Gratitude

The Farmer’s Heart Attack

A true story (and a poem) by the farmer’s daughter

The past couple of years of the world changed by covid have been a blur in some ways, and in other ways, I can isolate certain days and hours and minutes like the individual cells that make up an animated movie drawn painstakingly by hand.

My dad had a significant heart attack last spring or maybe in late winter — we don’t know exactly when, but the tests suggested he’d been walking around for at least several weeks with more than one major blockage. He kept insisting that he was having heartburn and that he’d see a cardiologist after getting some tests on his digestive system.

It’s a long story, but the gastro clinic (finally) ended up referring him to the emergency room. Thank goodness that his hospitalization for heart surgery and recovery happened to occur at a time when he’d already received two doses of the vaccine and during a lull in covid transmission in our state.

He’s back to his old self now, busy tilling his garden and buying seeds after missing the height of last year’s growing season. Dad has a big garden that neighbors can see from the sidewalk or road as they pass. Around town, he’s known as “the farmer” as people recognize him and the distinctive old-school bib overalls that he wears, but a lot of people don’t know his name.

After his heart attack, my brother and I met more of the people who do know his name, like dad’s friend Harry who is in his 90s, has a greenhouse, and grows tomato starts for dad’s garden. We’d heard of Harry but never met him until I coordinated with him on the phone to visit him and pick up the tomato starts, and my brother planted them in the garden.

Dad didn’t want us to bother with the garden in his absence, but he’d already planted some stuff and bought other starts to plant which were waiting in his garden shed. Plus, who could disappoint Harry and the other neighbors who were asking about dad?

Once dad got out of the hospital and spent a few more weeks getting his strength back, I know he was happy to have the garden waiting for him — he got permission from his cardiologist to resume work there as long as he rested and didn’t use the rototiller or chipper or anything else that could make a sudden movement and unsettle the delicate bypass work of the surgeon.

I felt grateful beyond words that dad had made it through the heart attack itself and the surgery, too. Meanwhile, I had to keep repeating the story of it to relatives and friends and neighbors and so on, and the repetition worked me up to the point where it was hard to let go of all the stress and realize that dad was OK.

My girlfriend helped me put dad’s heart attack into perspective and focus on appreciating his health. I wrote this poem a few months after his surgery:

Thank You Today and Yesterday

Thank you for coming to dinner with my dad for his birthday on this sunny Wednesday, we don’t know how many months after the heart attack he walked off like a charley horse, walking until he almost ran out of breath. Thank you for the night you said, hey, he didn’t almost die: he’s in the hospital and they’re helping him! Thank you for helping me sleep and breathe and love you and dad and the world.

I truly appreciate my family’s health and no longer take it for granted. I want to be stronger in my own body, too. I’ve been trying to be more mindful of taking better care of myself with walking and other exercises and eating nutritious foods.

I’ve even been talking with my girlfriend about seeing her personal trainer and joining a gym together. I appreciate her gentle encouragement every day.

And I appreciate you for reading this. I hope you and your loved ones are doing well.

This post is a response to the Freewrite Friday prompt about “Your Reality Before and After Covid” posted by Ellie Jacobson.