What would you tell your past self?
I left the hospital on August 5, 2021, two days after a 100% blocked LAD, with six stents and a bag of prescriptions. I felt fine. That was the strange part.
This week, I’ve been reading posts from people in that same first week or month home. Confused about their meds. Can’t sleep. Waiting on test results. Craving fast food and feeling guilty about it.
So I wrote a letter to the guy I was that week, five years ago. If you’re there right now, it’s for you too.
Dear Dennis,
You’re home. You feel fine. Your body is going to recover faster than your head, and that’s going to confuse you. Here’s what I wish someone had told you.
The nights are the hardest part.
During the day, you’re busy. At night, it’s quiet, and every little flutter or ache in your chest feels like the start of the next one. You’ll lie there wondering if you’ll wake up.
That fear is normal. Almost every survivor I’ve talked to has felt it. It fades, but not on a schedule, and not because someone tells you to stop worrying. It fades because you start to trust your body again, one ordinary day at a time.
It’s OK to go to the ER.
You’re going to go back twice. Both times, it’ll turn out to be nothing. You’ll feel a little embarrassed.
Go anyway. I’d go again tomorrow. “It was nothing” is the best news you can get, and the ER team would much rather see you for nothing than miss something.
Go to cardiac rehab.
You’ll think you don’t need it because you feel fine. Go anyway. It’s the safest place to learn what your heart can handle, and you’ll meet people who know exactly what you’re going through.
Fix your sleep.
You’ve spent years believing you could do more by sleeping less. Midnight to 5 AM felt productive. It wasn’t. Sleep isn’t a reward for getting everything done. It’s part of the recovery plan.
Ask why, and get copies of everything.
Your cath report. Your echo. Your lab results. Ask for all of it, and ask what it means. “What do you think caused this in my case?” is a fair question, and you deserve a real answer.
If someone can’t explain it in a way you understand, keep asking. Being a polite patient and an informed patient aren’t the same thing.
Know why you’re taking each pill.
You’ll get a handful of prescriptions and very little explanation. Some people are confused about why they’re on a statin when their cholesterol was “good.” Ask. After a heart attack, a statin isn’t only about your cholesterol number, and your doctor can tell you why it’s on your list.
Meds are your safety net, not your plan. They kept you alive, and you’ll take them. Someday you may be able to take fewer, but only one step at a time and only with your cardiologist’s blessing. Never stop a heart medication on your own.
You’re going to crave the old food.
Two months in, you’ll want the burger and fries. That’s not weakness. It’s habit, and habits fight back.
You don’t need to be perfect. You need a plan for the times you’re not. Mine became what I call an “exercise dessert”: after a heavy meal, I go for a walk, or do some squats and calf raises. It doesn’t erase the meal, but it helps, and it turns guilt into action.
The people around you won’t get it.
They’ll say “but you look great” and think you’re fine. They love you. They just haven’t been there.
Find people who have. A rehab group, a support group, other survivors online. You’ll feel less alone the first time someone says “me too.”
You did everything right and still ended up here.
You were never overweight. You never smoked. You never drank. That question, “how did this happen to me?”, is going to drive you for years. Let it. It’s going to lead you somewhere good.
Hang in there. The guy writing this letter is doing better than you can imagine right now.
Dennis
Future you, five years later
If you’re in your first weeks or months home, I put together the list of questions I wish I’d brought to my first cardiology appointment. It’s free: Questions I Wish I’d Asked My Cardiologist.
And if you’re further down the road, hit reply and tell me: what would you tell yourself the week you got home? I read every reply, and I’d love to share a few (with your permission).
Dennis
Cardiac Survivor · Your Friend in Recovery
Spokane, Washington
I’m a heart attack survivor, not a doctor. This is my personal experience and is for educational purposes only. Talk with your own care team before changing anything about your treatment.
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