A Second Chance: Reflections After a Heart Attack

Today marks exactly 1 week since I experienced a serious heart attack. I cancelled my morning’s appointment just 30 minutes prior to the appointment starting. I managed to get myself to the ER and just able to “sign” myself in – providing only my hardcopy IC, my full name, my mobile number, and an emergency contact name and number. That was about as much as I could do.

They rushed me into the Triage section, hooked me up to a machine (an ECG) and within minutes, I was told what I already suspected – I was in the middle of a heart attack.

There was no time for hesitation. The cardiologist was called, and preparations began for an angiogram which would then determine if angioplasty would be sufficient or, in the worst case scenario, immediately to a bypass surgery.

Ninety minutes later, I had survived. And now, one week later – I am still alive.

The Blessings I Notice
On looking back, I note that there are so many things to be thankful for. Among them:

1.   Listening to my inner voice:
Usually when faced with a similar situation (where I am not feeling well), I would normally have resisted going to the hospital, convincing myself that rest would be enough. I would very likely just go to bed thinking that if I just rest, I would be fine.

In fact, that was exactly what I started doing. Having cancelled my appointment (and feeling guilty about it but convincing myself that it would not be fair to my client for me to proceed if I could not be fully present for him), I decided to go lie down and rest. But an inner voice urged me to act differently this time. That decision likely saved my life. So, I got up and called my son to inform him I am checking myself in to the hospital. He offered to come over immediately to take me to the hospital. I declined and said I would go over myself. Another unusual and “right” decision  that might have had resulted in significantly different outcomes.

2.   Proximity of care:
There is a private hospital immediately opposite where I live. It’s just a stone-throw away – not even requiring crossing a major road to get to hospital. No traffic, no delay – just a short walk that made all the difference. I just walked myself over and managed to check myself in.

3.   Strength in weakness:
I am still amazed how I managed to get to the hospital and to check myself in as I was already experiencing significant discomfort in my chest, pain extending down both my arms, and sweating profusely. I felt like I was holding off and ready to pass out which is why I could not complete filling up the admission form. By the time I was wheeled into the Triage area, my vision was already quite blurred. Even as my vision blurred and my body weakened, I managed to give verbal consent to be wheeled off for the next procedure. That small act of perseverance gave the medical team the chance to intervene.

4.   Swift response:
As this is a relatively new hospital and not very big – there wasn’t the usual long wait for people to be assessed and admitted. They were able to triage me, call in the cardiologist, and prepare for the necessary procedure at what seemed to be lightning fast. Speed was everything. In total, from admission through the entire angioplasty procedure – it probably took no more than 90 minutes.

5.   Competent, compassionate staff:
With a set of very professional, competent, and friendly staff – they were able to do all the necessary – and while I was informed earlier that they would likely require a minimum of 3-days stay – from HDU to ICU to general ward – for observation, eventually the doctor was comfortable giving me a discharge after just a 2-night stay. With a total of four blockages: three being 90% blocked and one other at 100% – I am pleasantly surprised my situation is not worse than it is. Their professionalism and kindness carried me through the procedure and the two nights of recovery.

6.   Support network:
Not least of all – I am most grateful for is having family members (including siblings rushing back to KL from out of town), friends who dropped what they were doing to come to the hospital immediately, and many other well-wishes including clients & former clients, students & former students, colleagues and associates – so many sending prayers, blessings, and healing energy. I felt held by a community larger than myself – I was not alone. I am not alone.

As I think about all those who showed up (in person or otherwise) — family, friends, clients, students … even those I may not have seen or heard from — I am reminded that none of us are ever truly alone. Sometimes, it takes a moment like this to see more clearly the people who are already there, quietly holding us in ways we may not always notice.

The Path of Recovery
Since being discharged, I have been recuperating at home. It has not been a smooth everyday since my discharge. As we are all very aware of – “Healing is not linear.” There are moments of “recurring discomfort” – whether they are “real” or imagined. Bouts of high and low energy. Inability to remain focused on any task (which I am not supposed to be doing anyway) as my “brain” seems to go out of focus and into a “fog” – becoming tired out very quickly.

As I consider all that has happened over this past week – and possibly the journey of recovery ahead – I am mindful there is so much to be grateful for … so much I AM grateful for.

I think about my interaction with all my clients over the years. The things I have shared with them – especially when they felt they were at their wit’s end – where they may have been experiencing a sense of “hopelessness,” of “depression,” of overwhelming “fear” or “anxiety.” What was my role? How was I able to be present for them? Was I able to hold space for them? What can I draw from those experiences to bring to my own experience now? How do I hold space for myself?

