On April 14th this year, my oldest son, Zach, underwent his 40th procedure. He’s 24. You might’ve kept up with this event through my social media posts. You might’ve thought me worried. You also might’ve believed me strong.
Let’s not be fooled.
If you asked me, How are you? those two months leading up to Zach’s procedure, I would’ve responded, Great. This is an easy one.
I would’ve believed this response to be true.
Today, now two months out from that surgery (yes, Zach is doing fantastic), and I’ve journaled about this experience in hindsight. I wanted to share a few of my entries.
We knew this surgery was coming.
We’ve known this surgery was coming for almost two years, probably longer.
We were ready.
Image: Zach at his pacemaker interrogation, Feb 19th, 2025.
At birth, Zach barely weighed four pounds. He had a heart defect and could not breathe on his own or eat. His limbs were twisted. By the time he was three months, I’d learn that he was visually impaired and deaf in one ear as well. And more.
Image: Zach only a few hours old, briefly held by me and the nurse before returning to his isolette and vent at St. Lukes NICU, Boise, March 27th, 2001.
Image: Zach in his isolette, St. Lukes NICU, Boise, March, 2001.
I wouldn’t know until Zach was nearing 18 months that he had a secondary heart defect, bradycardia. His heart didn’t just slow, it stopped, though I didn’t know his heart was stopping. His body trembled as if he were seizing.
It took months with monitors before I captured an “event” for the specialists to accurately diagnose him.
Image: This is Zach walking his little journey with all those monitors, Fall, 2003 and by now he’s endured nearly 20 procedures.
Zach endured his first heart surgery, a pacemaker implanted into his abdomen because his body was too small to “store” the device anywhere else. We’d flown to Chicago for this procedure. The “seizure-like” activity ceased within minutes of the pacemaker installation.
I didn’t understand then that with every “event,” Zach died. Over and over.
By 2013, we (Zach and me) traveled to Sacred Heart in Spokane, Washington for another pacemaker-related surgery. This, a simple battery change.
Things did not go well.
I wrote about it.
The book was published by Moon Tide Press in 2024.
Safe Handling is a collection-length poem, but really, this poem is a love letter to Zach, to a surgeon, to my two other incredible sons.
Fast forward. Here. 2025. We know the battery must be replaced. Every year at Zach’s heart interrogation, we are given the countdown. We are told how much life is left in the battery. We are told whether leads need to be exchanged. We are told how many “events” occurred and how long each one lasted.
We are informed.
We are prepared.
When I say “we,” I mean Zach, my other two sons, and me.
A heart like Zach’s means two different surgeons. One monitors his defect (back flow, aortic fusion, and more), while the other monitors his bradycardia and the pacemaker.
A heart like Zach’s handles life with love, with clarity, with complete tolerance and truth.
(I wish I had a heart like Zach’s)
Image: One of the many pre-op appointments before Zach’s 2025 procedure.
The size of it all.
This surgery is not a battery replacement, but is another very simple surgery.
I call these little operations “tune ups.”
They, the surgeon, will place a new pacemaker near Zach’s left shoulder.
This device (similar to the one that is soon to be installed) is much smaller than the one in his abdominal cavity.
Here, Zach is so excited to have his new pacemaker.
Perhaps because we’ve been counting down to this surgery for a few years, I countdown.
I countdown on social media.
I post, not for sympathy, but because these types of journeys are rarely shared. They are usually quiet, isolated, tests of endurance and faith.
Here, April 6th, and we are eight days out.
Much like most matters of the heart, this, Zach’s heart, has been clearly part of my own rhythm.
I penned a poem somewhere between his birth and 2022, “Life Lines.”
This poem ended up in my first full-length poetry collection, Tangled by Blood (Moon Tide Press) in 2023.
Here, seven days out in my countdown and I talk about Zach’s heart.
The responses on SM helped. I felt less alone. I was also managing a cleaning spree in my home.
I washed my cabinets and walls. I repainted base boards. I vacuumed between the concrete cracks on my driveway. I thought my frenzy simple distraction. Thought this a healthy way of managing stress.
Or maybe I thought, I’m just over-prepping the house for Zach’s return.
My neighbors did not ask. Some of them have started vacuuming their driveways and I feel I might’ve launched an unhealthy trend.
I’m cleaning. I’m counting. I’m counting down. I logically understand that though this is a simple procedure, there is risk.
I even correlate my brain to the last heart surgery, the battery exchange, where Zach ended up with a staph infection and nearly died.
…an excerpt from Safe Handling, from that 2013 experience with Zach, with his heart.
Oh…in the countdown…the list.
Here, all the pre-op needs.
…and the “other” pre-op preparations.
These are the things we rarely talk about, especially as a single parent with a special needs child.
Oh! the extra prep and planning.
By April 11th, three days out, I’d missed posting on social media. I feel bad. I feel like I’ve let someone down.
Perhaps I decided to do the countdown publicly for my own need. Perhaps I needed one more task to ensure the busy, distract the worry.
