Yep. I did. It’s been over a month now. The date, December 4th, will probably always sit in the back of my head as one of those anniversaries to commemorate with respect (one part solemnity and two parts gratitude): This is the day you nearly died.
I’ve had a hard time talking about it, let alone writing. It is easy to recite what happened that day, less so how I feel about it all.
It happened like this: I got up, took a shower, felt fine and thought that the two weeks of back pain I had been experiencing was finally over. As I got dressed to go to work—I was scheduled to lead a workshop in budgeting in 45 minutes—I suddenly felt the pain in my back return, then move to my chest and down the underside of my left arm. I could breath but the pain was so intense I was doubled over and sweating. I called my assistant and then my husband. He rushed home from work and drove me to the emergency room. Pronto, we got three clues as to how serious it was: first, I was seen immediately; second, nitroglycerin; third, morphine IV.
