Rosie Peters. Photos: Chris Emeott
Rosetta “Rosie” Peters is an extraordinary poet, storyteller and business owner, living in Marine on St. Croix. Since moving to the Valley in 2011, she’s become a valued member of this community and has worked to build up the arts in the Valley—from founding a poetry collective to hosting workshops and open-mic events at Brookside Bar and Grill, where she is co-owner and operator. St. Croix Valley Magazine has the privilege of having her serve on our Editorial Advisory Board.
At just 46 years old, Peters experienced a cardiac event in May. Her symptoms—pain in her neck and shoulders, cold sweats, numbing down her arms—stacked up over a matter of days, coinciding with another important event in her life: obtaining a bison tail for her Haŋbdečeya, a sacred Dakota vision ceremony. Like many women who will experience a cardiac event, the varied symptoms led to a delay in seeking treatment. But she listened to her body and spirit and went to the hospital four days after her symptoms began; this decision (and her doctors) saved her life.
Peters asked to share her story in the hopes that her experience could save the lives of others in this community—and who better to weave these words than Peters herself? It’s the hope of Peters and all of us here at St. Croix Valley Magazine that this story encourages you to listen to your heart. —Zoe Yates, editor
Dakota Definitions
Haŋbdečeya: A sacred vision ceremony
Čaŋupas: Sacred ceremonial pipes carved from a type of red pipestone found only in Mni Sota.
Čhaŋté inážiŋ: heart attack
Pidamayaye: thank you
Wakaŋ Taŋka: the sacred or divine
Wopida tanka: very grateful
In Rosie’s Words:
My heart attack started on a Saturday, Mother’s Day weekend , about halfway through my double shift, with a numbing down my left arm. My neck and shoulders were bothering me from accidentally falling asleep in the recliner. I had been putting in some extra hours that week at Brookside in preparation for the holiday and the start of our live music and patio season. I just thought, “Man, I need a massage.”
On Sunday, the numbing sensation came back, on and off. I was looking forward to the hot tub and pool at Treasure Island. My beloved had gotten us a room there because we were picking up my bison tail for Haŋbdečeya on Monday. A bison calf visited my dreams that morning. I assumed it was because I was excited to go get the tail.
That March, I had called around to processing plants. I explained that I am Dakota, in the process of reconnecting with my culture, and a bison tail was needed for a special ceremony. My bison came through the line at Lorentz Meats in Cannon Falls and was hand-picked by the manager of the slaughterhouse floor.
As we left the plant, I said to my love, “Traditionally, I would’ve come to this differently. If there were women hunters, I know I would’ve hunted my bison myself. I would’ve seen it, touched it, looked it in the eyes and given thanks to it. I would’ve knelt on the ground beside it and offered tobacco. Speaking of …” I rolled the window down, opened a cigarette and sprinkled tobacco on the gravel road. I said my prayers, gave thanks to the Bison, the plant manager, the journey—and thanked the Creator for everything.
Rosie Peters holds a staff made and gifted to her by a student in her Walking Into The Woods Poetry Cohort. Created from a sumac root, each of the staff’s trinkets carries special meaning. “The staff is a part of me,” Peters says.
We passed what would soon become a corn or soybean field. Miles of flat, freshly scarred earth, and I imagined what it looked like before colonization and desecration. I saw green and trees and birds and animals. I pictured beautiful harmony, when something in my periphery tugged me back to reality, to the flat and nothing in front of me. A tornado rose from the soil, made of wind and dust. I watched it form, swirling upwards, rising and rising, and then it just vanished. When it disappeared, I felt a rush of something go through my body, and I started crying. I cried and cried. Moments later, an eagle swooped down in front of us.
That night, I didn’t sleep well. Restless and turning, I woke in a sweat. As I paced, I looked out the window and blamed my restless spirit on the full Flower Moon. The next morning, I sat up and Googled, “Am I having a heart attack?”
I don’t know, but I swear my Bison saved my life. I know it was the emergency room and the hospital. It was the nurses and the cardiologist and the prayers and the surgery and the stent. I know they were all a part of it.
But it was also more than that.
I believe Wakaŋ Taŋka sent the spirit of my Bison to protect me and speak to me in a way I’d listen. I am a stubborn woman. I had to ask for help first in order to receive it. That meant I had to walk through the ER door.
My first nurse was a fabulous young man named Eric. I liked him right away because, “That’s my son’s name,” I said. “But he goes by Michael.”
“On a scale of 1–10, where would you rate your pain right now?” Eric asked.
“Hmmm,” I said, “About a five, maybe six. But honey, you have to understand I have a very high threshold for pain.” I giggled at his raised eyebrow. “I’ve given birth to six children, three of which were completely natural. So, you see, Eric, my five or six is a little different than yours.”
“Fair enough,” he smiled, and I could tell he was a friend.
The ER doctor was also young, mid- to late-30s. He asked the “on a scale” question, and I told him the same thing. He asked me about my symptoms, and I started by telling him about my arm going numb on Saturday. “It’s Tuesday night. Why didn’t you come in on Saturday?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know Saturday,” I said.
“Why did you come in tonight?” he said.
“Because I have six kids,” I said.
“You had six kids on Saturday,” he said. “What changed? Why now?”
“On Saturday, I thought the numbing was because I slept wrong,” I explained. “My neck had been bugging me for a few days, and I was just busy, man. I feel differently tonight.”
“What makes you feel differently tonight?” he asked.
“I can’t say,” I started to giggle—could see my bison’s tail, see my čaŋupas. I saw more that’s too sacred to write. “Just a feeling I have.” I could tell this man didn’t believe in magic, and I was running out of time. “Look here—listen,” I said. “I promise you, I don’t want to be here right now. I’m not a drug addict. I don’t even drink, and I, personally, don’t have time for any of this. I’m a busy woman, and I hate hospitals, but I’m here because I have a very strong feeling I need to be. Something is wrong. Here.” I placed my closed fist on my chest.
“Well, what would you like us to do here tonight?” he asked.
“I’m having a heart attack,” I said. “So, I’d like you to please check my heart and make sure everything’s OK in there. It’s not gonna be.” I started laughing again. “And that’s OK because I know y’all are gonna fix me.”
He looked at Eric, ordered some tests and walked out the door. About 20 minutes later, the doctor came back in and sat beside me. I already knew what was coming. “Your blood test reveals that your tropes are elevated,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I smiled.
“That means you are being admitted and will be going into surgery in the morning when the cardiology team arrives,” he said.
I laughed so loudly. I imagined I was shaking the entire emergency department. “Wait. You mean to tell me I was right? My feeling was right?”
“Yes. It seems you’re having a heart attack,” he said.
“Well, it’s a damn good thing I listened and came in tonight, isn’t it?” I said.
He finally smiled, and I saw a glint of life in his eyes. “Yes, it is, Rosie. Thank you for coming in. You’re in the right spot.” He left the room. Eric laughed and said, “And we are gonna fix you, Rosie.” We exchanged a lazy high-five.
“I knew it, and I know it.” Love washed over me. Warmth. Then relief. The tears came. I stared at the ceiling, just giggling and crying, “Pidamayaye. That means thank you, Eric. Thank you so much.”
According to my doctors, I was close to death. My heart event was the widowmaker; they said—99 percent blocked. I’m 46 years old, very active, fit and healthy. At the time of my walk with Spirit, I was a smoker. I am no longer a smoker. I no longer work 90 hours a week as a small business owner, and I am making even healthier food choices. I am wopida tanka that I listened to Spirit, trusted my body, my instincts, my woman’s intuition, my Bison and walked through the doors of the ER. Grateful for this second chance.
This rebirth.
