By Etsuko Yasunaga
 
FEBRUARY 23 was just an ordinary Monday morning. Vibrant clear blue skies and bright sunshine seemed to promise another idyllic happy day. How wrong I was to think that? More importantly, how on earth did I know that it was all about to change so drastically? 
 
Mondays and Thursdays, Rob sometimes rides his bike with a group. On this day he was a bit off colour but I encouraged him to go, because I knew how much he enjoyed his bike-riding. ‘Once you start riding, you will be fine, Rob. Just enjoy it.’ He agreed and drove to Kongwak, the start of his ride. Riders all headed to Korumburra soon after. ​

I left home for my morning walk around 9.30. I usually don’t carry my phone with me when I go for a walk. The phone is often a distraction as I clear my thoughts and unwind during my walk. I walked down Beacon Court then Ayr Creek Trail. Towards the Surf Parade end, I noticed a little movement on the boardwalk. It was a koala, moving slowly towards the tree nearby. I was very close and wanted to take a picture to send to my family in Japan. I didn’t have my phone with me so decided to go home. Hopefully the koala would still be there when I returned.
 
When I picked up my phone, there was a notification that Rob had rung about ten minutes earlier. No message was left. ‘That’s odd. Rob should be riding his bike,’ I thought. I rang him back anyway. ‘Hi Rob, retuning your call. Hope everything is ok with you...’ in the middle of leaving him a message, I saw his number flash. I picked it up straight away. The voice on the other side wasn’t Rob’s. Oh, what’s going on here? My mind felt unsettled. ​

The voice said that Rob wasn’t feeling great. Right away I asked ‘It’s his heart, isn’t it?’ They’d already called an ambulance and were still waiting for its arrival. Meanwhile medical professionals in the group were keeping an eye on Rob’s condition.
 
The word ‘WIDOW’ came to me in a flash. It was in capitals, in charcoal. It stayed heavily above my forehead. I grabbed a giant imaginary eraser, started to rub it out. Not letter by letter but by moving the whole eraser side to side to extinguish the word that I don’t want to see. Then I heard Rob’s faint voice talking to someone in the background. Oh thank goodness, he is conscious, I was relieved. Our mind tends to imagine the worst case scenario in the emergency like this and I was the same. My mind visualised Rob lying on the ground unconscious, not breathing. Although he was in a grave condition, he was still conscious.

​That fact comforted me immensely. The big word flashed above my forehead was completely gone. Luckily one of my running friends Derek was in the group, so I asked him to ring me and tell me which hospital to go to when Rob was transferred. He rang me about half hour later and said that the ambulance had taken Rob to Frankston Hospital.
 
My brain was still in a frenzy. My mind was scrambling to keep up. Rob was still at a high risk of adverse outcome, and the instantaneous realisation that I may still lose him completely froze me. A whirlwind of thoughts were racing in my mind, and a surge of thoughts made it very difficult for me to focus. I was utterly agitated. Somehow I knew I had to manage the rapid flow of thoughts, and regain clarity. I grabbed Rob’s backpack, started packing his overnight clothing, toiletries, Kobo and phone charger etc. I checked the route to take and estimated the travelling time to Frankston Hospital on Google Maps as I didn’t know the area well. At least while I was focusing on those tasks, racing thoughts were tamed and I felt more grounded. Now my focus was shifted to drive to the hospital safely, and to see Rob there.
 
A rush of relief washed over me once I saw Rob was alive. Sure he was all wired up on the hospital bed, but I didn’t care. He was conscious and now in safe hands. The reunion was brief as he was whisked off to have an angiogram to determine the cause of the problem. It might require an angioplasty and stent. Both procedures were simple but I knew I would be waiting for quite some time.
 
Thankfully there were botanic gardens nearby, so I went for a gentle stroll in the greenery while I waited for Rob to come back to recovery after his procedures. Bright sunlight beamed on my face and alleviated the feelings of stress this morning. It signified a moment to pause away from the racing thoughts. I felt much lighter. I walked for a few hours and returned to the recovery unit in Western Port. While I waited I decided to journal everything, especially my thoughts and feelings to unload and to clear my mind.

Putting words in a journal acted as an emotional release and certainly helped to organise the chaotic emotions that I experienced on that day. It helped me to understand my reactions to a stressful event, and I gained perspective. I waited and waited. I kept on writing. Rob eventually returned to the recovery unit early evening. He looked well. I was reassured. A quick embrace then it was time for me to drive home before dark.
 
Rob was discharged after two nights stay. Honestly, walking to the recovery unit again on Wednesday to pick him up was my happiest walk. Once we were home, I had to hold him tightly. Our embrace was extra special because we both knew that it almost didn’t happen. Knowing how close this embrace came to not happening really changed how we experienced it. The alternative was emptiness or loss, and almost losing someone certainly triggers a profound sense of gratitude.
 
We hugged each other very close for a long time - so close that I could feel Rob’s strong heartbeats. We deeply cherished our ordinary embrace with intense clarity about what and who truly matters to us.
 
Rob is expected to make a full recovery with no sign of permanent heart damage, thanks to the care he received.  ​