Today marks one year since the day my life changed forever—July 1, 2024, the day I survived a heart attack. As I reflect on this milestone, I am overcome with a deep sense of gratitude and humility. I truly believe the universe wanted me to survive this ordeal, to give me another chance at embracing life in all its colors.

Looking back, it was a terrifying experience, though strangely, I didn’t feel scared or panicked. When I walked into the ER after enduring chest pains for nearly 12 hours, I was eerily calm. The doctors and nurses, on the other hand, were in a flurry, rushing to wheel me into the cath lab for an emergency angioplasty. Amidst all this urgency, I felt an unshakeable sense that whatever was meant to happen would happen. I still don’t know where I drew that strength from—perhaps from God. My husband wasn’t even in town at the time, and there I was, alone, whispering a simple prayer: that I’d be able to eat again (I hadn’t eaten solid food for almost a month). Check out my earlier post about the actual day I had the attack. Dodging the Bullet (Click this link)

Recovery was far from easy. In the early weeks, every tiny pain or odd sensation sent me spiraling into panic. I lived in constant fear that something might go wrong. But I was blessed with the most incredible nurses at the cardiac rehabilitation center, who slowly rebuilt my confidence. They held my hand—sometimes quite literally—through the tough days, assuring me I could still live a full life. Within just eight weeks, I was back to running as much as I did before the attack. It felt nothing short of a miracle.

This past year has been a long, sometimes hard journey of learning and unlearning—about diet, exercise, managing stress, and above all, self-care. I’ve tried to embrace everything I learned at rehab, from my doctors, and through my own relentless research.

One thing that stands out starkly to me is how little we, as South Asian women, know—or talk—about heart health. Many of us give our all to our families, often forgetting ourselves in the process. For homemakers like me, this is doubly true. Unlike working women who have their careers as an outlet, we homemakers are always “on,” carrying the weight of our family’s successes and failures as our own. There are no days off, no true breaks. We keep going, often at the cost of our own health.

This experience has completely transformed my perspective on life. My doctors still tell me I’m a “lucky girl”—the type of heart attack I had has only an 8% survival rate. I don’t take that lightly.

So this past year, we made a promise to truly live. We’ve traveled—London, Paris, Dubai—checking off places we had always postponed. We dined at some of the world’s best restaurants, hosted our closest friends at home, and cooked meals that were full of love (and flavor!). Even bought the car of my dreams. 

Through it all, I keep counting my blessings. My sensitive, wonderful son. My loving husband. My two dogs, who I love to the moon and back. Friends who have stood by me through the darkest days and are truly my rock.

A year ago, I prayed that I would live to eat again. Today, I’m not just eating—I’m savoring. Every moment, every memory, every heartbeat.

Thank you, life, for this second chance