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If I'm going to die, I'll chose where and when....

Now's good....

Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2005
Run of Death

I pulled on my running shoe with fierce determination; I had to know. My cardiologist had been crystal clear. No exercise. I was off all forms of exercise until my newly diagnosed heart problems were dampened by my newly prescribed heart medicine. Would I die if I went for a run? If I over exerted the doctors said I might fall asleep for hours, faint without warning, or win the unluckiest prize, death.

I tied the laces into a big double bow and reached for the other shoe.

Three days ago I’d walked into the heart doctor’s office with a minor history of dizziness and walked out with a whopper of a heart problem. (And people wonder why I dread going to the doctor.) Clearly I didn’t procrastinate the problem long enough.

The cardiologist on call had been very insistent as he paced back and forth in front of me. “Holly, this is the real thing.”

I shrugged. My dizzy spells were small and inconsequential, only spinning me on rare occasions. “I feel mostly healthy.”

Doc shook his head. “How many people in your family have died suddenly?”

I laughed. “Winters never die.”

He folded his arms tight across his chest. “If you look into your family history, I bet you’ll find a sudden death. You’ll see.”

Yeah. Well. I contacted the oldest members of my family who remembered lots of liver problems and a diabetic death. Would that help?

Um. No. Thanks.

My brothers and sisters decided to boycott the doctor’s findings, less heart problems rub off onto them by osmosis. They were tired of me introducing maladies with heredity implications into the family. Epilepsy. Celiac Spru. And now heart problems.

I tied my second set of laces into a double knot and stood slowly. I’d been told I couldn’t exercise and no traveling. Hello? How’m I supposed to keep my sparkle? The meds they insisted I take should, given time, contain the problem. If only the pills didn’t demand that I sleep for fourteen hours every day.

I raced down the stairs from my apartment at top speed, landing at street level with a hop in my step. No exercise? But… what if I did? I mean. Why should I stay curled up on my couch worried that any step might be my last? No. It was time to see what would happen if I pushed myself. And, I was ready to accept the consequences.

I started a slow jog down the block, keeping my stride even and strong. The old neighborhood behind my apartment greeted me with indifference; not even a barking dog. My strained muscles and breathlessness reminded me I was alive. Today I was alive.

Don’t run, I was told. Don’t exercise. Put the treadmill away. Yoga is bad right now. Well. Perhaps spitting in the face of death wasn’t the gentlest way to go. But. Really. I was ready. Laughter fell from my mouth like water from a gutter. I could do this. Free. I was free from worry. Free from sickness. I was ready to accept death, and this made me feel intensely alive.

The doctors had offered a big, orange carrot. I could have heart surgery where they would put little wires inside the heart and burn the area that was sending out bad messages. Yes. Exactly. Kill the messenger. This scared me more than death. Heart surgery? Wasn’t I too young? Running into the hands of death was easier than agreeing to burning wires. Those burns had to hurt. I preferred to slink quietly to the ground, perhaps gasping for a moment or two until I became death.

Yes. The run of death. I’d never felt so in control of anything. I was giving the Universe the nod. Ok. Fine. I’ll die if you want. But. I want it to be here, on this sidewalk, in this part of town, today. I’d insisted on my own manipulated terms.

The Death-run seemed like an excellent way to go. I’d written a will before I left asking ‘Someone’ to give my heart rock collection away, piece by piece, to the people who were important in my life. I hadn’t thought of listing the people. ‘Someone’ should know who they were.

How would death arrive? Would I be visited by the escort angel who would whisk me away before I felt anything? Or would I fall to the ground and flail around like a fish out of water as death crept up slowly? Too bad I wouldn’t be able to write about my impressions.

I jogged left, towards a better neighborhood. Hey. If I was going to collapse on someone’s lawn, it should be a mansion.

Super Ventricular Tachycardia. That’s what they’d named my heart mess. A severe case of V Tac. I should have asked the doctor how death would come. I sped up the hill. How long would my demise take? Here I’d been worried about accidentally running up the steps to my apartment, and I’d already run half a mile with zero effects.

Hopefully the end would come before I had the time to weigh out my regrets. Like the trip around the world I’d always wanted to take. And. Now my book would never get published. And. I’d yet to meet my soul mate. And. There was no way I wanted my ex-boyfriend to get credit for my last kiss. How wrong was that? I wanted my last kiss to be of hot, passionate love, not his good-bye to obligation.

I slowed to a walk. Man. What a hill. Um. This was work. The one mile mark arrived and I had zero deadly symptoms anywhere on my body, other than heavy breathing, but surely that was justified. I waved to two little girls sitting on the balcony of a mansion. They waved back. Maybe this wouldn’t be a good place to die. I’d hate to scare those kids. I picked up my pace to a medium job and made it to the top of the hill.

Two women jogged past me at top speed and I was instantly jealous. How come they got to be happy and healthy? How come the sword of death was pointed at my throat while they got off Scott free? I pouted as they ran in synch with each other, one laughing at the other’s stories. I used to be like those women. And. I wanted to be like them again: light on my feet, happy, full of life. I wanted to be like them. No. I wanted to BE them. Actually, I wanted to be anyone at all who wasn’t anticipating death. Why did I have to be me right now?

Nothing. No side effects. No blinding headache or racing heart or chest pain. What should I be feeling, other than a little silly for calling my mother and a few friends to tell them how much I loved them? They mirrored my declarations before they got back to their healthy lives.

Now. Mark would miss calling me from around the world, and Ralph would have no place to bring dates where they could drink my vodka for free, and my brothers and sisters would be really mad to have to consider their own mortality just because I was unlucky enough to find the affliction first. And. I would miss the sweetness I had carved into the space I called my life.

The two mile mark approached without anything on my body falling off or swelling up. I had no pain anywhere, except the side of my foot that was rubbing against the shoe in the wrong way. Why had I decided to tempt the devil? Did I want to die, or was I looking for the assurance that I was strong enough to live? All I knew was that I didn’t want to run any more. Not today.

I was ready to find the courage to demand health. I stood and began the slow walk home. I had run away the anger; all that was left was sheer uphill-exhaustion. But. Behind the tiredness I found a blossoming peace that billowed around me, cushioning me from the realities knocking on my future. The run didn’t kill me. Other than a racing heart and tired feet, I felt fine. If God wanted me dead, I’d be gone. But. He passed. I gave him every opportunity to end my life and he passed.

I leaned against the light pole in front of my building, giving myself permission to take all the time in the world before I wound my way upstairs. It would be three weeks before I got up the nerve to ask questions about the surgery. By then the nightmares I had concocted surrounding the event would make the reality seem simple.

But. I gave myself permission to step slowly for now on. And. Whether I was charging towards the end or a new beginning, only time would tell.

Wanna try another column? How about #219: Heart Surgery Looming in my Today, which is about all the many surprises that come with heart surgery...

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