Maria had a long talk this morning about whether my open heart surgery has affected our relationship or challenged it in any way. It is important to both of us to talk about things like this, the surgery was a major trauma for both of us, and the way we have always moved through challenges to our relationship is to talk about them. And it is important to write about it. Curiously, we are a bit gender-reversed, it is often me who wants to talk about things, she who is reluctant at first, then open and willing and grateful.

Maria said there are times when I am withdrawn, quiet and feel disconnected from her and our world. Not all the time, but some of the time. She sometimes worries, she said, that this won’t change, that this will be a permanent part of me. She hears some people never quite get over their open heart surgery, they are changed for good. One of the surgeons told us that their name for these people is “pump heads.”

I told her I worry about the same thing, yet I can say now, especially after these past two weeks, that I feel I am returning to myself a bit more each day. It is, in fact, getting better each day, I am changing every day. And in terms of open heart surgery recovery, this is just the first phase, not nearly the last. . Still, this week, I walked miles and miles every day, worked on my book and my blog, took lots of photos,  and did not  collapse in exhaustion every single afternoon. (Just once or twice.)

I told Maria my withdrawals and quiet periods and disconnections have nothing much to do with her,  although it is perfectly understandable that she might worry about it. I am still struggling to recognize the many physical challenges and changes in my life, they are staggering and confusing to to me in their diversity, detail and complexity.

I am still working to understand what I am feeling, to separate normal recovery from my many new medications from my stitches and wounds and my diabetes and emotional make-up, all upended by the surgery. After all, six weeks ago, the idea of open heart surgery had never occurred to me. Now, it is my shadow.

At the museum of Modern Art in New York yesterday, Maria and I were going through one of the exhibits. Maria, absorbed in this dazzling art, was nearly hypnotized by some of the paintings and collages she was seeing. I was beginning to feel something might be wrong with me.

I had broken into a heavy sweat and felt myself slipping into a low blood sugar episode. I felt some shivering, and was flushed. My chest hurt – not my heart.   I wasn’t entirely sure if the symptoms were not being caused by the medications, the aftermath of the surgery – chills, sweating, disorientation sometimes – or my diabetes, which is still settling from the surgery. I had taken an insulin shot after leaving the hotel, but then I did not eat for a long time, and so I guessed that might be what was happening. But what if I was wrong. If I had any heart trouble, I had been forcefully instructed to call 911 immediately. Yet I will be candid, the thought of being hauled out of the museum in an ambulance in front of thousands of people and hauled through Manhattan to a strange hospital just did not seem like something I was prepared to do.

It felt awfully up there on the fifth floor of that museum, stuffed with many thousands of people all over the world. I felt quite tiny and helpless.

I waited a few minutes to sort it out, then I decided to alert Maria, who was off in a corner of the gallery that we might need to get moving quickly. She is wonderful in a pinch, she is calm and focused. I was both frightened and confused. I told her I needed to eat something sweet, we went quickly down the escalators to the museum cafe and got a muffin and sat down.  She was concerned,  I told her I was certain it was a mild low blood sugar episode – not good in heart patients after surgery – but that I caught it early and in time. And I was right.

In a few minutes I was fine, the symptoms all receded, I felt strong and eager, we continued our trek through the museum. Then I made sure to take another shot and get lunch. It is critical to eat after some of the insulin shots, yet those symptoms mirror the symptoms of some of my new or early medications. Also of the heart tiring so soon after the surgery and after a lot of exertion,  signalling the need for rest. Should I have called an ambulance? Called my cardiologist? Gone back to the hotel? Lay down on a bench?

I don’t think so, my nurse practitioner, who I trust the most, says I need to return to my normal life, this can’t be what my life is all about. By all means, she says call for help if you are in trouble. If you can handle it, handle it.

But many things were going through my mind. Am I going to be sick? Throw up? Be dizzy? Incoherent? In pain?  Would I tire and collapse?  Should I never have come to New York? To the museum, where I was so vulnerable? The last thing I wanted for us is to end up in a New York City hospital. I explained to Maria that these distractions often preoccupy me as I struggle to sort them out, and I am sorting them out. She should ask me if she feels disconnected or if I seem withdrawn sometimes, I will be honest with her and tell her what is happening with me, something I do not always like to do. Sometimes I need to be pushed. it is not just that I am a man, it is that these things are so intensely personal. The surgery is not who I am.

I don’t want the operation or the recovery to be the center of my life. And it will not be. And yes, I was surely discouraged rushing to find a blueberry muffin three photos into an exhibition I wanted to see. And yes, healing is a wild ride on a roller coaster, sometimes, it is not a walk in the park.

The thing about love and recovery, I told Maria, was to never take it personally, because it is never personal. It is never her I am disconnecting from, I am literally struggling for my life back sometimes, and I am getting it back because I am paying attention to it, not because I am not.

I love Maria madly, and all of the time,  but sometimes love hides and waits. The body needs what the body needs, especially now and for the next few months. The heart doesn’t wait for the timing to be just right, for everybody to be ready. It was good to say those things – Maria well knows how much I love her and trusts it – and it was good for her to hear them. The very act of communicating re-connected us, we were soon yakking up a storm,  holding hands through Central Park, sharing a pretzel. Life seemed almost normal to me, and it almost was. One day soon, it will be. Not quite yet.

Then, the next morning, another world, another reality. We walked 10 miles through the park, I was strong and clear. There was a  sudden sweating fit I recognized as the interaction between my new meds and the sun. I kept on walking, hoping I guessed right. I did. I drank some water and felt fine.  Later, we walked a few more miles to a wonderful restaurant for dinner, and then a few more blocks to a movie, and then all the way back to the hotel. My feet were sore, my heart was happy. My blood sugar got with the program.

I am learning something about myself every day, but we do have to get reacquainted – talk about disconnection. Sometimes it takes all of the energy and emotion I have, yet it has only been a month since my surgery. It will be months more before I get it all down.

Maria have been talking to one another for years, and often about some difficult things.  it is never really hard for us. But still, it is important and we know that. Sometimes these days we just need to yell at each other a bit. Five seconds later, nobody remembers what we were yelling about.  I have learned in my recovery that I need to be very open about what I am doing and feeling. It does not make me selfish or narcissistic or self-absorbed, it is only fair to the people around me, and to me, it is, in some ways, what healing is about.

I know that Maria has suffered as much as I have through this surgery, perhaps more, it kills me that I couldn’t spare her that. There are people in my life who have drawn close to me after the surgery, people who have fled and vanished. This all reminds me a bit of my divorce. Then, there was suddenly nobody there. That is no longer true. I have real love and real friends.

Some people run to trouble, some people run away, and you cannot ever blame them. They have the right to do that and without penalty.

This is the thing about love, I told Maria. It is, in a way, just like recovery. It never moves in a straight line, it is never the same two days in a row. But if you are committed to it and open to it,  you will find it.