Head versus the Heart - a battle for all ages.

be invalid, but sometimes, for me at least, the best way forward is if someone is holding the torch. I often find myself cocooned in a burrito of emotion overflow so having someone to help me sort through the crap is a tool I have become extremely reliant on.

My emotions flood my being after the initial crisis has died down. I can remain calm and stoic but the minute the adrenaline subsides, I am usually left a bumbling mess of emotion, brain fog and disorientation.

One such moment in my later experiences was the day of Jase's third heart attack. The doctor's in Melbourne had known it was coming but in an effort to placate Jase's frustrations, they allowed him to go home after four weeks of COVID isolation in the Royal Melbourne Hospital. His exposure during the work up for surgery had led to his isolation in the epicentre of Australia's highest risk area, Royal Melbourne Hospital. As it would turn out, he never once got COVID despite being intimately accosted by it, both through us girls at home, but in hospitals about the state. I used to joke it was the smoking. COVID walked into his lungs, looked around, said I can't live here and strolled onto a more suitable environment. 

I picked him up after two days of him having had the surgery to reset a second fistula for him in his upper arm (his access point for dialysis.) His fifteen year forearm fistula had created problems due to introductions of sepsis and infection over previous years. He had relied on peritoneal dialysis for the previous twelve months or so, but it was starting to fail, so a second fistula was the only option we had left.

Jase had not been allowed any contact with anyone for two weeks, all contact through a locked door or a telephone. He was incredibly lonely, but was probably in the safest room in all the hospital, no one entering unless necessary and if they did, he was protected from them through N95 masks and full PPE. His dispair from not being home was palpable through the phone at times, our entanglement of understanding not seperated by even distance. 

The day he was allowed to head home, we were all relieved. The doctors still weren't happy with his low blood pressures but they were hopeful a change of scenery would be help alleviate the stress on his system. So I sat outside the hospital, strictly unallowed entry. Jase came out by himself, his smile at seeing me one that sits firmly in my memory. He opened the boot, placed his bag of unwashed clothes within and squished the durry he had finally had a chance to suck back after weeks of nicotine patches. His letter of permission signed and placed in our centre console to leave greater Melbourne, we latched hands, and the familiar return home began.

When we made it two hours into the trip, I was weary. A sucker for a good view, I drove up the winding road to Ararat Lookout. An area to circumnavigate beauty in all directions, the addition of a setting sun mixing with distant street lights allowed for a serenity I was not privy to for weeks. It disappeared in a flash as Jase opened the passenger side of the car. I had parked facing back down the hill, so his door opened onto the rolling tree-laden terrain of the lookout, no fence in place. As he leant to step outside, I was drawn to watch as he had been laying flat in the car since we had passed through the police line near Baccus Marsh. 

Lucky I did.

The sudden motion of him sitting up caused his blood pressure to drop and his body began to fall out the opened door. Instinctively, I grabbed the back of his shirt and the elasticised waistband of his tracksuit pants. I manhandled him back into his chair, his body already headed in a downward direction near the mountain's edge.

No cigarette break for him. I had to get him home and to bed. So I strapped him back in and headed for home. A usual one hour drive took nearly two as Jase began feeling nauseous and wanted me to pull over every ten minutes or so with the sensation of needing to throw up. Once home, he spent five minutes with the girls who had waited up past their bed time with Nanny to see their Dad for five minutes. After hugs and kisses goodnight, the girls wandered into their rooms, Mum following the big daughter to share her double bed. I guided Jase into our room, and prepped his peritoneal machine to connect him for the night's run. He had begun to feel unwell, so I gathered the home blood pressure reader we owned and tried for a reading. 

An error message was all I received. After several tries, a switch turned on in me. Not an essence of emotion laid within me. Pure logic and sense flowed through me. In my state, I got Mum to call triple zero. Mum in her panic started to break down, the worry something I was unable to be empathetic to in the moment. I told her to open the front door so the ambulance officers could stroll right in and for her to head back to the room while I sorted Jase out. To her credit she listened, her anxiety still oozing from her. I had a job to do so Mum was the last of my concerns. 

The paramedics were guided down our short skinny hallway, the more experienced of the two headed straight for Jase's side. The other spoke with me as I explained the trip home and the lead up to our situation in coming home from Melbourne despite lockdowns.

