December 9, 2003, is a day Mary Ann Sheveland will never forget. With the sun just coming up and a fresh pot of coffee perking in the kitchen, she walked into the bedroom she shared with her husband that early December morning and found him dead. Death had come quickly and silently; he was gone.
In Mary Anns memoir, Journey of My Heart, she shares a story written with love, humility, and a great amount of faith. It is an account of emotional courage, determination, and the desire to have the best quality of life in our allotted time. She chronicles the challenges faced when caring for a terminally ill spouse and the love that she and her husband shared during the good and the bad times of their crisis.
Journey of My Heart also tells how Mary Ann overcame grief using the tools of music, journaling, travel, and the various social activities she depended upon to put her in a positive frame of mind. She hopes to help illuminate the steps along the slippery road of a progressively worsening medical condition. Gradually, with every day, she became stronger, more independent, and at peace with her new life. She emerged from grief a completely different person; she is a survivor.
The information, ideas, and suggestions in this book are not intended as a substitute for professional advice. Before following any suggestions contained in this book, you should consult your personal physician or mental health professional. Neither the author nor the publisher shall be liable or responsible for any loss or damage allegedly arising as a consequence of your use or application of any information or suggestions in this book.
All my thoughts and writings are dedicated to my family and friends.
They have brought me more joy and love than they will ever know.
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Oh No—This Can't Be Happening!
A New Apartment and a Job!
The house was silent except for the sound of a pot of coffee perking behind me in the kitchen and the soft padded tap of my slippers as I entered our bedroom that early December morning.
Cheerful that another day had begun, I walked around our bed to the other side of the room to awaken Sheldon. In those first few steps, I suddenly became nervous, as some unknown sense washed over me. But in the next brief step or two, I let out an audible sigh, assuring myself that everything looked just fine and he was sleeping soundly.
When I stopped and gently touched the side of his face with my warm fingers, I realized things were not fine. My husband was dead. Death had come quickly and silently during the night. He was gone!
Even though Sheldon had been ill for many years with major complications from heart disease, and I'd known for several years that his time on earth was slowly slipping away, I didn't get to say a final good-bye.
Perhaps this was God's way of protecting my heart, for had I been with Sheldon on his final few moments on this earth, I would not have survived the experience, and I would not have been here to share the following experiences with you.
During the months that followed Sheldon's death, the stress, angst, and mental pain were brutal. I felt I would never be the same person that I had been, and I was right. Grief totally changed me. My life was disrupted; it filled with extreme loneliness, sometimes desperately so. I was on a journey of grief, in search of life after death, for my husband and for me, the survivor.
Dealing with grief was the hardest work I have ever done. I didn't think I could survive; but through much agonizing effort, the support of others, and an incredible amount of faith, I did.
My life has been enriched, and now the majority of my days are happy. I have learned to wiggle back into a happy, meaningful life, and for this I am eternally grateful.
I wrote Journey of My Heart because I feel very strongly that I can offer guidance after my personal experiences. My journey can help men and women who are going through similar struggles and dealing with serious illness and the grief cycle.
Perhaps you will find a sense of comfort and peace from reading of my experiences and of my vulnerability during this time. It was and is a process like no other.
We are truly brothers and sisters when dealing with terminal illness in a loved one, yet all of us who travel this road are as different as our personal stories.
Journey of My Heart is the story of how Sheldon and I fought his terminal heart condition at home and in the hospital. It is an observation of the many changes that came into our lives, our personal caregiver-patient adjustments, my husband's eventual death, and my struggle with grief. It relates how I survived the anguish and loss by journaling my gut-wrenching experiences and my personal observations.
During the early months of my grief, I searched in many bookstores, trying to find a book such as this. It was evident that I was searching for answers. I needed a guide, some author who understood and had been there, who could help me sort through my churning emotions.
I didn't understand what was happening to me. My spouse had been stricken, our income and economic life had gone into a spiral, and my life's expectations had collapsed. There was death, and I felt I was left drowning in grief.
Desperately I looked for help, trying to find some way to regain my sense and bearing in life; the only way I knew was through books. The few books I found only spoke about the dark days and did not mention that we can survive the death of a loved one.
