I went out with my husband this evening, our first date night in who knows how long.  We were enjoying a leisurely dinner together when we realized that if we didn't hurry, we would miss the movie we were planning to catch.  We quickly paid our bill and set out to begin the 15 minute walk from the restaurant to the theater.   With little time to spare, we began to pick up speed in an effort to be seated before the opening credits. 

Crossing streets, running briskly up and down stairs I could feel it.  Rapid breathing.  Quickened heartbeat.  All within the range of 'normal', I suppose.    But to me, regardless of the circumstances, rapid breathing and a quickened heartbeat will never feel normal.  What the average person experiences during exertion feels like a heart attack to me.   It brings me right back to that awful day, sitting on my bed trying desperately to catch my breath.  It scares the life out of me.

I've never enjoyed exercise, but over the past years I've had a really difficult time getting myself to work out.  When I push my body, even to within 'normal' limits, I begin to wonder if my heart can take it.  It doesn't matter that I've been told that it can.  I feel my scarred heart pounding within my chest and I wonder how long before it gives out.  How bad does it have to get before I call the ambulance?  I start to map out the route to the nearest hospital, envision the scene inside the ER when I arrive.   I tell myself its illogical, but my mind goes there every time.

We got to our destination just in time this evening, and although it didn't take me tlong to catch my breath, it took me longer to shake that feeling of something being terribly wrong inside my body.   I guess I've come to accept these experiences as collateral damage from my heart attack, yet another way my life won't ever be the same.  That doesn't make it any easier.