Last Saturday, as I was standing at the counter of the drugstore waiting for my number to be called, it struck me that if the events of Friday had turned out in another way, I wouldn’t be at the drugstore on Saturday, I’d be making funeral arrangements instead.

On Friday, I just wasn’t my usual self. When I woke up in the morning, I thought I won’t teach that night.  I had no reason, I just knew I wouldn’t be teaching that night. That’s not me at all. I conscientiously attend classes.

And then, when it was time to wake the kids, I asked them if they didn’t want to go to school. Again, that just isn’t me at all. I always make my kids get up to go to school. I’m a drill sergeant in the morning.

The whole day, even with the kids home, life was too sedate, time was creeping by slowly, so  unusual. Then I texted the piano tuner. The second-hand piano I bought from my Dad needed to be tuned. It needed minor repairs.

He wouldn’t tell me exactly how much his services are so I replied: “My husband has a heart condition. I don’t want your bill to shock him, so could you please give me some idea how much I would need to spend so that I can prepare?”

Was that a premonition?  Was that my mothering instinct?  I knew down deep that something was about to happen and I just knew we all had to be together that day?

At around 3 pm my husband called me. He showed me the blood pressure reading. 176/90. It registered immediately, I had a potential emergency at hand. But what to do?

I called my husband’s cardiologist immediately. He asked me what emergency medication I had in the house.  Immediately a light bulb turned on in my head: I had Isordil. I gave one to my husband to place under his tongue.

He took his blood pressure a few minutes later and it had gone down to 156/83. He rested for a while and took his blood pressure again and it had gone down to 131/79.

I asked him what he was feeling: did he feel like a candle slowly burning out? Did he have chest pain? Was he sweating? Did he feel numb on one side? Did he have shoulder or arm pain?  Nothing, none of the above.

He said he only felt a slight bloating in his stomach. When he said that I felt gastric juices go up my throat.  That’s his sign of distress. My husband looked so calm, so unperturbed but inside, his stomach was churning and that was what was making his blood pressure rise.

Or maybe I had it the other way around, his blood pressure was rising, he was having a heart attack as we were sitting there and his discomfort in the stomach was the sign.

Someone hit the panic button in my head, I guess.  As though a flood gate of thoughts were opened. I  was imagining that I was sitting there, uncomprehending as yet, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening: I imagine I must have looked like a computer screen that’s loading: I was frozen and so about to crash.

I knew I would not be able to drive all the way to the Heart Center in Quezon City and still take care of my husband and keep an eye on the kids who were going to be with us. I asked my brother in law to get ready, we were going to pick him up, he will have to drive us to the hospital.

My brother in law had another idea, he was going to get an ambulance. They had a very efficient ambulance service in their town.  We live in the next town and our ambulance service is not so efficient. Besides, we knew no one around here we could ask. Immediately I felt like I was marooned on an island.

But it was surreal because we seemed so calm and cool on the exterior. The kids weren’t anxious, they were alert. As we were waiting for our ride, I even tried to play the piano. That would give me perspective.

I played the hymns I usually sing when I am distressed: He Hideth My Soul, Constantly Abiding, Great is They Faithfulness.

In the midst of it all, I asked God if this was it.  If it’s my husband’s moving-up day. I didn’t bargain or plead with God. That would have been too presumptuous. I just asked him to let me know if this was it so that I can prepare myself and the kids.

As I was playing the hymns on the piano, I felt a calmness. There was no assurance as to the outcome, just a calmness. By the time I felt that, the ambulance had arrived.

At the Heart Center, everything was busy but calm, too. We were immediately attended to when we set foot in it. My husband’s vitals were taken and we were immediately interviewed.  The intern who took his medical history had a very pleasant face and a friendly expression.

My husband’s blood pressure was 170/90 again. He was given Catapres. We were made to wait a while for the medicine to take effect. And then his blood pressure was taken again. They took an ECG of him and the doctor congratulated us: it didn’t look like he has had a heart attack.

Everyone was so calm and reassuring.  If there were no beeping monitors and no IV lines in the room, the whole emergency room felt like the lobby of a hotel.  It was surreal. Nurses were laughing, the doctors were joining the fun. And the patients looked on.

We arrived at the Heart Center at 6:30 p.m. and we were out of there by 8p.m. Everything seemed routine and commonplace. My kids were letting their hair down in the car, they were laughing and joking as though we had just seen a movie together and we were re-living the scenes.

Nothing seemed real. On Monday, we got the blood work results: HBA1C, FBS, PSA, Lipid profile, everything was so normal.  Everything was so controlled. I couldn’t make sense of the sudden spike in his blood pressure. This has not happened since he was diagnosed in 2008.

My brain was trying to make sense of all this. We went through our Saturday routines. The laundry woman came to do the laundry. I went to market. I went to the drugstore. I made lunch. Fran and I baked carrot cake. It was such an ordinary day.

But my husband’s stomach was still churning and his blood pressure still shot up a few times but he relaxed and it settled down a bit. On Sunday morning, none of us had the nerve to even try to get ready for church. We were all anticipating something dreadful but we had the equanimity to dismiss the dread.

At lunch my husband called me again and showed me the blood pressure monitor. 190/93. I gave him Catapres and made him lie down. I kept an eye on him awhile and took his blood pressure once more. It was back to the 150 level.

After lunch of oatmeal and bananas ( I restricted his diet so as not to further tax his enraged stomach), he felt well enough to take a bath. I was taking no chances so I gave him a bath. He took a nap after that  and everything seemed better.

We weren’t talking about it but we both knew it was inevitable that he had to go see his doctor again the next day.

I wish I had wise words to say or insightful lessons to convey about this experience–I don’t. I am still struggling to understand what happened, what’s happening. I feel like I’ve been swept away by a current and I am hanging on to a floating plank.  I don’t know how far I’ll be swept away; I don’t know how far the current will take me; I don’t know where I’ll end up; of if I can go back to where I used to be.

I’m hanging on, though.  I can tell it’s gonna be a bumpy ride still. I found out that when I’m busy hanging on for dear life, I don’t run around like a headless chicken….I wish I could claim that it’s faith internalized.  But I cannot be sure. I may be in denial; I may be emotionally numb right now as I brace myself for painful consequences I don’t want to contemplate just yet.

All I know is, I’m hanging on tightly, that’s all I can do at the moment. Everything is surreal……