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Mom taking care of us when we were little

ME, MY MOM & PAPER DOLLS

When I was in elementary school I remember getting sick- I think it was Mono or mumps because I had to stay home and not be with other kids for what seemed like weeks.

I remember being in bed every day and Mom kept me down and resting by entertaining me with plenty of quiet activities. One afternoon she brought me a book of paper dolls. The doll was Vera Miles and her figures were on the front and back cover.

The clothes were on the inside pages of the book. They were pretty dresses and stylish coats with matching hats and shoes. You would cut out the clothes and their tabs so you could ‘dress’ the cardboard figure. Mom had to help me cut around the tabs.

But soon I had the entire wardrobe cut out and the fun began – changing her outfits and standing her in the little slit in the cover. Then I would make her do a turn and twirl as if she was in a fashion show. I loved it! Vera Miles hair was in an up-sweep the color of reddish blond. She looked like my Mother and she definitely had the same taste in clothes. (See their pictures below)

The next day, Mom brought another book of paper dolls, this time it was Elizabeth Tayler. Oh my, she was even more beautiful. I remembered the other paper dolls I’d played with were of little children especially Betsy McCall. Mom subscribed to McCalls Magazine so we could cut out the paper dolls and the cute little clothes in every issue.

My memory is that my sickness was mild and it felt like a luxury because I was being waited on.

Sixty years later, I’m lying in bed, down with Covid, and my fever has me going down memory lane wishing my mom would come in my room smelling so delicious with her cheeks rosy from coming in from cold. Her arms are full of paper doll books and scissors for me to play with while I’m sick.

Next thing I know I’m waking up from a most healing nap.

Writer’s update: I continued this memory to include in my massive notes for the book I’m writing about “Esther”. I loved the fact that she had a plentiful supply of 8 ½ x 11 manila envelopes. We carefully labeled these with the names of the starlets to store them. It was easy to slide the cardboard figure, her clothes & accessories into these envelopes until we had a neat stack of all of them!

My sister Sally and I kept all our important papers in the piano bench and I remember putting them in there and could pull them out anytime to play fashion show.

I also learned that Vera Miles actually lived in Wichita, attended North High School (my alma mater), was Miss Wichita, Miss Kansas, and a close runner up for Miss America. That might explain my mom’s infatuation with Vera Miles; because in 1956 Mom was a finalist in the MRS. Kansas contest. A contest where baking, cooking, managing households, and having a good figure to sport a swimsuit were categories! That’s another story.

Oh, and that piano, it was one of the many prizes she won as she entered contests asking for jingles, rhymes, and slogans. That’s another story.

WORDS MATTER – Especially when it comes to your Heart

“Are you having any chest pain?” This is the first question I’m asked at every cardiologist visit.

“No, sometimes I have a dull ache in my collarbone though,” is my reply.

I finally learned that dull ache in my collarbone is MY form of Angina, which is a type of chest pain caused by reduced blood flow to the heart.

It’s common for women to have different symptoms of heart attack than men – I learned that in my training at Mayo Clinic. It’s the cornerstone of my heart talks telling about and describing our symptoms.

Here’s Mayo Clinic’s list: Neck, jaw, shoulder, upper back or abdominal discomfort; Shortness of breath; Pain in one or both arms; Nausea or vomiting; Sweating; Lightheadedness or dizziness; Unusual fatigue.

What I didn’t realize is it also common for women to use a plethora of descriptive language like “pressure, fullness, tightness” instead of the word pain.

The difference is men actually often have crushing chest pain and will say so very succinctly. Doctors and medical staff understand the words “chest pain” but often can’t relate to our atypical or weird explanations.

I know pain. I’ve had a knee replaced, delivered two babies in the old days (1966 and 1970), had four dental implants (before it was quick & easy), and the most painful pain I ever experienced was having breast implants removed.

So I know pain, I know excruciating pain and a dull ache in my collarbone is not pain and “excuse me, it’s not in my chest, it’s in my collarbone!”

My heart sister, Robin Olson, put up with three days of agonizing pain in her shoulder. Finally, she went to the ER at the hospital where she worked for the pain.