Though, I didn’t think I was worried at the time.
Here, the day before surgery and Zach has been receiving so many messages. I read the responses aloud each day.
All that out-pour of love.
I forget to say, Thank You.
I still need to say, Thank You.
How small Thank You feels right now, two months later.
We arrive.
We wait.
Zach is ready.
This new pacemaker will change his life. He will be able to operate (and be near) a microwave, which means more independent living. His old pacemaker, which brings him much discomfort, will eventually be removed (another surgery for another day).
Image: Zach at St Lukes, Boise, April 14, 2025.
I sit in the small waiting area, an open book on my lap that I don’t read.
The surgeon comes in, says, He’s in recovery. You can come back in five minutes or so.
And here, I crumble.
I did not know how much stress my body held. Did not know the worry I carried. I can’t even catch my breath and the other waiting families, concerned that I’d lost a child, gather `round to console me. It takes a minute before I can shape the words, He’s ok.
When I enter his room, my knees buckle.
Here, Zach, peaceful.
Here, a complete echo of his 2013 procedure, the one where he nearly died.
You see it, don’t you? The image for the cover of Safe Handling and here, 11 years later?
Image: Zach post-op and in recovery, St. Lukes, Boise, April 14, 2025.
Before Zach’s released, we ask his surgeon if we can see what the pacemaker looks like in his body.
Image: Zach’s new pacemaker, April 15th, 2025.
If you know Zach, you’re one of the lucky ones.
If you know me, you know how inter-woven my existence is with my sons.
You also know my gratitude.
You probably also knew my stress pre-surgery and with all your love, decided not to call me out, but instead, offered grace.
Image: Zach post-op check up, St Luke’s, Meridian, April 29th, 2025.
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this was such a powerful post, rebecca.thank you so much for sharing it, and for writing about it. i’m glad zach is well.i’m glad you’re writing about it. claire Claire Ross Dunn (she/her) To join my newsletter, go to http://www.clairerossdunn.com My novel, At Last Count, available in bookstores everywhere.The Globe 100: The best books of 2022 pick Our theatre shows The Knitting Pilgrim and Spycraft tour this year — check out the dates by going to my website.
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Thank you so much Claire, for pausing, for reading, for responding. Much love, Rebecca.
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This tribute is so loving and heartfelt! I feel like I can understand a bit after my former Mother In Law had a pacemaker, lived with heart disease and unfortunately passed away due to a Dr’s mistake at St. Lukes. I am so happy that your family is solid, works together to show love and empathy to a very special 24 year old.
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Maureen, I’m so sorry for your loss. Truly. Thank you for sharing a bit of your own journey here, connecting me in a deeper way-one heart to another. Much love, Rebecca
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We too breathe easier, hoping our son will have more time in this world. He studied hard and became a compassionate professional, only to discover his heart was too faulty to practice. If it were fenders on a car, we could fix them, if the house burned to the ground, we could rebuild. But a heart, even a faulty one leaves us breathlessly wondering — why, when, where?!
The surgeons placed my son’s heart on a table for repairs, and under their breaths whispered “We hope this works!” Many surgeries later, we too whisper under our breaths. “We hope this works”. . . and for now the repaired organ, the key to mortality is holding its own, day after day, month after month as his aging mother’s heart beats year after year, hoping ‘this works’.
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This response took my breath. Thank you for pausing and sharing. “…the key to mortality is holding its own, day after day, month after month…” wow. Just wow. Much, much love, Rebecca
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An incredible journey. So happy for the outcome. Hallelujah!
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Thank you so much, Sweet Maggie. Your support and friendship is invaluable to me. Much love.
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Thank you for this Rebecca.
It is a heart warming, heart pounding tale of a mother’s infinite love for her son.
I am so moved by the simple and inspiring fact that Zach has endured so much! You are both champions of Life!
My fourth Grandson from my daughter Jenni is called Zach. He has suffered from Autism since birth.
It is so difficult to see our children or grandchildren suffer through such terrible conditions.
There is nothing more difficult and life altering than to endure such difficulties.
There’s nothing I can think of that makes us stronger and better parents.
With loving kindness,
Giuseppe Autism
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Giuseppe,
Thank you for this reply…the heart of parents and grandparents – so much strength. So much capacity. Our humanness, always so frail. Much love, Rebecca
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Bravo, Zach! Brava, Rebecca!
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Thank you so much. Much, much love.
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I’m grateful for the heart-care technology which is helping Zach. You and I don’t know one another except for an online class you taught recently (via Narratively) that I attended, but I just want to say how glad I am to have discovered your writing and your voice, which is quietly fierce and completely loving. Also, I hope Zach thrives (all of you). And finally, thank you so much for the generous spirit and kindness you showed as a teacher. You really gave me valuable help that I am using every day.
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What a lovely note to receive from you. Thank you for pausing to read my blog, to respond. And yes, Zach thrives. He is def my “life” coach on so many levels. And I, too, am thankful our paths have crossed. Hope that we continue with intersections. Much love.
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