Wonder Woman
By Augusta Koroma
I was on my way to work waiting for the train at the platform. There was that sharp pain around my heart again. Actually, this would be Day 2, or maybe Day 3, no big deal. I can work through it. I always work through the usual and unusual body pains; pain wasn’t going to slow me down. After a two hour commute, I finally arrived at work. It's 6:50 am–earlier than anyone else, as usual. I set out to do my usual routine: set up my classroom for the day, walk around the building to make sure everything is good, head to the office to make sure the staff is okay, greet parents and students as they arrive. There goes that sharp, piercing pain again, this time I had to sit down for a few moments. Morning announcements are made, the pain isn't going away, it's actually becoming worse–the stabbing pain is steady and increasing. Fine, I’ll alert someone but I won’t say too much, I tell myself. On a scale of 1- 10, the pain is at 20. I’m good. It will go away, I keep telling myself. I reminded myself of the day’s schedule. It’s just not link the day before. I’ll teach, run after school, end this part of the day around 5 pm. Then I'll commute to Job #2, work from 6pm till around 11 pm, get home around 12 am, wake up at 4 am, and do it all over. It’s just a cough coming on probably, I thought to myself.
I walk into my boss’s office–at this time the pain is to the point I'm holding my chest as I enter. She immediately tells me to sit down. Fast forward and we both are in an ambulance heading to the ER. This was not the plan. I was going to teach and if the pain didn't let off I’d go home around lunch. I'd rest but wake up in time for job #2. I didn't have time to be here, who is taking care of… Before I could even finish the thought, similar to an episode of Grey’s Anatomy or some shit, doctors were surrounding my bed, giving me an oxygen mask, an IV, hooking me to wires and cords. The doctors kept saying my EKG isn't normal for my age; it could be a heart attack, I needed a chest x-ray, they needed to monitor me, and the stupid heart monitor kept going off. Was I in pain? Hell yes, but I couldn't allow myself to be in this situation. I HATE feeling vulnerable, I hate hospitals, I hate needles. I had things I needed to do, people that needed me.
Two days later, pain again. IT’S WORSE, someone is stabbing at my heart. The heart attack? They keep questioning, this must be it. I couldn’t breathe, I was in tears. I couldn’t pretend like this wasn't happening. A call to 911 and the same routine again: oxygen mask, an IV, multiple EKG, heart monitors, X- rays, the confusion, the works. This time I couldn't talk the doctors into letting me go home. They admitted me. At this moment, I was scared for myself but as usual, I pretended like it wasn't a big deal. I wouldn’t let myself show weakness.
My Diagnosis: Pericarditis. In English: the sac around my heart was swollen. My heart had also become larger than usual. According to my doctor, the cause was STRESS. I looked at him, nope, can't be. In college, I worked 4 jobs, went to school full time, and was a student teacher. “Sir, my body, believe it or not, is enjoying a break right now.” He gave me a doubtful look. 85% of my blood work was good, great actually. The remaining 15% of the blood work was “alarming” and it all spoke to stress. “Okay,” he stated, “What’s your daily routine?” “Alright, I wake up at 3:30am/4am, get ready for work, head to Brooklyn from the Bronx, I'm usually there by 6:45 am/ 6:50 am, I teach throughout the day." I added that I also ran the Universal Pre-K section of the school, ran the After-School Program, and was a part-time principal on top of teaching. He gave me a look. Okay, this is sounding bad. “I leave Brooklyn around 5 pm, head to Manhattan, and work as an Assistant Manager for a theatre company. I work there until around 11 pm, sometimes earlier around 10:30 pm if it's not hectic. I get home around 11:30 pm on an early day or 12 am on a late day. Get some last minute grading in, sleep, and do it all over again. I worked 7 days a week and planned my days off weeks or months in advance." Okay fine, it sounds a bit bad. We weren't even going into all the emotional issues, family matters, or my burdens outside of working. But the look he gave me, said it all. “Yup, it’s stress,” he stated.
I wasn't only taking care of myself. This family member needed help with this, that friend is in trouble over that. I provided, I helped, and asked questions. If I wasn't at work, I was physically supporting whomever, wherever. Working became my norm. Working kept me busy. I don't have to think about life’s problems when I worked. Solving work problems was easy compared to my reality. Work provided money and many problems are solved with money. I couldn’t help if I wasn’t at work. I needed to work.
Yet, here I was, in the hospital for almost two weeks and then home for a month after. I couldn't escape any problems at work. Only a few of my friends and family knew. I was used to taking care of others, not being taken care of. I was gonna be fine. I would jokingly tell others that I just have too much love to give when they began to give me that look. The look of concern or fear of what could happen. A look I had come to hate.
I went back to work earlier than I should have. I told myself that since I’m only working one job now I should be okay. I still had bills to pay, I still had people that I was responsible for, I was in positions of leadership that needed my attention.
I had two more “attacks” that year and plenty of close calls. My body wanted to tell me that it wasn’t okay.
Finally, I had a conversation with God and realized something. Why the hell was I acting like God was just gonna come take everything away like some petty ex-boyfriend? I existed in flight or fight mode; overworking myself because of my fear of the unknown. The fear of what stepping back would mean for the outcome of my life. Failing to realize that what God had for me can never be touched. I had to trust God more; handing any and all the problems that I encountered to God. COMPLETELY trusting God. In doing so, it was easier for me to realize it’s okay. It's okay if I’m not always available to help. It's okay, to be more selfish with my time, to put myself first, to say no. Taking a moment for myself would not cause the destruction of my career, not being available to help someone would not be the end of their world.
It’s okay, God got me.