“They told me I was having a heart attack. I said, no I’m not! I just have a pinched nerve!” She proceeded to get three stents that day.

Some of the stories I’ve heard from other heart sisters include going to the dentist to find the tooth causing jaw pain. Or, crushing fatigue and upper back pain, pain in the wrist, upper lip numbness, and a persistent cough.

Don’t get me wrong, some women do have chest pain radiating down their arm like heart sister, Karen Sammer. She was lucky because she was at a Toastmasters meeting held in a meeting room at the hospital.

Her pain was diagnosed as SCAD (Spontaneous coronary artery dissection) which is where a piece of the artery tears away and clogs it just like plaque might. She was lucky to receive fast care.

I blame those “Hollywood” heart attacks we see in the movies of men clutching their chests and collapsing from extreme chest pain. They fill our heads with what a heart attack looks like – and that is always Chest Pain.

I believe we women just can’t say those words, mainly because our discomfort is often not in our chest but in what we think of as a non-related area. But if we don’t say the words “chest pain” we may not receive the kind of care we need.

It seems to me, the answer lies in the medical community hearing our words and recognizing symptoms from our weird (to them) descriptions of discomfort.

I know pain, and that dull ache was just an inconvenient discomfort on a day I was too busy to be bothered with a little ache. So I did what we women do best – push through it so we can finish our errands, our project, our trip, whatever it is we’re doing.

Next time you’re asked, “are you having chest pain” – describe your discomfort as something you know is a symptom for heart attack in women.

Also, use strong descriptive words and tell how it is affecting your lifestyle. (for example I could say, “my collarbone is aching and I believe that type of discomfort in my upper body could be a symptom of heart attack in women”) Name the exact location of the discomfort, point if you must. Don’t minimize your symptoms and never be embarrassed.

Remember your words matter, especially when it comes to your heart!

HEART BROKEN

HEART BROKEN

I broke my heart in 2018, not from a lost love, but because it really broke.

Have you ever broken a bone? My sister broke her leg on the ski slopes once. I was skiing right next to her on the same slope, yet my leg did not break.

She was taken to the hospital in a nearby Colorado town. There, a doctor set her leg in a cast to heal and said, “You’ll be good as new in six weeks.”

If you break your heart, the doctor can fix some things, but you’re not quite as good as new. The “fix” is often a tiny little stent inserted into your artery while in a “Cath Lab” at the hospital.

I have two; some people have four or five. I met a guy once who has nine.

I joined the ranks of fixed repaired hearts on a sunny Saturday in February. It was my birthday, and I was terrified because when they said heart attack, I was sure I would die.

When you get this kind of fix, somehow you believe your heart will go back to normal, but with many of us heart patients, there’s damage. Even though that artery is working, it is not back to full capacity.

After heart failure, my life changed forever. Each day of my hospital stay, I heard from either a doctor or a nurse about pills with long names, special diets to keep sodium and cholesterol levels at bay, exercises to strengthen my body and my heart, and a contraption called a defibrillator life vest.

Susan Smith Heart with defibrillator life vest

The phrase “new normal” was bantered around like a volleyball. I began to cry. A soft-spoken cardiac nurse said, “What’s wrong?”

I blubbered, “I don’t know what to do. I had a heart attack and it was fixed, but I don’t feel like it! I want to feel normal but I don’t!”

If I could have stomped my foot I would. I was pissed off.

I honestly thought that while he lived with us, we’d eat dinner together, sit around and watch TV or movies, and talk about everything like the old days. But his disposition is markedly changed; he’s nauseous, cranky, and despondent. I desperately want to help him feel better and offer to make him breakfast on this particular cool fall morning.

He’s just shuffling back to the guest bedroom where he’s living. And I know he will shut the door.

I really want to hug him this day. I really want to feed him, talk to him, get his blankie, or do any of the mom things that are coming to me…. Instead, I just see the back of his bald head.