In the months and then years that followed the loss of my husband, I found that music and my faith were the guiding points in my journey.
My love for music includes selections from orchestral, classical, gospel, movie themes, oldies but goodies, some pop, and Irish vocals. You may be comforted by a different mix.
Among The Living Bible scriptures that I found comforting were these.
Psalms 40:1-3: I waited patiently for God to help me; then He listened and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God. Now many will hear of the glorious things He did for me, and stand in awe before the Lord, and put their trust in Him.
Psalms 138:3: When I pray, you answer me, and encourage me by giving me the strength I need.
The most powerful words I ever said were I do. These words were said as a promise to Sheldon when we formed our marital relationship, a relationship that we naturally assumed would continue through the decades to find us happy in the twilight of our life together.
However, in the years that followed, my husband was struck down by degenerative heart disease. We fought the disease and for half a decade were able to maintain its progression in a fairly stable transitional phase.
The first half of this book chronicles our journey during those occasionally frightening and difficult times: from emergencies to hospitals to the changes that came into our lives, it tells of our financial concerns and the years we broke out of the box to follow a dream and live full-time in our RV travel trailer.
After my husband died, I grieved not only for the loss of my husband and best friend but for the life and togetherness that we had shared for so long. In the last half of this book, it is with emotional insight and much vulnerability that I share my personal story, my journey through grief.
Why did he have to leave me? My mind understood, but my heart did not. It has been said, over and over again, that true love can move mountains; I now know that this is true.
Despite the physical, personal, emotional, and monetary hardships, we continued to climb the hills and mountains of crises and descend into the valleys of tears, fear, and depression. We kept trudging forward, pushing and struggling with determined steps, because we felt we had to confront each crisis head-on.
We only wanted to continue living our lives with the simple joys that each hour would bring. Life was so special to us, simply because we had each other.
Recalling our life's events from across the years has brought me through incredible highs and lows. The time we shared seemed to fly by at the speed of light.
My memories of those times come like short videos; they parade through my mind; I'm a spectator to this parade of images, and in looking back I watch our lives slowly move by. Yet, paradoxically, I see my life unfolding like a beautiful kaleidoscope of vivid changing colors. The melodic visions play out in my mind, over and over, day in and day out.
It has taken every ounce of courage and gallons of tears for me to face my husband's death. I did everything I could think of to deal with it: I wrestled with it, ignored it, cried continuously, and yelled at it. But from somewhere deep inside of my soul, I found the strength to battle the emotions and mood swings that continuously raged within me.
The smallest things trigger my mind: a thunderstorm, birds singing, a specific song on the radio, and more. And it still happens, these many years later, in a moment of nostalgia, sometimes, when I am driving, that I feel that I could look over and see him sitting beside me as he always did. He was always one to break out with a big, mischievous grin. It was wonderful!
In Journey of My Heart I describe how I tried to turn our lifestyle of fear and misery to a situation that was as rich and as rewarding as possible.
Why not pick up another cup of coffee and sit back and relax as we start through this journey together, just you and me?
Ever since Sheldon's days in the Air Force, back in 1963—when we could only afford a chicken for our Thanksgiving dinner—this had been our favorite holiday. Thanksgiving Day 1984 was another of those special holidays and truly a time of thanksgiving; as usual, we had a house full of family and friends.
After loading our festive table to the hilt with a large twenty-two pound turkey, cornbread dressing, green beans, a dish of mashed potatoes and gravy, fruit salad, rolls, and several pumpkin pies, we all took our seats. As usual, Sheldon sat at the head of the long wooden dining table to give thanks for our abundant life.
Sheldon had just finished saying grace when he leaned over to me and said in a whisper, My left arm is throbbing, and I feel slightly sick to my stomach. Both of us thought that, with all the long and tedious hours he'd been working, he was just exhausted.
Sheldon was part of the management team at a drug manufacturing plant. Whenever the slightest problem arose at the plant, he personally managed the coordination of technical crews to fix the problem. Occasionally it was a serious problem, and he would drive to the plant to supervise the coordination of the repair.
