“You can’t put me in ICU Room 6…my mom just died there last week.”
My mom had battled health challenges for most of her adult life. Her struggles intensified after my dad passed away from cancer in 2008. Not long after his death, she developed a necrotic skin infection that consumed her entire stomach. She spent an agonizing month in the hospital before undergoing a life-saving surgery, fighting to reclaim her health afterward. Then, in 2012, my grandmother—her mother—passed away. Just a month later, my mom was outside in the yard when she suddenly fell ill. Rushed to the emergency room, she was diagnosed with a heart attack and a congenital heart disease. I’ve always thought of that moment as the time my mother’s heart truly broke.
My mom was my very best friend. Being her only child, I was the light of her life, and she was the center of mine. In January 2017, she collapsed, and I watched helplessly as her health spiraled. Doctors were unsure what was happening; she drifted in and out of hospitals, and every visit left me anxious. One April day, she was admitted again. I went to see her, and she began hallucinating before collapsing in front of me. I remember standing there, frozen, as medical staff rushed her away. The bright lights and chaos in the hallway blurred everything; my mind couldn’t catch up. She was taken to the ICU.
“Everything will be okay. We got to her in time,” the doctors reassured me.
I stayed by her side, holding her hand, whispering prayers for her to be okay. But just two days later, my mom passed away.
I had lost my best friend, my anchor. I kept thinking, “What now? Who am I without her?” I returned home, crying, trying to piece together a life that felt unrecognizable. Thankfully, my cousin Meghan was there for me, helping me navigate the days that felt impossibly heavy.
One afternoon, while taking out the trash, I felt a sudden tightness in my chest. My breath came in short, panicked gasps. “Here’s the panic attack I’ve been dreading since she died,” I thought. But it only worsened. I told Meghan I needed to sit down. Using my mom’s portable blood pressure cuff, I saw my heart rate at 120—and climbing. Lying down felt safest. “Amber, get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day,” I told myself.
The next morning, I tried to walk to the living room—and the 15 feet felt like the longest walk of my life. Alarmed, I called my nurse friends and voiced my concerns. Their advice was unanimous: go to the ER immediately.
At the hospital, I was ushered to triage. “Great, at least I won’t be here all night,” I thought, trying to remain calm. After initial tests, I was taken to a room. Guilt crept in; was I overreacting? Then the ER doctor entered—someone I recognized. She had admitted my mom just two weeks prior. She grabbed my arm, looked me squarely in the eyes, and said, “Amber, you have severe bilateral pulmonary embolisms. We have to take you to the ICU.”
The monitors around me began to scream. My heart raced, panic rising. And then I blurted out, “You can’t put me in Room 6. My mom just died there last week.”
Fear consumed me. I kept asking myself, “Am I going to die?” But I forced a brave face, not wanting to scare Meghan. I was moved to the ICU, just two rooms away from where my mom had taken her last breath. Dozens of doctors and nurses surrounded me, attaching machines, running scans. I was bedridden, unable to sit up or turn, terrified a clot could break off and kill me. When asked when symptoms began, I admitted, “Two days ago. I tried to sleep it off.” His voice broke as he said, “Amber, if you had gone to sleep again tonight, you might not have woken up.” I still feel chills recalling that moment.
I sent Meghan—four months pregnant—home to rest. Alone, I stared at the clock, terrified of falling asleep, unsure if I’d wake. I began drafting mental goodbye letters, reviewing regrets, thinking, I should have done this… I should have said that… I should have lived more freely. I prayed for the first time in my life, promising God that if I survived, I would live intentionally—with purpose, peace, and kindness. I’d cherish life, love fully, and never waste a moment on “shoulds.”
I survived.
Today, I continue to thrive. I’m the CEO of Mighty Werthy. I live intentionally, checking adventures off my bucket list. I cherish my grandma’s coffee cup from my first job, the joy on friends’ faces when they receive a gift I gave, the warmth of a blanket fresh from the dryer. I celebrate the lives of my parents and honor their love. I pay it forward. I remind others that they are worthy of an amazing life. And most of all, I embrace the gift of life—never taking a single heartbeat for granted.
