Today I finished 12 weeks of cardiac rehab. Three times a week I would leave the house at 7:40am to make my 8:15 appointment. Each morning during the drive I would ask God to please bless my work-out and bring healing to my physical heart and my spiritual heart. He did both.
When I started rehab in May I was not too happy about going. The first day I got to the center a little early so I walked to the other side of the building to use the ladies room. I really just needed a moment to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for what was coming. I did not want to go in there. Again, I asked God to heal my heart and just help me get through this. This became my routine, I started every session the same way. At first I did it to calm down, eventually it became a time to set my mind on healing and restoration.
Even though my doctor insisted and everyone said it would be good for me, I did not want to go to rehab. It was just another reminder of what had happened to me. I was tired of talking about it and even more tired of thinking about it. I just wanted to pretend it ever happened. I didn't want to answer questions or compare treatments or be in a room filled with people who were "recovering" from anything. I dreaded going for the first two weeks. I tried to think of reasons I couldn't go, but I did go, never missing except when I went out of town and once when the building lost power. I would get on the treadmill and walk and walk and walk. Then work my arms. That machine is called a Windjammer. Round and round. Each machine has a picture of the muscles you work during that particular work-out. I started imagining my muscles getting stronger and healthier. I liked that. It felt good. I even tried a rowing machine a couple times. Sometimes it was hard, really hard. Often I had to come home and take a short nap. And I was always hungry when I left. I started keeping grapes and bananas in the car for the ride home. And water. I drank a lot of water!
I started rehab kicking and screaming (at least in my head) but ended with a different view. Rehab became my way of fighting back. My heart attack took a lot from me, mostly mental, but still a lot. I almost let it defeat me, instead it changed me. I am not the same. I think I am stronger now, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes I have a hard time breathing, I get tired more often. I take a lot of pills every day. I don't think any of that will change. However, I am determined to not let it take anything else from me.
Several people have asked me if it was a wake-up call. I tell them yes, God did wake me up that night. And He spared my life. I was not afraid that night and I am not afraid now. I am excited to see what He has planned for my future. I am a survivor.