Within a few moments, Sheldon again whispered to me, saying, I'm going to the bedroom to lie down for a few minutes. I'll return to the table shortly. He excused himself, went to our bedroom, took off his shoes, and stretched out on the bed to rest.
When he hadn't returned after a few minutes, I excused myself to go and check on him, hoping to see that he was feeling better. As soon as I walked into the bedroom, I could see that he was experiencing waves of pain sweeping through his body. By this time he'd broken out in a cold, clammy sweat. He told me, It feels like an anchor is sitting on my chest and it won't move. When I saw him looking pale, drawn, and obviously in a lot of pain, it scared me to death. Immediately, I told him, I'm going to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance to take you to the hospital emergency room.
Sheldon replied in a halting voice, telling me several times, Don't disturb the ambulance drivers; they're probably just sitting down for their Thanksgiving dinner. A moment later he added, I'm sure that I'm going to be just fine in a few more minutes. This will pass, and I'll come out to the dining room and finish my plate of food.
As I looked down at Sheldon on the bed, I couldn't believe this was happening; after all, in my eyes, he was indestructible. Meanwhile, the pain seemed to be getting stronger, so I told him, I'll take you to the hospital myself! and then proceeded to put his shoes back on his feet.
Running back down the hallway to the dining room, I got my guests to help Sheldon out of the house and into the car. As I ran out of the bedroom to get help, I felt the icy hand of fear on the back of my neck. It was like a sudden grab to my heart, and it would not let go. I was scared to death when all of this was happening. By the we'd returned to help Sheldon, only a few seconds had passed, but he was almost unconsciousness.
I pulled out of our driveway and stepped on the gas, driving as fast as I could maneuver the car in traffic. The car's emergency lights were pulsating in a fast rhythm behind the car as we sped through the darkness of night. My heart was racing so fast that I truly thought it would pop out of my chest. My hands were clammy. My head throbbed with the sudden onset of a headache. I felt a terrible fear in my heart, a fear that I'd never before experienced. I was in a bit of a panic and thinking, Something is very, very wrong with Sheldon, and I don't know what is happening to him.
Since I'd never been around anyone experiencing a heart attack, I didn't recognize the symptoms. I felt stupid and helpless. Silently, I was swearing to myself. Why hadn't I noticed that for the last few days he hadn't felt very good? As I drove like a madman toward the hospital, I thought of how only a few minutes ago we had all been sitting down to our annual Thanksgiving dinner, and now Sheldon was slumped over—what was happening? Never had I been so terrified. I just wanted to put my arms around him and protect him, but this time I couldn't; I didn't know what to do. My eyes were quickly filled with tears, which overflowed and began streaming down my face.
Soon the bright lights of the hospital became visible ahead of us on the road, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing we'd soon have help. A couple minutes later, I was stepping on the brakes and screeching up in front of the emergency room door. I simply pressed both hands down on the horn and let it wail for the help we needed. Promptly, several people came running out the doors and over to the car; within seconds nurses were pulling Sheldon's body from the car onto the waiting stretcher. Things went into a blur … I saw the nurses running back into the hospital fast as they could … they were rolling Sheldon's gurney down a hallway toward the emergency room. I parked the car in the first space that I found, grabbed my purse, slammed the car door, and ran toward the brilliant lights of the wide-open hospital doors.
As I ran into the building, I suddenly stopped; it felt as if I were glued to the floor. I just stood there, almost dysfunctional, looking around at the strange, sterile sights. I knew I desperately had to get hold of myself before I took another step into this scary place. Looking about and listening, I could hear the clanging of the metal trays, wheelchairs being pushed rapidly down the long hallways, and a voice over a loudspeaker paging, Doctors on call.
I couldn't catch my breath. I was in a frantic state of mind; I knew it and no one needed to tell me. After a few short moments, I was able to take a long breath. I turned and walked briskly to the admitting desk, where I was promptly told, Take a seat; we'll call you when we're ready. The staff was having some problems of their own, computer problems. It took all my willpower not to scream. I was dealing with a life-or-death situation, and frankly, I didn't care about and didn't want to hear about computer problems. All I wanted to know was: Where had they taken Sheldon? How was he? And what happened to him?
