart attack.

Why do people who suspect they are sick or in danger delay seeking help to attend to family, work, pets, or in my case, my hair? That is the question that a group of researchers at Yale University are trying to answer through the Yale Heart Study.

I took the study myself about a month ago. Funded by the National Institutes of Health, it is a simple online survey designed to understand why people wait, on average, four hours to go to the hospital when having heart attack symptoms. If you are a member of the heart disease awareness community (I am now, of course, card-carrying), you know that "time is muscle." Every minute counts.

The problem is, heart attacks can be sneaky, particularly in women, and it is not unusual for people to mistake heart attack symptoms for indigestion, heartburn (my excuse of choice), anxiety disorders, fatigue, or asthma. Add to that our tendency to put everything and everyone else first.

Here's how the study's primary investigator, Dr. Angelo A. Alonzo, describes it:

We are so embedded and invested in our daily lives that we are very, very reluctant to just drop everything and seek medical care. We have to be certain it is a real problem, we have to finish the task at hand, we need to make arrangements if we are hospitalized, we have to cancel appointments, our work activities are important to our identity, and we are too strongly tied to our social obligations to just leave them. . . only when the signs and symptoms become so overwhelming do we willingly go.

This is indeed exactly what happened to me, and the denial didn't stop in the parking ramp (yes, I drove myself). I called home to make sure rain gear was packed for camp. I called again from the ICU to give instructions on what to pack for my younger son's trip to my brother's house while I was in the hospital. I emailed work colleagues after my first surgery. It took nearly 24 hours in the hospital before I gave in and let go.

The idea behind the study is to understand why individuals like me make the decisions they do. With this knowledge, an effective intervention strategy can be devised to get people to the hospital faster. Says Dr. Alonzo: "The irony is that one gets the most therapeutic benefit if one is in the hospital within the first hour of acute symptoms onset."

The study has reached about 15 percent of its goal of 2,300 participants. They are seeking survivors of all ages, men and women, willing to share their experiences to help others. It takes about 30 minutes to an hour to complete (you can save and return to the survey if you are short on time). It is also completely anonymous.

If you or someone you know has had a heart attack, please encourage them to take the study. It may save someone else time and muscle, or quite possibly, their life.

For more information, visit https://heartstudy.yale.edu/hacs/ or email heart.study@yale.edu.

THANKS, I NEEDED THAT

Her name was Ellen and she brought me dinner.

The parish nurse at our church has organized volunteers to bring over dinner a few times a week, and Ellen's day was Tuesday. She came to the door with a roast chicken, a salad from her garden, and a loaf of nine-grain bread. We chatted awhile, she asked how I was doing, and I replied that while my body felt fine, my head is another story. That we are all still in shock and I just don't feel like myself.

Ellen said she knew how I felt, having been diagnosed with diabetes in February. As we talked more about the challenges of special diets it hit me: Here's a woman (like me), with kids (like me), with a chronic health condition (like me), who, on a day she took off of work, is bringing me dinner.

Talk about humbling. But really, what good is a crisis without being taken down a peg or two?

When something bad or sad or scary or just hard happens to someone you love, or even someone you know just a little, the urge to help is strong. I know that this is true. I've been inundated with offers of help, and my own instinct when I hear of someone else's crisis is to start cooking, preferably pasta with some kind of cheese- or cream-based sauce. (Those were the days, but that's another post.) It's one of the best things about human beings, and no matter how cynical things may seem, it's alive and well. The better angels of our nature are with us still.

This isn't my first life crisis, and it probably won't be my last. Having learned a thing or two the first time around (the birth of my first baby nine weeks early by emergency c-section after I developed a life-threatening-for both of us-condition), I readily said yes to every offer of help I have received, and then asked for more. I've been clear about what we need, and what we don't. I've let friends see my house a mess. I've sat at my own kitchen table and watched someone else cook for my family. I've asked for favors I wouldn't dream of asking at any other time. And I haven't even sent my thank yous.

But I have noticed and I will remember. I was helped in innumerable ways then. I'm being helped now. I'll be helped again tomorrow. I can't do this alone, and I don't intend to try.

So, to Ellen and everyone who brought us dinner, took care of our children, provided transportation, bought groceries, supervised walks, hosted parties, cooked, cleaned, folded, shopped, played, emailed, wrote, and listened:

Thanks, I needed that.