It’s hard to believe my open heart surgery was already two weeks ago. In some ways, it feels like so much has happened, and in other ways, I’m still trying to wrap my mind around everything my body has been through.

I’ve had four different surgeries in my life, most related to sports, and I’ve experienced those recoveries, too. But this one seems to kick my butt every so often. There are days when I find myself wishing I could fast forward through recovery and get back to normal life, back to my baseline. I know healing takes time, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to be patient with it.

I came home from the hospital on Tuesday, October 12, and initially, I could see myself getting a little better each day. I was becoming more confident in my body, and my muscles were getting stronger. Apparently, during the first few weeks of recovery, it can feel like you’re taking two steps forward and one step back. I’m learning that healing isn't always a straight line, even when I wish it were. I have definitely shed a lot of tears recovering through all of this.

Walking is a big part of recovery, and they encourage me to do as much as I can manage. Unfortunately, I also developed a pocket of air in my lung hat has made taking deep breaths difficult and sometimes painful. My doctor explained that my body would need time to absorb it, so I came home with an oxygen tank. Even with the oxygen, I still experience fatigue, usually from something as simple as walking.

My heart is also adjusting to its new hardware and valve, and I’m taking several medications to help with that process, along with a blood thinner for the next few months. I’m also having weekly blood draws to monitor my blood clotting levels and make sure my blood thinner is at the right dose.

I also have some pretty significant restrictions while my chest heals. I’m not allowed to lift, push, or pull more than 10 pounds, and I need to avoid movements that stretch my chest and put tension on my incision. At six weeks, I should be able to begin more physical therapy and gradually work my heart and body toward regaining my strength. For now, recovery means taking things slowly, whether I feel ready to do more or don’t feel up to it at all.

Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe I’m going through all of this. How will my heart be different? How will life be different? Will things ever feel normal again, physically? I don’t have all the answers yet. For now, I’m learning to take things one day at a time, even when I wish I could move a little faster.

I also have to give a special shout-out to Patrick. I’m so thankful for his love and the gentle way he has cared for me through all of this. He has been helping me shower, even shampooing, conditioning and brushing out my hair. There is something humbling about needing help with the simplest things, but there is also something beautiful about being loved so tenderly in your vulnerabilities and weaknesses. I’m incredibly grateful for a husband who has cared for me with so much patience, gentleness, and love while also caring for our family through such a difficult season.

One of the sweetest reminders of this season comes from David, who asks me every day, “Do you still have your owie?” He wants to know how gentle he needs to be with me. I know both Ellie and David have missed being held and snuggled by me, and I’ve missed that closeness with them, too. As I continue to feel better, I’m slowly becoming a little less fragile and able to do more with them.

It has been an absolute blessing to have my parents here. They have been such a physical, emotional, and spiritual support to me as I recover. My dad is a very positive person, and having that encouragement around me has been such a gift during days when recovery feels especially hard.

I also want to thank everyone who has sent a DoorDash gift card, contributed through Venmo for dinner, or brought us a meal. I haven’t had the time or energy to reach out to each of you individually yet, but please know how much your kindness has meant to our family. Not having to worry about cooking and groceries has been tremendously helpful. We’ve been using paper plates for months to make cleanup easier, and all of these little acts of generosity have helped lighten the load in ways you may not even realize. Thank you for continuing to care for us so generously.

There are also little things that have brought comfort in unexpected ways. A friend gave me a bunny with Dolores’ name stitched into its ear, and since surgery, I’ve liked sleeping with it every night. I miss our sweet girl. There is something comforting about having that little reminder of her close to me, especially during the quiet hours of recovery.

While I’ve been recovering, I’ve also found myself reflecting on the ways Dolores’ life has shaped this journey.

When Patrick and I were in the hospital with Dolores, we had so many conversations with doctors about the possibility of open heart surgeries for her. We spent so much time trying to understand what those surgeries might involve, what recovery could look like, and what it would mean to entrust her to the care of others. Looking back, I can see how those conversations were also preparing me for my own open heart surgery. We were learning, in a very real and painful way, what it meant to keep saying yes to God’s will, even when we couldn't see what lay ahead.

Now, knowing how severe my aortic aneurysm was, it is hard not to look back and see God’s protection over my heart. The aneurysm had reached a dangerous point, and yet it had not ruptured. The circumstances that led to its discovery were unexpected, but I believe God was caring for me through all of it.

A dear friend was visiting last weekend, and we talked about something fascinating we had both learned: during pregnancy, some of a baby's cells can cross into the mother's body and remain there long after pregnancy ends. This is known as fetal microchimerism. Researchers have found fetal cells in various maternal tissues, including areas affected by injury.

We couldn't help but reflect on Dolores and wonder about the cells she left behind in my body. I wouldn't have known about my heart if it weren't for her life. Her diagnosis, her care, and everything we walked through with her ultimately led to the discovery of what was happening inside my own heart.

And now, as I recover from open heart surgery, I find myself thinking about how Dolores' life has already helped save mine. I know we cannot say for certain what role her cells may have played in my healing, but the thought that a little piece of her remains with me in this very tangible way is incredibly moving.

God used Dolores' life to help reveal what was happening in my heart, and now I get to wonder at the ways her life continues to be woven into my own healing.

We miss our sweet girl more than words can express. And yet, even in the midst of grief, I continue to see little reminders that her life was, and continues to be, such a gift to our family. I never could have imagined that the journey of learning to care for her heart would prepare us for caring for mine.

For now, I’m still healing, still learning to be patient with my body, and still taking things one day at a time. Thank you for continuing to pray for me and for our family, for loving us through the hard days, and for reminding us that we don't have to walk through any of this alone. Your prayers, meals, messages, and presence have carried us more than you know.

Please continue to pray for my physical recovery, for patience as I regain my strength, and for our family as we continue to navigate life without Dolores in our arms. We are so grateful for each of you.

Dolores, pray for us.