From Fear to Purpose: My Heart Story - Carl Rushing
My father passed away in 1994 at the age of 61, following two open-heart surgeries. After his triple bypass, he recovered well and had begun returning to an active lifestyle. His doctors knew he had a leaking aortic valve—called aortic valve regurgitation—and planned to manage it with monitoring and medication. But just a few months later, he developed a thoracic aortic aneurysm. The decision was made to address both conditions with a second open-heart surgery. My father never recovered.
I had just turned 34 two days before his death. At the time, I was healthy, active, and fully engaged in life. Like many people, I never stopped to consider how my family’s medical history might one day become my own.
Over the years, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Even then, I didn’t make the connection. They were simply conditions to manage—not warning signs of something deeper.
By 2016, things began to change. I found myself gaining weight and losing energy. Activities I once loved—playing sports and working in my garden—became increasingly difficult. I remember watching my partner, now my husband, continue on with ease while I had to stop and rest. I couldn’t understand why my body was no longer keeping up.
Frustrated, I finally went back to my primary care physician. He had been trying to manage my blood pressure with different medications and dosages, but nothing seemed to make a meaningful difference. At one point, he even asked if I was taking my medications as prescribed—which I was. Based on my partner’s observation that I snored—something I had always laughed off—he referred me to a sleep specialist.
The sleep specialist determined that I did not have sleep apnea. But during the exam, he detected something unexpected—a heart murmur.
I was stunned and immediately skeptical. Not quite ready to accept that news, I left his office and scheduled an appointment with my primary doctor. At the time, I thought this was the moment my heart journey began. Looking back, I now realize it had started years earlier.
Further testing confirmed the murmur, and I was referred to a cardiologist. After a series of tests, I received the diagnosis: aortic valve regurgitation and an ascending aortic aneurysm.
Surgery was recommended to replace the aortic valve and repair the aneurysm—the same procedure my father had undergone and the one he did not survive.
In the days that followed, reality began to settle in. The diagnosis was no longer something I could question or avoid—it was something I had to face. The parallels to my father’s experience were impossible to ignore, and with them came a deep and very real fear. Losing him the way I did left a lasting impression on me, and now I was facing the same diagnosis, the same surgery. I couldn’t help but wonder if my outcome would be the same.
But alongside that fear came a quiet determination. Medical advancements had come a long way since my father’s surgeries, and I placed my trust in my doctors, my care team, and the support of those around me. I knew I had a choice—to let fear take over, or to move forward with hope.
In the midst of preparing for surgery, my partner and I made a deeply personal and somewhat unexpected decision—we decided to get married just four days before the operation. What was already an emotional time suddenly became even more intense. There was joy, love, and meaning in that moment, but also an added layer of stress and urgency. Looking back, it was our way of holding onto what mattered most and facing the uncertainty together.
As part of my pre-surgical evaluation, I underwent a cardiac catheterization. During that procedure, doctors discovered an additional issue—an arterial blockage that would require a single bypass. What had already been a complex surgery became even more serious, adding another layer of concern as I prepared for the operation.
As I continued preparing, I found myself reflecting on my father more than ever. I thought about his strength, his resilience, and the way he faced his own health challenges. In many ways, I felt that I was walking a path he had walked before me—but this time, I hoped for a different outcome.
The day of surgery arrived with a mix of anxiety and resolve. I knew what was ahead, but I also knew why I was there—to give myself the chance at more time, more life, and more moments with the people I love.
My surgery to replace my aortic valve, repair the aneurysm, and complete a single bypass was successful.
Recovery, however, was a journey of its own. It required patience, persistence, and a willingness to accept both progress and setbacks. There were moments of frustration, but also moments of gratitude—gratitude for each small milestone, each step forward, and each day of healing.
While I was in the hospital, I was visited by members of the Mended Hearts Atlanta chapter. Their visit left a lasting impression on me. They offered encouragement, understanding, and something that only fellow heart patients can truly give—the reassurance that I was not alone in this journey.
It was during this time that I came to understand the true value of support and connection. Healing wasn’t just physical—it was emotional as well. Being able to talk with others who had gone through similar experiences, who understood the fears, the uncertainties, and the victories, made all the difference.
That experience is what ultimately led me to become involved with Mended Hearts of Coachella Valley.
Through Mended Hearts, I found a community of individuals who truly understand what it means to live with heart disease—not just survive it, but move forward with strength and purpose. The shared stories, encouragement, and compassion within this group have been an essential part of my continued recovery.
Today, I carry my father’s memory with me in a new way. His journey, though it ended too soon, helped shape my awareness and ultimately guided me to take action when it mattered most. My experience has given me not only a second chance at life, but also a deeper sense of purpose—to support others who are walking their own heart journeys.
If sharing my story helps even one person listen more closely to their body, consider their family history, or seek care sooner, then it is worth telling.