There’s a version of hospitalization that people imagine—the dramatic rush, the stark sterile halls, the worried whispers.
Then there’s the reality of living with a heart that might send you to the hospital. It will do so inevitably and with little warning.

This is My reality.

For me, extended hospital stays have become woven into the rhythm of my life. They’re not dramatic anymore—they’re logical. Emotional. Unpredictable. They’re necessary. They are something I have learned to navigate with intention.

The Bag That’s Always Packed

When you live with a heart condition long enough, you develop a system.
Mine is a hospital “go bag,” packed at all times like I’m heading into a storm.

Inside it are the everyday things that let me hold onto some normalcy:

• My Bible
• My laptops and chargers
• My notebook
• Hair Care needs
• Comfy clothes (pajama pants with pockets- these are needed to carry my heart monitor)
• My own blanket and pillow
• Toiletries
• Sprays that smell like home
• A phone charger long enough to reach any outlet in any room
• And More!!!

It’s a strange version of being prepared—part practical, part self-protection.
I never know if I’ll be gone for hours… or days… or weeks.

Meetings From the Hospital Bed

Life doesn’t pause just because my heart decides to.
Bills keep coming. Work keeps moving. Kids still need things. And so do I.

There have been days I’ve sat in a hospital bed with wires on my chest, IVs in my arms, and a Zoom meeting pulled up on my laptop—doing my best to sound steady, to sound like “normal me.”
There have been times I’ve hosted in-person meetings while still admitted. The advantage of having great employers who understand and work with you. I guess that plays into me being valuable to my employers.
There have been times where the nurse would walk in, look at me in full work mode, and just smile. While they go about their business I do as well.

It’s not that I’m superhuman.
It’s that this is the life I have, and I’m doing everything I can to keep living it.

What My Hospital Stays Look Like for My Kids

This part is the hardest. To my children, hospital trips mean:

• Long hugs before school because “Mom might get admitted.”
• FaceTime calls where they tell me everything and anything about their day.
• Nights spent waiting to hear if I’m coming home or staying another night.
• A mom who is trying to be brave for them while they’re trying to be brave for myself.

I never want them to carry the weight of worrying about me. But they do. They worry quietly, fiercely, and with more strength than kids should ever need to have.

They’ve grown up learning that love sometimes looks like adjusting, waiting, praying, and understanding what most kids never have to.

What It Looks Like for the People Who Love Me

For the people closest to me, hospital stays mean racing to cover the gaps I leave behind without missing a beat:

• Dropping everything to take kids to practice
• Stepping into my role at home
• Making sure I eat, rest, breathe
• Sitting by my bed even when I don’t need anything
• Answering doctors’ questions when I’m too tired to
• Reassuring my kids, “this too shall pass”

They’ve learned my hospital rhythm—what looks normal, what looks concerning, and what questions to ask.
They’ve also learned my humor, because even in the hospital, I will crack a joke to keep the heaviness from swallowing me whole.

My Village: The Ones Who Understand the Assignment

I say this often because it’s true:

I have a village. It is small but mighty!

A real-deal, drop-everything, run toward the fire kinda village.

These are the people who:

• Step in without waiting to be asked
• Make sure my kids are taken care of
• Bring meals, rides, help
• Take over the things I can’t do without hesitation
• Sit in the quiet with me when any words are too heavy
• Pray over me
• Text me memes and TikToks when I need to laugh
• Love me in all the ways that matter

They don’t treat my hospital stays as an inconvenience. They treat them as mission. They understand the assignment! (I know you see what I did there!)

It is because of them; I never walk into a hospital room alone. It is because of them that I will never walk anywhere alone.

Learning to Live in the In-Between

This life—this waiting, this managing, this uncertainty— it forces me to live in a constant “in-between”.
Between sick and strong.
Between normal and not.
Between home and hospital.
Between faith and fear.

But the truth is- I’m not doing it alone.
That changes everything.

The beat goes on—not because it’s easy, but because I have a heart, a story, a purpose, and a village that refuses to let me fight alone!