I recently suffered a heart attack. It was the first time in my life that I was seriously ill. When I returned home, I wanted to send a thank you note to all the friends and business associates who took the time to call or write my family while I was in the hospital. I got a little carried away with the note, but several people have told me they enjoyed it and thought perhaps some of the things would help others who might have to experience something like this. I have changed it slightly from the original, but it remains a rather rambling account of my experiences and some thoughts as I went through this. If you think it would help others, feel free to print it.
First, I want to thank everyone who called and wrote and expressed concern, especially for Helen and the girls while I was in the hospital due to my heart attack. I seemed to have put them through some traumatic times. I knew I would be okay. I don't know why I knew that, but it never dawned on me that something might go seriously or permanently wrong. But, it seems my girls were quite scared and I was a little too busy to reassure them. Of course, they know me well enough that they wouldn't have believed a word I said anyway.
The rest of this note is just the story with some of the details from my point of view. As usual, my point of view is seldom the same as anybody else's. Yes, I know this was serious and it finally hit me after everything was really over. But, you can't take all of life's disappointments and surprises too seriously, or it will give you a heart attack or something. So, smile and thank the Lord for another day!
The last several weeks had been pretty hectic, but nothing like the mayhem of last year. A few quick trips and I was starting on a new project that actually sounded like it would be fun to do. I had put together a preliminary outline and had a call scheduled with a customer to review what needed to be done. I actually knocked off work a little early since I thought I was ready for the review. Supper wasn't ready, so I had a little snack. Well, OK, a big snack. There was a can of peanuts open, so I finished them off. Yes, I know they give me constipation, but that's a small price to pay every once in awhile.
My 17 year old daughter, Lisa, was going out with one of her friends, and wouldn't be home for supper, so Helen fixed one of my favorites, Ham and Bean Soup. Actually, we usually forget the ham and it isn't really soup, but it is something I overeat every time she makes it. I think it goes back to the days when my Mom and Dad were raising seven kids in the 40s and a big pot of beans went a long way if you were quick to the table! Now, yes, I also know that this causes the opposite effect on my digestive system as the can of peanuts, and I have made that mistake in the past and had to get up in the middle of the night to let the beans and peanuts have their little war in my belly. But, it is usually a short war with a rather explosive smelly outcome and then everything goes back to normal. No problem.
So, I wasn't really surprised when I woke up about 12:30 Friday morning feeling like hell. I had a strong burning pressure sensation right smack in the middle of my chest. Right about the old solar plexus. The peanuts and beans had obviously started their grudge match and it was going to be a doozy. It didn't take took long to have me promising myself to NEVER do this again, since this was the worse case of indigestion I had ever experienced. And, all the things you do to relieve the pressure didn't seem to be having any effect at all. In fact, even after the anticipated smelly explosive result, the pain just got worse.
Finally, I woke Helen up and told her I wasn't feeling very well. She could have figured that one out herself, as I was pretty much doubled up and groaning and moaning. Somehow or the other, I was on the bedroom floor and couldn't get back up. I was beginning to think that maybe something else was wrong.
Now, I don't know about you, but every movie I ever saw where somebody has a heart attack, the grab their chest, complain of sharp shooting pains that seem to move around. That was not what I was having. My pain was centralized, a constant burning pressure sensation. Like a severe case of heartburn or indigestion. But the peanut/bean battle had finished, and the pain not only stayed, but was getting worse. I thought about calling 911, but who wants paramedics to come to your house in the middle of the night to give you a TUMS? I wasn't even thinking heart attack, because it wasn't what I thought one would be like. Hey, I remember Redd Foxx and Sanford and Son ... I know what THAT is suppose to be like, and this ain't that!
After about 15 to 20 minutes, I somehow was in bed and finally told Helen to wake Lisa up and call 911. It was hurting enough, I didn't care about being embarrassed, I just needed help and relieve. Helen immediately went upstairs to wake Lisa up. The pain was getting worse and I remember regretting the order of the tasks I had given Helen. I should have told her to call 911 first! But, she woke Lisa up a did call almost immediately and the paramedics arrived within a matter of minutes, although it did seem longer. I was still sure that I was going to be very embarrassed about this whole thing when it was over, but there were about 5 guys around my bed poking and asking questions and generally getting me very confused. They seemed to be speaking mostly in some type of code but would ask me a question every once in a while. One of the questions they asked me was 'Who is the President?' Now, you know I couldn't resist such a great opening as that, but as I started to form a rather honestly sarcastic reply, the pain got worse and I simply said 'Clifton'. That's when I knew I was sick!