Jase had arrived home just before nine pm. He was on the back of the ambulance before ten. Thankfully, Mum was stuck in Victoria due to border closures so I was able to drive down to the hospital I worked and wait in the waiting room, the closest I was allowed to be near him in this emergency. After a four hour wait, I was told he was going to be transferred to the ICU in Horsham so I was to head home.

Needless to say, I didn't go into work the next day. My need to see him soon overwhelmed my being able to remain home. Mum was pfaffing around the house, tears and upset not hidden. I left her and went to work without my uniform. Being an employee though, I had access and the emotional part of my being needed to hear Jase's voice. Masked up as I strode into my boss' office. To maintain isolation from the other employees, we closed the door. I filled her in with what was happening, my circumstance not feeling dissimilar to the original conversation I had with my previous Boss when Jase had his first heart attack ten years prior. After she offered me some rational ideas, I calmed down enough to ring ICU. Being a small country hospital, it was wildly know Jase was my husband, so when I connected with the staff and the NUM, both of whom I had a professional and respectful relationship with, the phone was passed onto the doctor. 

I remained calm, my logical brain sitting in her office chair distracting herself with admin work while still holding vigil to my situation.

"I need to speak with my husband."

"I'm sorry we can't do that."

"You don't understand."

I have never been one to remain calm when in a confrontation. I would lose automatically with the appearence of tears and the shame that rolled down my cheeks with them. It would be accompanied with a raised Italian temper and irrationality. Whether it was my experience having dealt with this situation before, the growth I had endured for ten years and exposure to irrate and unsufferable people, or the presence of the quiet support with me, my voice remained steady yet firm.

"I am being extremely reasonable currently. I work in radiology. I have access to the ICU with or without your permission. I am fighting my entire being from storming into the unit to see my husband. Either you let me talk to him or I will bust in and see him anyway."

The female voice became muffled, her voice carrying across a distance, probably to another collegue to explain the situation. 

She returned to the phone, her professionalism in tact but her frustration at the situation not well hidden.

"He's in isolation currently and he's still resting."

"Look, I understand all that. I know, he is unwell but I need to hear his voice at the very least of not being able to see him. I am fighting every instinct in my body not to storm down there. Please..."

My voice pleaded as it trailed off from our conversation.

If she intended for me to hear her sigh of defeat, I did anyway. A small smile at my surprising victory escaped briefly but was pulled back into place as the muffle of the phone receiver passing through several pairs of gloved hands to be placed by the ear of my drowsy, child-like slurriness of my husband.

"Hello Baby."

My voice hitched at the sound, the tears from the relief he was still present on this timeline rolled down my cheek. Not saying anything, my logical brain pushed her box of tissues in my direction allowing me easier access. I grabbed one and silently dabbed at my eyes. I nodded my thanks as she swivelled back to face her computer screen. I noticed the cursor hadn't really moved in the time I had entered the office, the pages open for finalising payroll untouched.

"I'm glad you're still being stubborn," my only reply an effort to keep our situation light.

"Yup, not going anywhere yet. They are trying to organise a chopper run back to Melbourne though."

"I'm not surprised. It's better for you down there. As much as you don't want to go, it's where you need to be. It's where the girls and I need you to be so you can get better."

His groggy agreeance was followed by a "Love you," and the replacement from the female doctor's voice. I didn't allow her a second of response.

"Thank you for that. I feel much better just hearing his voice."

Now less flustered by my requests, she filled me in on the greater details of the situation. Jase had shown signs of an impending heart attack. I swallowed hard, aware of his almost inhumane ability to survive these situations. Now up to date with his circumstance, I felt able to 'regrow my skin' as I put it. The thickened barrier I had grown over years of exposure to this kind of stress had shed in the boss' office. I could now feel it regrowing with the reassurance that he was still alive.

A few hours passed in that small square crowded space. Nothing much was said but I was allowed to stay in the safe space to regather myself. After a few hours, I returned to the car and drove down to the local river, placed the car in park and made the inevitable calls to his brothers. After facing them, returning back to my Mum and the girls was simple.

That evening, he had the impending heart attack. 

Not once, besides those hours in the office, did I cry with anyone. I stood firm, and kept calm for everyone else, just like they liked it. Thankfully after some space and some distance, I now understand how unfair I was to myself. I still can't cry in front of many people, but the number has increased. Writing has been a god send too. I can describe my true self and release it into the ether for everyone and no one to read. All the while, I know I feel better in this moment, these secrets now released.