And then I saw it. My hands fly to my mouth to cover my gasp. At the base of his neck right at the beginning of the back hairline is the mark of the forceps from his birth. I always noticed it when he was a baby and felt he was forever marked by the brutal instrument doctors used at that time to pull babies from their mother’s womb.

It looked like four red dots, a mark like a chicken might make if you took its claw print. Tim’s hair had covered this for decades, now it’s visible and it puts me into a new state of sadness.

My son, my beloved most treasured son, has cancer; he’s suffered every measure of torture from the pain in his gut which gave the first sign to the 6 drug cocktail he’s given in his vein every other week. Then a periodic lumbar puncture to test his bone marrow and gallons of blood drawn over the three years of his treatment.

He’s one of the few people I’ve known his entire life and I love him like I love my own life ….and he stands with his back to me, an angry, sullen and sick person and I can see the evidence of his birth.

I cry all day. I pray. I ask my friends to pray. I see a therapist. After six sessions and some drugs, I get through it. Better yet, HE gets through it.

In March 2010, his cancer journey ends as Doctors pronounce him in remission. He begins to pick up the pieces of his life.

Of course, I’m grateful for his recovery, his life, and for his renewed enthusiasm to help others. He is an avid healthy lifestyle proponent, a writer sharing his cancer journey and his love of running. I’m grateful he’s in my life and that he’s my son.

I’m proud when I hear my son say he’s kicked cancer’s butt. He likes to quip; “People often say it’s good to see you! I answer with it’s good to be seen!” Seven years ago I wasn’t so sure I’d be seen again. But I kicked cancer’s butt and I say yes, it’s good to be seen. Yep, that’s my boy.

HEART ATTACK AFTERMATH – Dealing with Grief, Gratitude, and Guilt (the story Part 5)

Today, I share my feelings about almost dying and the resulting bouts of grief, gratitude, and guilt.

It was six months ago and it shook me up. I had a heart attack and I almost died. I mean I could have died. I didn’t die. When I realized I still had all my faculties, I began to consider what I might do with my life.

I suffered GRIEF for the life I almost lost. I grieved over what I might have missed with my husband, my children, my grandkids, my sisters, my friends. Although my life was saved, that close call gave me a sense of grief.

Now I fill my heart with memories of love, joy, and happiness with them. I try extra hard to let them know how much I love them and make an effort to spend time with them.

GUILT takes on many faces. A dear friend of mine died last month from breast cancer. She fought for eight long years and still she died. Of course, she’s in a better place and is no longer suffering, but I feel a sense of GUILT because I’m still alive.

Then there’s the guilt over my life habits, smoking years ago and all those fatty foods I ate and shouldn’t have. And even worse, the guilt of thinking my “busyness” was so damn important! I am guilty of all that and yet I lived. My counselor says these feelings are normal.

That brings me to GRATITUDE. I’m so grateful God gave me a second chance. He gave me a reality check with this heart attack. He had a different plan for my last act.

My third act began when I threw myself a party for a milestone birthday last year. I was going to start the next decade with a big bang.

I wanted the last part of my life to include writing a book or two; teach and record some on-line writing classes (so they become ‘ever-green’ sellers); and a clever website where all my things would sell “while I sleep”.

My husband and I had latched onto a quote from Warren Buffet about smart business people making money in their sleep. I dreamed of developing multiple income streams so I could follow this philosophy.

Then we could spend summers on the Oregon Coast and winters in Tucson.

That’s a pretty normal dream for a retired, reinvented, crafty 70-year-old, isn’t it? Isn’t that how all on-line entrepreneurs do it?

The internet gurus were teaching this and I was eating it up. I had a been a go-getter and make-things-happen kind of gal from way back (I remember the day I bought my first power suit in the ‘80’s).

I loved a challenge – I thrived on them!!

I believed I could power through any situation. I could keep going and keep achieving, no matter the cost! I think it nearly killed me.

I was in the middle of a fresh career; writing a book, teaching writing, and coaching writers – I was living my dream.

I kept up my social presence just like I was 32, attending mixers & networking events, handing out business cards, promoting programs and classes and loving every minute of it.

And then there was the social media presence – that thing that shouldn’t take too much of our time. I posted with strategy at certain times of day to groups and platforms to maximize exposure.

