Three months ago, I had a heart attack. The cause? Being a girl. Here's what I wish I would have known.

It's been a while since I've been on LinkedIn. Three months ago, my morning routine typically would be to wake up, grab the phone, open LinkedIn, and scroll for next 30 minutes through posts, announcements - succumbing to the curiosity and somewhat voyeuristic habit of seeing "who looked at my profile."

That was then. Today, I logged in noting that I have 99+ notifications and God-knows-how-many unanswered messages. And you know something? While this might have sent me to the bad place before, today, my response is an overwhelming, "meh." Heart attacks will do that to you.

If we haven't met, my name is Katherine and I had a heart attack. I'm a 45-year-old woman with no family history of heart disease, I'm not obese, I don't do cocaine, and I don't have diabetes. What I have are two chromosomes that are Xs. In other words, I had a heart attack because I am a girl.

If you're a woman, be aware of this type of heart attack - SCAD.         

I'll be honest - I'm still processing what the hell just happened. I was minding my own business when I was hit with chest pains. I'd been having them for months, but this time seemed different. My nagging inner voice told me to at least go to urgent care, where I was expecting confirmation and peace of mind relative to what doctors had been telling me - my chest pains were nothing more than panic attacks.

Instead, I found myself in an ambulance (with some pretty cute techs, might I add) heading to trauma where, for the next five days, was under constant surveillance with a double IV of heparin, countless pokes in the arm, negotiating sodium levels with nutritionists, getting felt up every three hours by nurse Carole, and being woken up at 4:30 am to techs shouting at Clifford, the man across the hall, who refused to go to bed until they made him. We all hated Clifford.

Now that I'm back in the land of clothes with backs and food that has salt, reflecting on this situation includes equal parts "WTF?" and extreme motivation. So much of what happened to me could have been different had I only known. So, here's what you should know - and if you're a woman, really should know.

Medical gaslighting is real. If you don't advocate, no one else will.         

This one's a bugger. As much as we want to think symptoms are symptoms and all patients are treated equally, the truth is that women - especially black women - are much more likely to experience medical gaslighting - that is, where doctors downplay symptoms or tell you it's all in your head. Don't believe me? Ask Serena Williams.

In my case, months of chest pains and complaining to doctors was dismissed immediately and continuously as panic attacks - sight unseen. And this is after I literally said, "I think I'm having a heart attack." Instead of wanting to investigate the cause of said chest pain, they gave me benzos. Lots of them. I can't even tell you how many people - physicians - cited Tony Soprano as a reason why I shouldn't worry. Fuck the Sopranos.

When I finally decided to take matters into my own hands, the attending ED doc treated me like I was wasting his time - that is, until troponin levels came back upwards of 550. Then I had his - and the entire ED's - attention.

Only you know your body and only you can advocate for yourself. It's OK to put a question mark on the top of a diagnosis period. In my case, being mouthy isn't just a quirky and adorable character trait of mine - it saved my life.

Women's heart attacks present differently.         

Feeding into possibly why women's chest pains are dismissed is the fact that heart attacks present much differently with women.

I'll admit, my experience with heart attacks is largely from what I've seen from movies. The scene from Tommy Boy, Four Weddings and a Funeral, even The Simpsons focus on the dramatic event of clutching at your chest and falling to the ground. In reality, women's symptoms can be heart burn, neck pain, fatigue, nausea, or pain in an arm. In addition, EKG abnormalities can present differently. In my case, the attending doc said my EKG had changed slightly since the last one I had five years ago, but not enough to be "concerning."

This, coupled with doctors dismissing my pain, is why it took me months to finally admit I needed to get checked out. The symptoms weren't enough. But the troponin - a test that measures enzymes released from the heart when there has been damage - doesn't lie.

SCAD is a secret killer hardly anyone's ever heard of.        

