Written by Margaret Greenberg, Hartland, Maine

On the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, 2021, I was feeling exhausted. For six months I had been working twelve plus hours a day, researching and writing my second book, The Business of Race, with my dear friend Gina Greenlee. We had a very aggressive deadline from our publisher, McGraw-Hill.
During this same period, my husband Neal and I were living at our daughter’s house in Carrabassett Valley while our home was being renovated. On the day we moved back, in early May, I fell going down the porch steps and broke my ankle. Being physically active was not only how I stayed fit, but how I managed my stress. Now I was laid up on the couch with my leg in a brace. How did I spend my days? Working more and more hours. Unknowingly, I was setting myself up for what some might call the “perfect storm”.
On that Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I decided to knock-off work early and uncharacteristically took a nap. Three hours later I woke up, surprised that I had slept so long. I hobbled out of bed and sat in my rocking chair. Suddenly, I was overcome by an excruciating headache (I later learned it’s called a “thunderclap” headache). I had no chest pain, no back pain, no pain radiating up my left arm. I knew, however, something was terribly wrong.
Thankfully, my husband was home. I asked him to call our neighbor, Anna, who is a retired ER doctor, and have her come over with her stethoscope. I had a hunch my symptoms were related to my heart as I was diagnosed with Mitral Valve Prolapse years earlier.

Rather than wait for an ambulance to get down our 2-1/2 mile dirt road, she advised my husband to drive me to the nearest ER, which is in Pittsfield. On our way, he called the hospital to alert them. An attendant was waiting for us at the entrance with a wheelchair (I was on crunches from that broken ankle).
What happened next is a blur. I do remember being airlifted to a Bangor hospital where they have a specialized cardiac unit. I spent the holiday weekend going through a battery of tests.
I remember my nurse, Mary. She came into my room, and I was wide awake, my mind racing. She urged me to sleep. That’s when I began to cry. She leaned in and asked me what was wrong. “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, I’ll never wake-up,” I said. She put her arms around me and assured me I would wake-up. She would be right outside my door monitoring all of the gadgets hooked up to me.
No visitors, including my husband, were allowed in my room until later Saturday morning. When my husband arrive, I began expressing concern for our daughters. Did they know? Am I ruining their holiday plans? So typical of mothers, right? Neal assured me they were fine. Maegan had already hopped on a plane and Carolyn was picking her up at the airport. Since only one visitor is allowed per day in the cardiac unit, I would have to wait to see them.
I was diagnosed with stress-induced cardiomyopathy (also referred to as broken heart syndrome), which can strike even if you’re healthy. Even the doctor who performed my cardiac catheterization said I had “beautiful arteries” – no blockages anywhere.
I’m the last person you would expect to have a heart attack. I exercise regularly. I eat healthily, for the most part. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink excessively. And, as a professional coach and positive psychology practitioner, I work with busy executives to live more balanced and fulfilling lives. How could this be happening to me? The reaction by our friends and family was simply disbelief.

It’s been nearly four years since my heart attack. I still exercise nearly every day, be it a two- or three-mile walk no matter the weather or getting out on the lake in my kayak or peddle board (yes, peddle, not paddle) in the warmer months. I’m still an ”early to bed, early to rise” person, requiring eight hours to feel my best. But now I set an alarm on my phone that reminds me it is nearing bedtime and to begin winding down.
What has changed is my work schedule. I no longer work the crazy hours I once did. I build into my schedule fifteen or thirty-minutes between meetings, and an hour after lunch for a nap. Prior to my heart attack, when I felt that afternoon slump, which many of us do, I would just have another cup of coffee and keep working. I’ve also gotten in the habit of asking clients when they need something from me, like I did with you for this interview, rather than thinking I must jump on it right now. That may sound so rudimentary, but prior to my heart attack, I often put my work ahead of my own well-being. I also have eliminated Facebook from my digital diet and connect with friends and family by phone, text, or in-person instead. Now the only social media I use is LinkedIn, which frees me up to read more, do puzzles, or call a friend.
I wish I could say I now meditate every day, but I don’t. I know the health benefits, but I don’t do it regularly. I do, however, get out into nature every day which can have a similar calming effect. In positive psychology we call it “forest bathing”. Given where I live, nature is right outside my door and doesn’t require me hopping in the car. And when I am in nature, I’m not listening to a podcast or on my phone. I’m just being present and enjoying the sounds of nature. We are human beings after all, not human doers.

I also don’t travel for work like I once did. Most everything I do is by Zoom or Teams now, which shortens my day and removes the stressors of traveling. Post-Covid work environments have made this transition easier. When I do travel by car or plane, I give myself a cushion before and after my work, rather than cramming in one more meeting or multiple events. No more flying in to do a keynote or workshop and flying out on the same day. When it came to not only my professional life, but my personal life, my husband used to warn me, “Margaret, you’re cramming ten pounds of potatoes into a five-pound bag.” Not anymore.
I am one of the lucky ones. Had I not listened to my body and sought immediate medical attention, this story would have a very different ending.
Please, women of all ages, I urge you to listen to your body. But to do that, we must quiet our minds and stop being so busy, busy, busy. Put down your phones. Stop scrolling. Stop cramming in one more thing. We wear so many hats in our lives – mother, wife/partner, daughter, professional, volunteer. But the one hat we sometimes forget to wear is our own. And when we do wear it, we often think we are being selfish. That my friend is a myth. Give yourself the space you need to listen to your body. But don’t stop there. Act upon what you are hearing.