The networking was fun but it would wear me out. And the social media effort – I fell into the trap of posting only the prettiest pictures of me and my friends having fun, collaborating and doing business together.

I spent too much time liking, responding, posting, on face book, Instagram, and twitter.

All that stopped with one life changing incident –

a frightening heart attack, four fuzzy days in the hospital, two stents in my heart arteries, five weeks in a defibrillator life vest, eight bottles of medicines with long names, special pillows to comfort me, a walker to get me to the bathroom and the most debilitating fatigue I’ve ever experienced.

The day of my heart attack I was so pissed off! Everything was falling apart. All my plans, my scheduled classes filled with students, all that work down the drain! My classes had to be cancelled, students contacted and money refunded.

“This is so inconvenient,” I complained while in the hospital. When they wheeled me back to Cath lab for a second stent, I thought, “oh shit!”

I began to realize my busy schedule was NOT the important thing here.

My brain was swimming with things to do and people to call when a voice in my head said, “But wait, you are alive – you could have died and you didn’t. How about that, Miss busy person?”

My body was telling me something and quick action saved my life.

Then my heart doctor gave me a lecture on cutting back anything and everything that causes stress.

I thought stress was anything that caused me great upset or anxiety. But I learned from a soft spoken cardiac nurse that stress is more than being upset.

“Basically,” she said, “stress is taking on too much. Doing too many things without enough time. Many women take time to take care of everybody else before they even think about caring for themselves.”

Hmmm I thought, she described me to a tee!

I would help a friend needing advice; or take a seat on a committee; or play host in my home to promote this person or that cause. It became an addictive behavior and I couldn’t stop myself from running around in circles with all my ‘busyness’.

The old me always said yes to everything, never thinking it was causing stress.

I had to face facts, my stress was self-induced. I had taken on so much I hadn’t left any energy for myself.

Now I say, “that was the old me, I’m not that person anymore.” I can say no to the things that will get done without me because I have to pull back. That pressure cooker life is over.

I’m getting used to the “new me”, she is strong but relaxed. She has faced grief, gratitude, and guilt and is here to tell about it.

Emotional roller coaster – hospital release (the story part 4)

I’ve been writing about my heart attack to spread the word to all women about the risks of heart disease. It is the leading cause of death in women (killing one in three).

I’ve written previously about my early symptoms, the day of the heart attack, and the hospital journey.

Today, I share my emotional roller coaster getting released from the hospital.

By day three of my four days in the hospital, my brain was on overload trying to take in every face, test result, and procedure explanation. I have three cardiologists, four nurses, a dietician, a pharmacist, a physiologist, and a hospitalist. One nurse is a counselor with a soothing voice and a fuzzy cardigan.

Dr. P, my hospitalist, visits me every day, squatting down to look me in the eye. He always holds my hand and asks if I know what’s happened to me. His soft voice is calming.

He makes sure I know I had a heart attack and that I’ve had a stent surgery procedure. Each day, whatever my circumstance, he explains.

Fuzzy cardigan nurse Sarah says, “you’ll find yourself feeling depressed because you almost died. Just expect this at some time.”

A kid in blue scrubs (really a cardiac intern) says he’ll walk me down the hall to see how far I can go. This excites me. I want to prove I’m strong enough to be released.

He offers his arm and I’m surprised I can only make it a few steps out the door of my room before I’m so winded I can’t continue. My ankles are wobbly and legs are weak.

Then there’s Debbie, a manufacturer’s rep. She’s dressed in a pretty slim skirt and peplum jacket. I want her to meet my son, she’s that cute.

She’s there to explain the defibrillator life vest to me. She opens a 6-sided color brochure featuring a contraption I’m supposed to wear 24-7 for six weeks.

It’s like a fabric sports bra with metal paddles in the back that will shock my heart if I should have a heart attack while wearing it! It’s full of sensors to monitor everything about my heart and transmit to a far location via modem.

This is a Sunday so I won’t get the real thing till Monday.

