Fear and Gratitude - Odd New Bedfellows

Life after Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) is so often about coming to terms with fears.  I mean, it gets tiresome at times - one more cold, icy fear rears its head.  Of course, with or without SCA, we all live with fear and we find our way - we each decide which fears are useful and which are not.  Which fears will cause us to behave more prudently and which need to be wrestled to the ground or ignored so they don't stop us from living a brave, rich life.
When SCA happens - there are more fears and our lines between prudence and surrender shift.  Things that passed without notice now produce those blades of fear.   It's a different fear than I ever knew before my SCA.  Our hearts stopped and we didn't die.  Our hearts could stop again and we might die.  Or our hearts may stop again and we may suffer heart or brain injury.  No warning.  It can be terror.

Normal parts of life that were never frightening now are - until we beat them back or park the fear in a place in our lives or adjust to it or whatever choice we make.  Each SCA survivor grapples with the list of "firsts" and the fear that is part of the package with each one - first time exercising hard, first swim in the ocean, driving fast, driving at all, sex, mammogram, leaving home without a cell phone, walking through a metal detector, anesthesia, magnets - whatever. The list goes on and on and we tackle them one at a time.

I keep thinking the list is finite; I will reach the end.  No.  Wrong.  The latest is this week I will have a test, a cardiac test, my first for this test that involves deliberate stress to the heart. It's "routine followup".   I was terrified at the news.  I was moving from anxiety to full blown panic.  I couldn't' breathe.  My normal response to that level of fear is to sort out what I'm afraid of and then seek data, data, more data.   The 'what' is pretty straightforward. I'm afraid my heart will stop; I'm afraid my implanted defibrillator will shock the crap out of me; I'm afraid they'll find something else wrong with my heart (aside from the whole stopping-without-warning thing).  I researched it online and found a manufacturer's warning that the nuclear imaging substance can cause cardiac arrest and "appropriate resuscitation measures should be available".  Great, perfect.

So then I want data to quell those fears and therein lies the rub - there is no data. You want to know "what happens to people like me".  No data.  No people like me.  The cold facts are that over 90% of people who have SCA die that day.  And the pool of survivors is so disparate - we are teenagers and 80 year olds; we have diagnosed heart disease and we don't; we had a heart attack and we didn't; we have heart damage from SCA and we don't; we have brain damage and we don't; we have risk factors and we don't.  No meaningful data.  Nothing useful.  Nothing to fetter the fear.

So to stave off panic; I did what I never do - I turned to people; I asked for help.  I despise asking for help.  Sad, but true.  I am not a support-group type of person.  But I love my online community of SCA survivors.   So for the first time, I posted my call for help - help me, I am scared.
And voila - they are there - I was flooded immediately with responses.  So many of my SCA friends have had the test, survived without problem.  One told me he vomited; I suggested he shut up and have the decency to lie.  (Of course, I am still a data-oriented jackass, so I am cognizant that the dead ones are not responding to my call for help).

Amazing to me - the non-support group girl - the group was astonishing reassuring. I never got all the way to panic; the fear subsided to manageable levels.  I'm still me, so it's still there.  I'm still a nerd, so I've made arrangements for the dog, clarified that my emergency contact person is good that day to get a call if things go off the rails.  And I know me - the house will be tidy Tuesday morning, the will and other documents will be where they should be; I'll throw out or file embarrassing stuff -  I now have an entire "this could be that day drill".  Such a nerd.
But I'll do it calmly, not in a panic.

I've learned to ask for help.  I am amazed by that.  And grateful beyond words.