These 5 guys started putting hoses and needles and other forms of torture all over my body. I still had no idea what was wrong, but they seemed to thing something wasn't right. Maybe, I wouldn't be so embarrassed after all. Finally, the decided to put me in the ambulance. I thought that was just because they had some equipment in there that they couldn't bring into the house. So we did the 'don't move your body, but scoot over here' shuffle and they got me on a gurney and rolled me outside and into the ambulance. Some guy hooked me up to more tubes and machines and he kept talking to somebody else about how things were going. Nothing made sense, but it seemed that somebody was worried. We sat out at the curb for about ten minutes while he futzed with some stuff and continued to talk in code to somebody on the radio. I thought they would bring me back in the house as soon as they got the right codes, but, unbeknownst to me, Lisa had already taken Mom up to the hospital. Finally, I guess things settled down enough, and the ambulance took off and we went to Baylor Richardson Hospital just a few miles away.
Once there, they wasted no time at all in wheeling me in and a whole bunch of people gathered around to speak in the code language, poke and prod and find a few more place to stick needle, tubes and anything else they seemed to have laying around. Now, one of the question they keep asking is, 'On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worse you ever had, what is the pain now?' I had started at six back at the house, and it was getting better, but still very painful. I had gotten down to 2, but didn't want them to stop doing whatever it was they were doing to make it better. I didn't have the energy to go into fractions and was afraid they would stop if I said one. I asked if we could start over with a higher number, since it was better, but still bad.
About this time, there must have been about ten people around me and I hadn't seen Helen or Lisa yet. I was getting very tired and exhausted, both from the pain and the numbering system confusion. Someone came over, stuck their fist in my mouth and put a small pill under my tongue. I heard someone say 'Nitro Pill'. I finally realized, I was having a heart attack. I closed my eyes for just a second to catch my breath.
As soon as I opened them again, there were about three times as many people around and I was even more confused. 'Where am I?', I asked. I saw a guy in green surgical gear leaving the room and I heard somebody say, 'You can let the wife and kid in now.' I didn't know it, but my heart had stopped. and they had used the electric paddles on me to give me a quick jump. I have no memory of that at all, but I believe it since my ribs are still a little sore where they zapped me. Somebody, presumably the guy leaving in the surgical gear, had just saved my life! I still haven't met him, but I sure want to thank him for knowing what to do!
I heard some of the emergency room people explain what had happened to Helen who I could now see off to the side. I kept looking for Lisa because I wanted to let her know I was OK. Lisa was there, but kept behind Helen. I don't think I looked real good right at that time. But, they were there for me and I knew everything would be OK.
I guess when your heart stops, you are kind of dead. I have read how this happens to people and they say the saw a bright light. Mine was complete blackness! We won't go there other than to say it wasn't my time, so they hadn't turned on my light yet. Actually, I am very happy it wasn't my time.
By now, most of the pain was gone and I found out they were pumping me with morphine among other things. I know morphine is addictive and I already have enough problems with nicotine and alcohol and I can't afford another one. Eventually, they moved me to the Intensive Care Unit and things began to settle down. Lisa and Helen stayed with me until they knew I would be OK. I had a nurse with me constantly. Once of her rules was that, even though I am flat on my back, I can't cross my legs, not even my ankles. I try to explain that I normally lay in the fetal position with everything crossed, but I seem to have lost all authority over such things. She uncrosses my ankles quite often! But, ever so gently. She seems to have taken personal responsibility for my immediate recovery. I have lucked out again and found one of the nicest people in the world just when I need a little TLC.
Helen and Lisa finally leave and come home. My old daughter, Kathy, is away at college and of course doesn't know that all this stuff has happened, so Helen calls her about 5 AM. The phone goes off in the dorm room. Now, the dorm room is pretty much like you would expect. There is an answering machine, and a cordless phone somewhere in a dorm room shared by two young girls, Helen calls, but can only talk to the answering machine, 'PICK UP THE PHONE' is the constant message as she refuses to hang up. It seems college girls do not wake up quickly at 5 AM but they hear Helen shouting to pick up the phone, but first they have to FIND the phone! Finally, finding the phone under a pile of dirty laundry, Helen lets Kathy know what has happened. Within seconds, the entire dorm is awake wondering what in the world is the matter. My girls seem to be very worried about me! Kathy decides to come home as soon as she can. She told me that she remembers stopping to get gas, but can't remember paying for it and doesn't really remember any of the drive home. She makes it in record time and when I hear the stories, I say a little thank-you prayer for cruise control, which she tells me she used. Of course, my girls didn't raise no dummy Dad, so I tactfully avoided asking what speed she had it set on.
Later that morning, Helen, Lisa and Kathy all come to visit me in intensive care. Helen has the bravest front on, Lisa can now look at me and gives me a big hug and Kathy is now home and give me a hug and a love also. My world is returning to normal. I know everything is OK now, but their world, I find out, is still topsy-turvy and they don't know, like I do, that everything is OK now. All I need to do, is get out of intensive care, spend a day or two in observation and go home. I have it all planned out.