Finally, the admitting desk's computer problems were solved, and it was my turn to be waited on. They asked countless questions: What hospital plan do you have? We need to see your medical card to make a copy for our files. They needed Sheldon's name, address, city lived in, Social Security number; name of employer, address, phone number; supervisor name and phone number; occupation of the patient, and more.
By this time, I was having trouble even remembering my name, much less the answers to all of the above questions. Finally, though, I was able to correctly answer the pertinent questions, and they told me again, Take a seat, and we'll call you. Of course, I couldn't wait a moment—I had to find Sheldon, and I wanted to see him now!
It seemed that no one could help me, nor could they answer any of my questions. It felt as if I were in a twilight zone where no one spoke my language. I decided to go back to the lobby and wait, as I had been told. After a two-hour wait, the doctor on call approached me and said, Sheldon has suffered a heart attack and is being watched in the intensive-care unit. He added, A cardiologist has been called to the hospital to provide a further evaluation of Sheldon's condition.
As I just stood wide eyed, listening to the doctor, he continued talking so fast that I couldn't comprehend everything he was telling me. I heard him say, A heart attack occurs when the blood supply to the heart is reduced or is cut off by an obstruction in a coronary artery found in that area of the heart. He was so quick and precise in his speech that I didn't understand the rest of what he was saying, but I did hear and understand when he said he did not have any more time to spare me. As he turned to walk away, he said, So sorry, got to run, we'll talk more later. And off he went, at a fast clip, down the hospital corridor.
I stood there confused, dazed, and alone in the waiting room, once again within my own world. Couldn't he see that he'd lost me in his conversation? Couldn't he see that my whole world had just been turned upside down? He was talking about Sheldon, not just anybody.
I was scared, frustrated, angry, and mixed up, and now the tears became uncontrollable. I almost dropped to the floor. I didn't care how it looked or about anything. There just wasn't an ounce of strength left in my body. I could not deal with one more thing at the moment, and that included me.
What a mess I was! It felt as if I'd been hit in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of my body. I had absolutely no control over anything. I couldn't do anything for Sheldon, and this nearly killed me. Why couldn't I think of something to make this better?
I leaned against the cold, clammy hospital wall for support while silently watching the doctor walk further and further down that long hallway. The doctor hadn't told me whether the heart attack was a small one or a large one. I knew nothing. There are no words in our language that could describe how I was feeling at that particular moment—maybe emotionally devastated would come the closest.
Crazy thoughts started tumbling through my head. What if they couldn't help Sheldon to get better? What if something really did happen to him? What if I could never speak to him again? I had so much to tell him.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was finding it very hard to find the right words to speak. I was a basket case that was coming unglued at the seams. Without Sheldon I was nothing, a nobody. What would I do without him? I couldn't let myself continue to think this way; it was just too painful.
As I leaned against the wall, I kept thinking about what had just happened and what was going on behind the closed doors of the intensive-care unit. I realized they must have Sheldon hooked up to all kinds of lifesaving equipment. Coming back to myself, I felt a shudder of exhaustion run through my body. One thing I knew for certain: we could not travel back in time. Everything had changed. I could never make any sense of what had happened; it had just come upon us like a bolt of lightning from out of the sky. Now, somehow, Sheldon had to get better, and I promised myself that I would learn all that I could about this heart problem so I could help him. With a glimmer of hope, I assured myself that time would make things better.
No one would tell me how Sheldon was doing in plain language that I could understand. I tried to locate the intensive-care unit, so I could see his condition firsthand. No one knew Sheldon as I did, especially all the doctors. Maybe they had made a mistake. Who knew? I was trying to believe what I wanted to believe, even if that meant stepping out of reality for a few minutes. I just couldn't deal with the stress. On top of that, I didn't understand one word that they said to me! I knew that if I could only see him I would know just how bad the situation was.
Knock on door and wait for a nurse.
Do not enter unless invited by a nurse.
