28 Hours: My Fight to Survive Heart Surgery

So, what should have been an “easy” open-heart surgery and a short 3–5 day stay turned into something much more. At least that’s what they told me beforehand: “You’re young and fit and strong… this is usually a 5–7 day stay, but you should be in and out in 3–5 days.”

That’s not how it went.

The initial surgery took 7.5 hours. I was closed up and recovering for about another hour or so and they had to take me back in to the OR, cut me back open, and repair my aortic valve again. What they told me post-op was that they needed to “clean up some blood pooling” that I had… not a big deal. What I’ve learned since is that my aortic valve was actually hemorrhaging and I was bleeding to death.

That second surgery took another hour and a half; cutting me back open, fixing the AV, and glueing me back up, again. Altogether, I was under for 28 hours. Obviously I don’t remember any of it. But I’m sure my fiancé does. I’m sure my mom does. And when I think about what those 28 hours must have been like for them, Vic being six months pregnant, and my mom, already in pain herself waiting for a hip replacement but refusing to leave my side… it hurts my heart more than the incision ever could.

They told me recovery would be straightforward. Again, I’m young and strong and fit. But instead, I woke up to complications I never imagined. Fluid filling my lungs because of a collapsed lung which was making it very hard to breathe. I got severe atrial fibrillation (afib) that left my heart pounding out of control and my body drained of all strength. Fluid swelling my entire body; so much that I put on 35 lbs and they had to load me with medications just to flush it all out. Days and nights that blurred together into narcotic-fueled nightmares where I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. Narcotics are scary. I’ll write more about this later. Discovering I have sleep apnea and had my broken into 90-second fragments of sleep, if I was lucky.

This wasn’t the recovery they prepared me for. This was survival. And as horrible of a time I was having physically, the mental toll it took was something not one single person even mentioned to me. I was not ready for the rollercoaster of emotions.

But I’m still here.

And I’m thankful.

Thankful for my fiancé, who carried us both through this storm while carrying our daughter inside her. For my mom, who put her own health aside to be there for me. For John and the crew at the gym, who kept things running when I couldn’t be there. For the friends and family who checked in. For every single prayer lifted on my behalf.

And above all, for God. Because I’ve learned again that traveling with Jesus doesn’t mean you won’t suffer; it means you never suffer alone. I felt that truth every single day I lay in that hospital bed.

And finally, a huge shoutout to the medical staff at the Mazankowski Heart Institute. You gave me another chance to keep fighting. And I’ll never forget that.

I share this not for sympathy, but for awareness. Heart disease and congenital heart defects don’t care how young, fit, or strong you are. I never expected to be here. I never thought I’d be the one lying in that bed, fighting for every breath, clinging to every prayer.

If telling my story helps even one person push for answers, advocate for themselves, or take their health seriously before it’s too late, then this storm was worth weathering out loud.

Because I’m still here. And I’m not done yet. And God’s not done with me yet.