Elephant On My Chest

“Elephant on My Chest”

By Donna Bixby-Stephens

Most days I never gave breathing a second thought. I went about my daily business and things just happened naturally. I would breathe in; I would breathe out and all was copesetic. Then there came a day when the breath wasn’t there. I am at the top of the stairs, just outside the door of my classroom and I can’t breathe. Time stood still and so did I. This was not normal, nor was it expected. Not on my bucket list of things to do for that day.

Finally, the breathing started up again and I shook off the feeling of “what was that and where did it come from” and continued with greeting students outside of my classroom. I shook hands, bumped fists, and tagged elbows and handed out the first activity for the period. As students took their seats and began their usual clamoring for a writing utensil, since they had conveniently forgotten theirs, I took one more deep breath to make sure I still could. It didn’t happen. No deep breath was available. Panic button started to blip, but I turned it off. I would have to deal with this later. Teaching was on the agenda for now.

After class dismissed, I stood outside of my classroom door and watched students rushing from hall to hall and door to door trying to beat the bell. My next period was my conference, then lunch. The challenge I was facing was I didn’t know if had enough air in my lungs to get downstairs for lunch and then back upstairs for class. I guessed I would have to take the elevator until my breathing got back to normal. I was sure it would. This was just a glitch in the scheme of bodily functions, and it would get better soon.

Sadly, my heart had other plans for me. After my conference period and lunch as I waited outside my classroom door again, I felt the first hint of pressure where there wasn’t any before. A very astute student of mine walked up to me and asked if I felt alright. As she so bluntly noted, “Miss, you aren’t just white, you look like a ghost.” I laughed and said that white people tend to be pale, and we joked about how dark she had gotten while at the beach over Spring Break. As I laughed with her, I noticed the “elephant on my chest” feeling was getting heavier. I asked if she would go find one of my teacher friends so I could share something with them.

Soon things began to rush together. Staff wanted me to go home, fellow teachers wanted me to get to a doctor, and students wanted to know what was wrong. I told my students that an elephant had found its way to my chest and asked them how to eat an elephant, to which they replied—one bite at a time. I told them I was taking my elephant to the cardiologist to see if he could get it off my chest.

As I drove myself to the doctor’s office, with tears flooding my face, the panic button went into overdrive. I knew I should not be driving, but the school is so far out that by the time an ambulance would have arrived who knows what condition I would have been in. At the doctor’s office I curled into a ball on a waiting room couch hoping that God had a plan and it included me surviving whatever was happening. After a quick EKG was conducted, a few questions were asked, and the cardiologist patted my knee he gave me the news. He was admitting me to the hospital. Within an hour I was prepped for surgery, said good-bye to my husband who had just arrived, and was under the knife.

Three stents later, one long over-night stay and home the next day. But the bad news was yet to come. No work --- no last days of school--- no graduation ceremony. I was done for the year. The elephant on my chest was gone but his weight had robbed me of my end of school year pleasures. I was devastated. How did I survive a heart attack, yet feel like I had lost something valuable to me? I didn’t lose my life, but I did lose my livelihood. But thankfully God did have a plan and it did include me living to see more days, more family and more of His grand scheme of things to come.

For now, the elephant has gone home. With the holidays just around the corner, and with 2020 being such a year of firsts, lasts, and in-betweens I am so thankful to still be here. I am here to share my stories with other women who have survived heart attacks and unexplained feelings of unease. I am here to share my newest mantra, “If it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t right.” The elephant on my chest is one of the stories I share. It may be gone, but it is not forgotten. The heart never forgets, and I am very thankful for that.