I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
Slowly, a nurse pushed open one side of the door. The next thing she did was to pull me forward and give me a big hug. I guess she only needed one look at me to realize that this was not one of my better days. She brought me in and said, Just stand here for a moment to get your strength back. I truly appreciated her act of kindness.
As I stood there looking around, the first thing I saw was all the machinery in the unit. Lights, dials, and gauges were all turned on, humming, and beeping in rhythm. There were big round white clocks on the walls. I saw a lot of nurses, all dressed in crisp white uniforms, scurrying from one bed to the other in a sterile white setting that looked very strange to me.
The nurse that I was with led me to the bed where Sheldon lay. I was horrified by how pale he was. Meanwhile, all the monitors that he was connected to were silently displaying information across their screens, showing his heartbeat and breathing rhythm. Oxygen tubes had been inserted into his nose, and intravenous tubes were feeding medication into both arms. I could see another machine that gave digital readouts of his pulse. I realized that Sheldon was sedated but also knew that he was aware of my presence.
Sheldon slowly opened his eyes and stared at my face, I looked into his eyes; I don't know which one of us was more frightened. We both seemed to know that this would be a mountainous event.
At that moment I felt as if we had literally hit the wall.
When my short ten-minute visit was up, I was ushered out of the unit by the nurse, who told me, You can come back in two more hours. See ya!
It broke my heart to walk away from Sheldon's bed and leave him in that state, but I knew he was in a safe place. When I was out of the intensive-care room and standing alone in the corridor, the feelings of numbness and disorientation returned. With the passage of every moment, it seemed as if I were stepping more and more out of reality. All I wanted to do was lie down and close my eyes for eternity; at the same time I knew I had to keep going—but to where, I didn't know.
As I wandered around the hospital, people would say things to me, but I seemed to be having problems making sense of what they said. I saw other families and couples like me, who were just walking around, as if in a trance. I realized that they probably had someone in the hospital too and were feeling like me. I was involved in an unfamiliar life experience, and my emotional ground was very shaky.
Of course, jumping years ahead to when this memoir is being written, I know that the feeling I was experiencing was shock, and my body was reacting to it, though not very well. As I came to learn, shock is a condition in which the body shuts down in response to being overwhelmed. It serves as a shield to buffer the intensity of the deep feelings or injury and allows the victim to continue functioning, albeit in a lower capacity.
Believe me, when you have an unconscious loved one being wheeled into an emergency room, you need to conserve all your strength and energy in order to handle the situation. I knew from those very first hours that I just couldn't make any intelligent decisions. My first fear was of Sheldon's possible imminent death—that was a terrifying thought! I wish I could have drawn into a protective shell and just stayed there till this terrible episode, as the doctors called it, had passed.
While sitting in the hospital's unfamiliar environment, I realized that I should become familiar with the floor layout. I might be there for a long time, so it would be important to find my way around. I needed to learn the quickest way back to the intensive-care unit, just in case Sheldon needed me. I also realized that it was going to be up to me to find things and get information. I had to be near the intensive-care unit every two hours if I wanted to see Sheldon.
The hospital was a large, confusing building. The staff was consumed, as well they should have been, with taking care of their patients. Meanwhile, concerned family members just seemed to wander around looking lost. No one in the hospital was rushing up to help answer any of my questions or direct me to where I might need to be. I desperately needed someone to answer my questions, and I needed someone to show me some compassion, but no one was available. It would have been a godsend if someone on the hospital staff could have sat down with the newly arriving families and helped orient them through that scary first hour. Unfortunately, there was no such person; there were no words of comfort and hope; there were no answers. We just had to stand there alone, in a large, unfamiliar setting, while our worlds were shredded.
I suggest that if you ever find yourself in this situation you do as I did and become familiar with the hospital layout. Find such places as (1) the emergency room, (2) intensive care, (3) the cafeteria, (4) rest rooms, (5) pay phones, and (6) the main lobby. I mention finding the main lobby, because you may have entered the hospital as I did, through the emergency room. If you entered through the main lobby, then you will need to find the emergency room.