The dietician lady wears red scrubs and is really sweet. She launches into long explanations of what I should be eating for the rest of my life.

I’m especially intrigued with her visual of my salt intake. “Just make a little mound about the size of a dime in the palm of your hand” that’s how much salt you can have in a day. Not from the salt shaker but from everything.”

She proceeds to teach me how to read labels.

I promise to read it all and drift off into sleep. I hear my husband and doctor talking about “ejection fraction” numbers.

EF is the amount of blood leaving the heart when it contracts My ”EF” is at a low 15 with a normal heart putting out 35 to 55 EF. I really need that defibrillator life vest.

I ordered heart-healthy chicken soup for dinner, but it tastes like dishwater—yuck, and there is no salt. I ate the saltines, and I wanted to go home.

I doze off again and hear the clicking of heels come in my room, I open my eyes and see my best friend bearing a vase of flowers. “Happy birthday”, says Diana. “I told you not to come!” I blurt.

“I had to see you with my own eyes to make sure you’re ok,” she says. I start to cry. I didn’t want anyone to see me so debilitated, oxygen tube, catheter bag, tubes and needles in both arms, bruises on every visible surface.

I want to tell her I almost died and how scared I am. But I can’t get any more words out, because my breathing is so labored. We hug.

Finally, its Monday morning and there’s flurry of activity – a young man in gray scrubs goes through my discharge papers – one by one he reads and tells me what they say so I can sign them.

Most importantly is the long list of drugs, their names, dosage and what they are for. Do this, do that, make an appointment for this doctor or that blood test.
I want to concentrate.

A perky lady dressed in brown corduroy comes in with my very own life vest. She shows me how to put it all together inserting the paddles into the slots and the round sensors with their skinny black cords. A two and half pound battery pack attaches with a cord on the side.

I’m ready to put it on and get out of there! But no, I have to prove to her I can put it together just like she did.

She disconnects everything she did and makes me do it while she watches. It’s complicated and there’s a long list of things to do every day.

The battery must be removed and replaced while putting the spare on a charger, each sensor (there are eight) must be touching my body through the thin fabric. There’s no slacking off allowed – this is serious!

The kid comes to walk me again, this time I make it farther than before, I want to jump for joy but my arm won’t let go of his.

MY FIRST NIGHT AT HOME.

We decide I should sleep in the guest room with the walker nearby because I have to get up in the night to go to the bathroom and I’m not strong enough to make it on my own.

I have a nightmare, wake with a start, I begin to hyperventilate! I’m terrified my breath won’t come. I make my way out to the family room, where there’s a recliner; I get in it and cover up with the afghan – I breathe better because I’m sitting up.

I had a long talk with God, thanking Him for sparing my life and asking Him to help me breathe better right now! I asked God what I did to deserve this and what I could do to repay Him for saving me.

I fall asleep mid-prayer.

Women’s Heart Attack Symptoms – all here in a neat summary

Last week, I shared my experience of mistaking heart attack symptoms for an anxiety attack.

I narrated the incidents that led to each of the eight symptoms I experienced, along with the excuses I made for not paying attention to my body.

Some of you requested a summary of the symptoms, and here they are. However, please note that these were MY symptoms and are common to women; they are quite different from men’s symptoms.

This is not an exhaustive list of all the symptoms women may experience during a heart attack, but it’s enough to get you thinking.

Women’s Heart Attack Symptoms – all here in a neat summary — Women’s Heart Attack Symptoms

Here are the symptoms:

Fatigue
Pain in neck or collarbone
Lightheadedness
Cold/numb fingers and toes
Shortness of breath
Heart palpitations
Feeling dizzy or faint
Cold sweat

When I googled these symptoms, some sources suggested an anxiety attack, which is what I initially thought was happening to me. However, it turned out to be a heart attack. I was rushed to the ER the following day, had two stents implanted, and left three days later wearing a defibrillator vest. It was a scary experience, and I was frustrated because the timing was so inconvenient. This happened in February.

Now, I’m sharing my story to urge women to pay better attention to their bodies.

Here’s one of my favorite websites on women’s heart health: www.womenheart.org