maria, maria

Preface: major stan

Sunday was supposed to be all about good vibes and celebration. Our whole crew had plans to meet up for lunch before heading to J-Hope’s (BTS member) solo concert in Koreatown. It felt like a mini holiday—everyone buzzing with excitement, dressed cute, energy high. We met at Yangmani for K-BBQ around 1500, and that’s when I noticed something was off with Maria.

She wasn’t eating. At first, I assumed maybe she wasn’t into Korean food. I even tried putting food on her plate, hoping she’d nibble on something, but she barely touched anything. I brushed it off, thinking maybe she was just shy—after all, it was her first time meeting some of the girls. Maybe nerves? But I should’ve listened to my gut.

After lunch, we headed back to her place to park before walking over to the venue. Our seats were up several flights of stairs, and once we settled in, she turned to me and quietly said she wasn’t feeling well. I asked how long she had felt like this, and she said since 1400 PM. She described pressure in her chest, and immediately I ran through a mental checklist—MI (myocardial infarction)? Asthma exacerbation? Hypoglycemia? But I didn’t have my gear on me, and my Apple watch was dead after clocking over 20,000 steps that day. I reached over to touch her, noticed she was clammy, and scooted over to give her air. That’s when she asked me to sit closer.

I couldn’t ignore the red flags. I told her we needed to get her evaluated at the First Aid office. She was adamantly against it. “No, we’re here. We’ve waited so long for this concert. I don’t want you to miss the concert either.” I tried to reason with her, told her it could be nothing, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Still, she refused. So I texted our friend Maggie—who’s also a healthcare professional—and asked her to help me talk Maria into getting checked. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest in the group, or maybe people just think I’m “too chill,” but I swear sometimes I don’t get taken seriously. That said, Maggie had the magic touch. Somehow she convinced her, and we escorted Maria to the First Aid tent.

Paramedics put on the EKG leads, and sure enough—she was throwing PVCs (premature ventricular contractions). I asked the basics: caffeine? alcohol? Both were a no. Inhaler? She had left it at home. She mentioned she was on a new injectable medication for her severe asthma but didn’t know the name. She said ever since the shot, she felt off.

I gave the medics her background and explained everything. They recommended transporting her to the hospital. She refused. Again. They had her sign an AMA form because they didn’t want the liability. Maggie and I weren’t about to let her go back into the concert venue, though. If she wouldn’t take an ambulance, her husband would have to come get her and then take her to the hospital. When they wheeled her out, she got up from the chair and walked straight to his car like nothing happened. I told her to call or text me with any updates. She promised she would.

By the end of the concert, she called me to say her husband would pick us up so we wouldn’t walk around LA in the dark. I told her we were fine—there were plenty of us—but she insisted, then hung up. We waited on the corner, but couldn’t see him. I called again and told her we were just going to walk. That’s when we heard him yelling our names—he had been waiting on the street, not the parking lot.

I asked him what the ED docs said. He admitted they never went. She told him that she was feeling better, that the pressure was gone, and she didn’t feel clammy anymore. I sighed, frustrated but relieved she seemed okay. She said she was going to rest and call out sick the next day.

Fast forward to Monday—I’d been texting to check on her. She said she felt good and even wanted to go to The Rose concert in August. I told her I’d go with her, no question. She said she’d swing by my workstation tomorrow so that we could buy tickets together.

Later, while I was working and away from my phone, I noticed a missed call and a text: “Call me.” I called Maria back immediately. Her husband answered.

My heart dropped.

He told me that Maria had gone to her doctor’s appointment at 1600, who immediately sent her to the ED because she was STILL experiencing chest pain. The doctors now suspected she may have had a heart attack and wanted to keep her overnight for more tests. Fucking shit.

My whole body went cold. I kept thinking—we should have gotten her to the hospital last night. I get it, she’s stubborn. But still. I’m just grateful she’s finally getting checked out properly. She’s been texting me selfies from the hospital bed so I know she’s in good hands. She texted me and Maggie, thanked us for our help and that things could have been worse if we didn’t intervene. Her husband promised to keep me updated. I offered to drive to the hospital and stay with her but they declined for now.

I’m wondering if there was anything else I could have said or done to convince her to go get help earlier. I also feel guilty for staying at the concert instead of going back with her to her house to make sure she went to the hospital.

I’ll write about the concert another day because TBH, I’m not in the mood for it today.