Wednesday started as a routine day. Hotter than normal for my corner of the country, but nothing out of the ordinary. I attended an interview for a bill-paying job and joined my husband at the hospital where he was having a scope run through his arteries. Not my idea of a good time. I've been exposed to this medical procedure as heart problems have effected my father and brother; the pair experiencing two quadruple, and one triple, bypasses between them.
This, however, is my husband. Waiting four hours to have the explanation of what was done beyond, 'a stint was put in', pushed me to experience fear as I've never felt before. I admit I've gotten sissy-la-la as I've aged. I used to be a bit fearless [read reckless] and would accept any challenge if someone said 'I bet you can't do it'. After all, I was going to live forever.
Not now. I am aware of my lifespan limitations and, as such, have developed myriad fears. This was beyond anything I've experienced. Nauseous, where's-the-bathroom, breaking-out-in-a-sweat raw fear.
When the doctor arrived and explained just how close my husband had been to a heart attack, I'm surprised I didn't throw up. As I said, I've been down this road several times before, but this was in my life right now. He's been having problems for a couple years of exhaustion and breathlessness, and this diagnosis from the doctor just reinforced the idea of pushing for help until you find the root of the problem.
I have a recent, vibrant, sensation of fear and, in my writing, I will be dredging up those feelings to give umph to my work. Use good, or bad, experiences to pull your readers into the fray. After all, you want them standing next to you with light sabre in hand. Right?
Mistress of the Red Ink Pen