During moments of weakness – not just physical but also mental when I feel “less than adequate” – unable to do so many things that needs to be done. Feeling like my brain just literally shuts down even over the simplest tasks. Continually experiencing: compromised stamina, an almost empty battery struggling to recharge, a continuous choice – of my brain or my heart shutting down.

Yet, in each moment of weakness I am reminded of the fragility of life – and the gift of still being here. Right here – right NOW. I am learning to hold space for myself, just as I have held space for clients in their moments of despair. Perhaps this is my “physician, heal thyself” moment.

Facing Mortality

I remember there was a moment when I was in the hospital when my son asked me something along the lines of “ … is it scary .. are you afraid …” I am not sure to what he was referring – the heart attack experience or the procedure I just came out of (since there was no general anesthetic and I was conscious throughout) – but my answer, without thinking, went something like “I am not really too worried if my time is up. That, I am not too worried or scared of. However, I would like to at least be able to get out of the hospital and be given a little time – at least – to put somethings in order. I may not be able to set everything right as I would like, but at least clear up some stuff.” I remember, then, offering a silent prayer for an extended time (even if just a little) to put some things in order.

What I feared was leaving things unfinished – relationships unrepaired, words unsaid, responsibilities unresolved. In that moment, I prayed for more time. Not endless time, just enough to set some, if not all, things in order.

It would seem my request has been granted. And so, for now, I choose to honour this time … to notice, to appreciate, and to gently put in place what I can … one moment at a time.

Regret and Remorse: Two Ways of Looking Back

Most of us know what it feels like to look back on something we have done and wish it were different. We might replay that moment over and over again – imagining a myriad of alternative choices. We may wonder how life might have turned out if we had acted otherwise. This is what we often refer to as regret.

To regret is very human. It is part of being reflective and self-aware. In that sense, it can be something positive. But regret also has a quiet danger: it can keep us mentally living in a place we can no longer change. Regret can initiate reflection (this is the good part), but staying in it is the problem.

The past is fixed. We cannot rewrite it. No amount of replaying, wishing, or self-criticism alters what has already taken place. When we remain stuck in regret, our attention stays pointed backward, even though life only moves forward.

Regret may feel like reflection, but it often becomes rumination. We can view rumination as a loop that drains energy without offering direction. Sometimes this is replaying thoughts or memories, and sometimes repeating only the feeling of guilt or self-reproach, long after the original moment has faded.

This is where a different experience becomes important: remorse. Although the two words are often used as if they mean the same thing, they do not describe the same inner process.

Regret is mainly about the outcome.
It says: “I wish this had turned out differently.”
Its focus is on what was lost, what went wrong, or what we did not get.

Remorse is about responsibility and values.
It says: “I recognize that my action did not align with who I want to be.”
Its focus is not just on what happened, but on who we are becoming.

Regret tends to look backward.
Remorse looks inward – and then forward.

A person can regret something endlessly without changing anything.
But when someone feels genuine remorse, something different happens: there is an inner movement toward repair, learning, and eventually growth. Remorse carries within it a quiet question: “What kind of person do I choose to be now?”

This is why regret, while normal, can become non-beneficial.

Regret keeps us tied to what cannot be altered.
Remorse helps us shape what comes next.

Recognizing a mistake does not require living inside it. We can acknowledge that something did not go well, accept that the past is unchangeable, and still choose to grow from it. Learning does not require self-punishment. Insight does not require emotional self-imprisonment.

Remorse, when held gently and honestly, becomes a compass. It helps us:

• clarify our values,
• take responsibility without self-attack,
• and make different choices in the present.

Regret asks, “Why did this happen?”
Remorse asks, “Who do I want to be – going forward?”

Both emotions arise from reflection. But only one of them leads us back into life with greater clarity. The key is not to eliminate feeling altogether, but to choose which feeling we live from.

We can allow regret to visit – acknowledge it, learn what it has to teach, and then let it pass.
And we can honour remorse as a sign of conscience, integrity, and growth. We cannot change the past. But we always retain the power of the present.

And in that present moment, remorse does not trap us in who we were.
It quietly invites us to become who we are capable of being.

One way to hold this shift is through a simple present-focused process: Noticing what is arising; Owning it with honesty; and Welcoming the experience without self-punishment.

Notice the feeling – whether it is regret, guilt, or self-reproach. Own what is yours to own, without denial or minimising, while recognising that the past cannot be changed. And then – Welcome the experience as part of being human, allowing it to inform your next choice rather than define who you are.

This is what I refer to as the NOW Process.

It is not something that needs to be mastered or perfected. It is simply a way of meeting ourselves more honestly in the present moment – noticing what is here, owning what is ours to own, and welcoming the experience without self-punishment.

If this way of relating to yourself resonates, you are welcome to sit with it, return to it, or explore it further in your own time. And if at some point you feel that having support or conversation around this process would be helpful, I am available to walk alongside you.