Five months after my heart attack, I boarded a plane from the West Coast bound for Rochester, Minnesota. Considering that I’d suffered two horrific cardiac events on another long flight just five months earlier made this trip just a wee bit terrifying for me.
Only the reality that I was headed to the world-famous Mayo Clinic in Rochester helped propel me onboard. I told myself that if anything happened to me and my heart during this flight, the cardiologists at the Mayo Women’s Heart Clinic would know exactly what to do for me. If I survived the flight, that is . . . Continue reading