April 5, 2004, was the day my life changed forever. After getting my family out the door, I went to work as usual at the Audie L. Murphy Memorial Veterans Hospital. Later that day, I began feeling dizzy and nauseated, and I thought I might be coming down with an illness or a stomach virus. I knew that I just didn’t feel good, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it could be. I remember walking out of my office to deliver some files when suddenly I felt an excruciating pain in the center of my chest that radiated to my neck. I couldn’t walk. I immediately placed my hand over my chest and leaned against the wall in the hallway.

“Am I having a heart attack?” I asked myself. My heart began to race as I tried to remain calm and desperately walk to the elevators of the hospital where I worked. I knew that I needed to get to the Urgent Care Center immediately. I could barely move as the pain became severe with each step I took. I knew something wasn’t right. I’d never experienced such pain. I began to feel light-headed as the beads of sweat on my forehead and palms of my hand formed. I could see hospital employees walk by and acknowledge me, but I was unable to respond. It’s as if I was in the Twilight Zone because I could not focus and my body felt as if it wanted to collapse.

As I struggled to walk, I suddenly remembered the hospital chapel. Assured that God would take care of me, I had an urge to go in and pray, but I also feared that if I did collapse in the chapel, no one would find me. As my body grew weaker and it became harder to think clearly, I focused on my family. My love for them helped me to persevere and get me to where I needed to go.

Finally, a co-worker came to my side and got me to the Urgent Care Center, but my test results were not consistent with a heart attack. After I was stabilized and released from the hospital, I followed up with a cardiologist the very next day and was diagnosed as having a blockage to my heart. I was immediately admitted into St. Luke’s Hospital. My artery was found to have a blockage as well as ruptured plaque, results which were consistent with having a recent heart attack. During the surgery, my artery tore, requiring three stints to keep the artery open.

Lying in a hospital bed in the Intensive Care Unit, I began to wonder. How could a 32-year-old woman end up with heart disease? My cholesterol levels were within range, I did not have high blood pressure or diabetes, nor did I smoke. My only risk factors were inactivity and not maintaining a consistent, healthy diet. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me until I was at least 70 years old. It was only then that I realized that heart disease does not discriminate. It can strike anyone at anytime.

I know I will never be cured of heart disease; however, I can control the progression of the disease. For the rest of my life, I will be on several medications that require regular follow- up visits with my cardiologist. Daily exercise and maintaining a good healthy diet are paramount. I must admit, these major changes in my life were difficult at first; however, I want to grow old with my husband and someday watch my daughter get married and have children of her own. I made a promise to myself that I would change my lifestyle, and I did. For survivors to be successful in managing heart disease, they need the support of family and friends. I am fortunate to have my husband, Dr. Frank L. Madla III, and my daughter, Crystal Torres, provide me with that support by helping me change my eating habits and theirs too, which I know wasn’t easy for my teenage daughter.

I never thought that I would be an advocate in the fight against heart disease and stroke. By sharing my personal experience, I hope to encourage women to take charge of their own health and emphasize the importance of living a healthy lifestyle.

It’s been two years since my heart attack, and I am relieved to know that because of exercise, staying on my meds and maintaining a healthy diet, my stints are open and a second blockage decreased in size by 50 percent. I thank God everyday for giving me a second chance at life. I’ve learned to move on and keep living each day to the fullest.