90 Days Post Heart Attack: The Comeback I Never Saw Coming

I didn’t know I was having a heart attack.

There was no dramatic clutching of the chest, no collapsing to the floor like you see in the movies. What I felt was… weird. Off. My chest was tight. My breathing was shallow. I felt shaky. Unsettled.

So I did what a lot of us do when something feels wrong but not wrong-wrong: I called my mom.

I told her something didn’t feel right. That I was trying not to spiral, but something was definitely going on. I figured I was having a panic attack, maybe brought on by stress, lack of sleep, or just the chaos of life. After all, I’m a mom. Stress is kind of my full-time job.

I wasn’t in unbearable pain. Just… unwell. And then things escalated.

The ER was bright and cold and full of wires. I kept cracking jokes to keep the fear at arm’s length. A nurse gave me nitroglycerin and suddenly, WHAM—headache from hell. (If you know, you know.)

And then the doctor came in and said the words I never expected:

“You’ve had a heart attack.”

Just like that. The floor didn’t fall out from under me—but my sense of safety did.

It was something called SCAD: Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection. A rare kind of heart attack that doesn’t come from cholesterol or clogged arteries. It can strike anyone—young, healthy, and without warning. I didn’t know this could happen to someone like me. But it did.

What Came Next: Grief, Gratitude, and Cardiac Rehab

Suddenly, I was a heart patient.

Not a hypothetical one. Not a distant-relative story. Me.

I had survived a heart attack, and I had the hospital wristband to prove it.

After the whirlwind of tests, scans, and silent prayers in dim hospital rooms, I was discharged with a new reality: I would need to go through cardiac rehab.

Cardiac rehab isn’t just about walking on a treadmill.

It’s about rebuilding trust in your body.

It’s about learning to breathe without bracing for something bad to happen.

It’s about showing up—even when your brain tries to convince you it’s safer to stay still.

And tomorrow, I graduate.

Healing Isn’t Linear. But It’s Possible.

Rehab wasn’t easy. There were days I walked in confident and strong, and days I barely made it out of the car without crying. I’ve had panic attacks, quiet breakdowns, and moments of defiant joy. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself. How to rest. How to say, “I’m not okay,” and still choose to keep going.

And most of all—I’ve learned I am not broken. I’m not fragile.

I am healing.

I am here.

I am still becoming.

This wasn’t the plot I expected. But it’s the one I was given. And now I get to decide what comes next.

What Now?

I can’t wait to see what life looks like after cardiac rehab. There’s fear, sure. But there’s so much hope too. This experience cracked something open in me—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It made me softer in the places that needed grace, and stronger in the places that needed fire.

So, here’s your invitation:

Come with me.

Let’s live the after together. Let’s talk about the messy, beautiful, terrifying parts of healing. Let’s say the quiet things out loud and celebrate the victories that only make sense to people who’ve faced the unthinkable.

Tomorrow, I ring the bell.

Not because the hard part is over…

But because I’m finally ready to begin again.