My Second Heart Journey

World Events Versus My Events

There’s a lot going on in the world right now. Every time I turn on the news, somebody is arguing, something is on fire, the economy is doing something nobody can explain, and a reporter is standing outside in terrible weather telling everyone how terrible the weather is.

Sometimes I find myself glued to it. I’ll watch one story, then another, and before I know it, an hour has passed and I’m convinced the entire planet has lost its mind.

Then I stop and remember something.

I’ve already fought my own war.

My battlefield wasn’t in some faraway country. It was in an intensive care unit. My uniform was one of those hospital gowns that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. My weapons were IV poles, medication, and a call button that always seemed to be just out of reach.

I spent 67 days in the ICU waiting for a heart. That’s a long time to stare at the same walls and wonder what tomorrow might bring. I had a balloon pump keeping me going, monitors beeping around me, nurses coming in at all hours, and enough wires attached to my body to pick up radio stations from three states away.

Then came the transplant.

Ten hours of surgery, 15 IV pumps, tubes everywhere, and a borrowed heart beating inside me. When you’ve survived something like that, the breaking-news banner at the bottom of the television doesn’t have quite the same power over you.

Don’t get me wrong, world events still bother me sometimes. I’m human. I worry about where things are headed. I worry about what kind of world we’re leaving behind. Occasionally, I even yell advice at the television, which has accomplished exactly nothing so far.

Not once has a news anchor stopped, looked directly into the camera, and said, “You know what, Fred? That’s an excellent point. We’ll take care of it.”

I’m beginning to suspect they can’t hear me.

The funny thing is, while I’m worrying about events happening thousands of miles away, my own little world is still moving along. I have medications to take at seven in the morning and seven at night. I have doctor appointments, blood tests, and a tiny Chihuahua named Honey who considers my pill alarm her personal snack notification.

Those are the events I can actually do something about.

I can take my medicine. I can exercise. I can appreciate my wife. I can write another story. I can feed the deer in the backyard and pretend they’re visiting because they enjoy my company, not because I’m the fellow holding the food.

I can wake up early, make my tea, and enjoy a quiet house before the rest of the world starts shouting again.

Maybe that’s where my attention belongs.

I can’t personally settle every argument, fix every crisis, or convince everyone on the planet to behave. Some days, I can barely convince myself to drink enough water.

And really, why am I allowing world events to steal the peace I fought so hard to keep?

I’m still alive.

There were days when that outcome wasn’t guaranteed. There were days when my entire world consisted of a hospital bed, a monitor, and the hope that a donor heart would come in time. Compared with that, waking up in my own bed and complaining about the news is a pretty good problem to have.

Of course, I could always run for president.

I already have experience with difficult negotiations. I’ve dealt with insurance companies, hospital billing departments, and pharmacy refill lines. After that, international diplomacy ought to be a piece of cake.

My campaign slogan could be:

“Fred for President: He’s Already Had a Change of Heart.”

I’d probably lose, though. My speeches would have to end by eight because I’m in bed by nine, and no campaign event is getting between me and my evening medications. I’d also insist that every important meeting include tea, comfortable chairs, and scheduled bathroom breaks.

Actually, that might be the most sensible administration we’ve had in years.

For now, I think I’ll leave running the world to someone else. I’ve got enough responsibility running my own little corner of it.

The world will continue to have its events. Some will frighten us. Some will anger us. Some will make absolutely no sense, even after six experts explain them.

But I’ve had my own events too. I fought cardiomyopathy, lived with an ICD, spent weeks in the ICU, received another man’s heart, and walked back into my life one careful step at a time.

So yes, I’ll keep up with the news. I’ll care about what happens. I’ll probably still shout at the television once in a while.

Then I’ll turn it off, listen to the heart beating inside my chest, and remember the event that matters most to me.

I’m still here.

And frankly, that’s the best news story I’ve heard all day.

Frederick M. Hueston author of MY Heart Journey book series(7/22/26)