The first problem is that to get out of intensive care, I have to urinate in the bottle. First, I have never been able to urinate on demand. I had to borrow some of my buddies urine once when I was in the Army, or I would still be there! Besides, I haven't eaten or drank anything for hours other than all the stuff flowing through the tubes and needles. So, not only can't I go, I can't go! This, I find out, is no excuse. There seems to be a federal law or something that you have to urinate to get out of intensive care! I am given a deadline, which passes without event after several hours. Finally, I am given another deadline and told that the alternative is catherization. I know what that is and now the pressure is really on. Wrong type of pressure. The new deadline comes and goes and for the first time in my life I experience one of my worst nightmares!
The next day, after getting out of Intensive Care, I filled that bottle up eight times! I begin to look for places to stash some extra in case I ever have to produce under pressure again!
So, finally, I am out of ICU and looking forward to coming home. Not so fast! Nobody know why this happened and obviously we have to find out. It is time to do some tests. Of course, we have to make sure we find a place where the tests can be done 'in network' so the insurance will cover them and it is Saturday, so nothing will be definite until Monday morning. Welcome to a weekend in the hospital. If only the administrative people and the insurance people would work around the clock like the nurses. We wait.
Finally, it is decided I need a cardiac catherization (there is THAT word again), but it is not done at the friendly little hospital I am at, it is done at the new big hospital up the road. So, I get another ambulance ride. Never again will I complain about Super Shuttle. At least Super Shuttle allows me to be decently clothed and sit in an upright position. But the guy in the back with me gives me the first semi-lucid laymen's explanation about what is going to happen. It is done thousands of times a day, he tells me, I doesn't hurt a bit (hardly at all) and people have said they wish they had done it years before. I think this guy used to be a used-car salesman. But, by this time in the process, I realize I really have no choice. It is like one of those 28 hour trips to Asia, where you check in at the airline and just keep going with the flow until you come out of the system at the other end. Anything out of the ordinary only makes things worse, so you grin and bear it and try to remember, that, this too will pass.
The test is scheduled at 9 AM the next day and you have to fast for eight hours before the operation. Not bad, no breakfast and we get it done and over with. Of course, the schedule changes and it is rescheduled for 2:30 PM. So, I get to wait around all day. Oh, and did we tell you about the recovery? After the procedure, you will have to remain on you back and keep your leg straight for 6 hours! Wonderful!
Shortly before the procedure, we watch a film about what they will be doing. Actually, it is amazing what they can do now. The will insert a guide wire in my leg (actually the groin) into the artery and use a joy stick to maneuver the contraption up into my heart. I will be awake, but, they tell me, I won't feel a thing. If I do, I should let them know! Wait a minute, will I or won't I feel something? Believe me, if I feel something, everybody within shouting distance will know that I felt something! As the film concludes, I look over to Kathy. She hates the sight of blood or anything related to it. She is on the floor in the fetal position with her hands over her eyes and ears. Thank God she is majoring in Special Education, not Medicine!
Once they get the contraption in the heart, they release a dye to make the x-rays more readable. This is one of the few things you actually do feel. As soon as the release the dye, you can feel it travel through your veins almost immediately from your heart in all directions. It was like I had a sudden brief awareness of the entire vein grid in my body, from the back of my throat to my butt! It only lasts a brief second, but I can tell you I have a very fine extensive and amazingly symmetrical vein system!