This one's a biggie. Before heading to the cath lab, the cardiologist explained to me that they were hoping there were less than three blockages - anything more would include bypass surgery. Even though I was thoroughly enjoying the Versed which made the clock melt on the wall, even I knew something was amok when one cardiologist turned into four, now huddling in the corner, whispering. Instead of a blockage, I had something called Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection, or SCAD.

Basically it's where a tear happens in the artery, causing a flap. It also is a condition where it can cause more damage if they were to put in a stint. Of all the doctors, only one had seen it before. Same thing for the nursing staff - and she said only because she just came in from Johns Hopkins.

SCAD is something every woman should know about. The top risk factor is being female. That bears repeating - just by being female, you are at risk. Average age is 45-50, generally in women who have had a child. Treatment is generally done with medication - and I mean lots of medication - hoping to calm things down long enough for the tear to heal.

And while it's considered rare, it's also widely accepted that it's probably not that rare - it's just misdiagnosed. On the upside, it is not caused by plaque, so I could put my guilt to rest for having smuggled salt out of the cafeteria in my bra. (Incidentally, it didn't work. The nurse found my contraband and confiscated both the salt and my bra. Lame.)

Recovery is no joke.        

What's weird about recovering from a heart attack is that while you expect some of the physical stuff - fatigue, not able to lift heavy things, and the enviable doctor's orders to catch up on Netflix and not go to the gym - what I wasn't counting on was the emotional toll.

I was moody. Short tempered. And finding motivation to do even the smallest things was exhausting. Turns out, cardiac blues is legit. It's also a bitch.

My personal opinion is that unlike an injury like a bad knee, when my heart isn't hurting, I don't have any way to gauge the healing. And I forget that I can't just will myself to get things done. I suck at having patience - I suck even more at asking people to be patient with me. My clients have been phenomenal and more than understanding. Accepting their kindness has been a difficult, yet important, lesson. It's humbling and exposes vulnerabilities. In other words, it makes you comfortable being uncomfortable. Yuck.

The other thing about recovery is how quickly you can get into trouble if you get lazy. Forgetting to take meds, not respecting the weight lift restrictions, or not getting enough sleep can seem minor - that is, until there's a flutter in your heart and pain returns. This is a hard lesson for those of us with ADD who no longer can take ADD meds, and have happily lived 45 years with a hefty dose of chaos. But it does make me appreciate my body much more than I ever have. Last year I'd be worried about being swimsuit ready for summer. This year? F that. There are more important things.

You think about death. A lot.         

Three months out and I think I'm finally grasping what the hell happened. I'm young enough to still fall into that younger attitude of thinking I'm invincible, but old enough to think about what things I have to put in place to protect my daughter.

Last month I took my daughter to Paris for spring break. Even though I'm medically cleared to travel, the nagging consideration is... what if something happened? My 11-year-old daughter would be on a different continent alone, potentially having to travel home with a coffin.

It's morbid, but reality. I was fortunate enough to have my sister and nephew come with us - and it was only after we got back when she admitted that it also made her worried.

I'll admit, I got my will together, wrote a letter to my daughter, and have adopted a new attitude about what constitutes being "worry worthy." I've also cut out toxic people and resigned from some work to reduce stress. All stuff that I should have thought about before.

While I'm not on LinkedIn every day looking at all the updates and pressing the automated "Congrats!" on new roles, that's OK. I don't have to answer all the emails. Someone yesterday commented they wished they had my confidence in taking video calls in a baseball cap and no makeup. I'm not sure if it's confidence - just a different perspective. A perspective I wish I had long ago.

Bottom line - heart disease affects us all. If not you, then someone you know. Do yourself a favor and learn about SCAD and the amazing work that Dr. Hayes and her team is doing at Mayo Clinic. Learn about medical gaslighting. Get mouthy and advocate. And respect the incredible miracle that is your body. I promise it's worth it.

Feel free to reach out if you'd like more information on SCAD or have a story you'd like to share.