Once the dye is released, the rack you are mounted on moves and the torture instrument (they claim it is an x-ray machine) all begin to move and they begin to take pictures. It reminds me of star wars or something. The room is brightly lit, but when they want to take x-rays, the lights go out, the x-ray machine moans and groans and moves all seemingly at random. This continues for about 15 or 20 minutes. There are TV monitors to the left that you can see. That is MY HEART! It is beating and vessels are jumping around and the technicians start to get excited about a particular scene or two. They continue to move the bed and monster machine around and mumble something about there it is. They tell me I may feel a funny feeling shortly and not to panic, they are opening the balloon. I never really felt anything, but they seemed to have had their fun. They tell me I may feel something funny again because they are going to place the Stent. A stent is a little metal mesh thing that they leave in an artery that holds is open. It has been close to 45 minutes and I am getting tired and losing my ability to think that they are talking about somebody else instead of me. About this time, they tell me everything is out, everything went fine, and they will have pictures to show me what a great job was done by all and congratulate me. Now realize, that through this whole ordeal, since I found out I wouldn't be embarrassed about calling 911 over a case of indigestion, I have NOT been worried, scared or overly concerned. Aggravated maybe at all the hassle and sorry I scared my girls so much, but I never doubted for a minute that I was going to walk away from this unscathed. Other people were worried, but I wasn't. I knew this wasn't the time. A wake-up call maybe and yes I will have to change a few things, but everything is going to be okay, I just have known that for the entire time. And now they are telling me the whole thing is basically over, everything will be fine and I'll be going home tomorrow. What would a sensible person like me do at this time? Right, NOW I have an anxiety attack. It seems like it takes them forever to get me out from under that damn x-ray machine. They keep telling me everything is fine and every time they do I get more nervous, I start to sweat and my blood pressure, which was find through the whole procedure starts to go crazy! Don't ask me to explain it other than that I used my old self-delusional 'everything will be fine in the end', ' don't worry about what you cant control' mind games on myself and it worked again but now I realize it. They give me some extra medication to get my heart rate back down in the triple digit range and let me work myself back to reality. They worse part is that it delays when they can wheel me back out to recovery where I can see Helen and the girls. Finally, I come back to my normal goofy self and we get wheeled out and see the most important people in my life. Life is good again. Once more night and it is back home and back to normal. I can't wait.
They bring me back to another room for recovery and I learn that one of my arteries was closed over 90%. That is what caused the heart attack. The balloon and the Stent have opened it back up to 100%. If I take care of myself, I should be back to normal in no time. Now before you make too many assumptions, I was told there are four main factors in this type of problem.
They are gender, age, smoking and diet.
Males are much more likely than females to have this problem. There is a surgical procedure that could put me in the other category, but I refuse to entertain that thought! Besides, my insurance wouldn't cover it, it would reduce the risk only slightly and I wouldn't have a thing to wear!
Age, I can't really control. I have always said I don't want to grow up and have done about everything I can to avoid it, but time takes its toll. You have no choice.
OK, so I have smoked. For 36 years, minus several long painful months. I won't bore you with my unsuccessful attempts at quitting, but don't be judgmental unless you have had the same problem. Smoking is one of life's little pleasures. Yes, it IS a pleasure. And it soothes my nerves, helps me tolerate some of the rudest and most obnoxious people in the world and actually boosts my productivity, even though I have to make a lot of trips out behind the parking garage. Today's 'conventional wisdom' normally places smoking somewhere between child abuse and weapons of mass destruction. How wrong they are. Sure, after 36 years, it probably contributed to this problem and maybe now I can quit. But, it sure has been enjoyable and I will always miss it.
Maybe you just can't find it in yourselves to empathize with the smoking. but when we get to diet, perhaps you can understand. I don't care what your diet is, if you like it, it is not good for you. If you hate it, you should eat tons of it. Me, I like a bowl of salt with some meat and fat-fried potatoes to dunk in the salt. Tell that to a dietitian and watch THEM have a heart attack! No salt, no cholesterol, no fat, basically no taste!
So, there will be some changes. I refuse to switch genders and can't do anything about the age thing, but my chief cook and bottle washer is helping me make changes where we can. It is a damn good thing that she is also my best friend and lover, because this part ain't going to be easy, but we will both make it through somehow.
Well the last painful part was the six hours of laying on your back immobile with a 40 pound sand bag on you groin (really, I didn't make that part up!). That was the longest six hours of the entire experience, but once it was done, the incision is healed and I got to come home the next morning. Kathy went back to college to take her tests before spring break. Lisa was on spring break this week. She thinks she or Mom should be here at all times to keep an eye on me, but I am fine. A couple of doctors appointments, a couple of pills for a month or so and everything should be back to normal craziness. I had my wake up call and will be more careful and will probably set my priorities a little different than I used to. I realize now that I was really lucky to get the care and attention I needed when I needed it. I am so happy that all the decisions were made on a strictly medical basis by a very talented and competent team of medical professionals. I hope that part never changes. If the decisions were made by government bureaucrats or insurance company bean counters, I would probably be dead. I was reluctant about the changes in the company medical coverage and I haven't seen what this will eventually cost me, but I am glad that the coverage was such that coverage and costs were not the decision factors. And the next time I get off topic and on my soap box about teamwork, I won't use a sports analogy. If you want to see real teamwork in action in real life situations, go watch a medical team, from the first 911 call to the final resolution. What a varied cast of characters that all seem to work so seamlessly and unselfishly. If we ever want to do something with a teamwork theme, let's go talk to some of these guys!
Sorry this has rambled so long. It has been somewhat healing for me to just sort through some of the memories and lessons and thing about what could have been. I hope to be a better person, but I don't want to change too much either. So, just humor me, put up with my silliness and share a funny story with me every now and then. We can't get out of this life alive, but we might as well enjoy what we can as we go.