Halloween Frights
On the 21st, I had a heart attack.
My grandfathers both died of heart attacks - rather suddenly, and young - they were both in their mid-fifties. They had the misfortune of having heart disease in a third world country and in an era where medicine still had far to go. When the doctor asked me if I had a family history of heart disease, I forgot about my grandfathers.
It's an easy mistake. They died ten years before I was born. I never met them. I barely know their names. I know nothing of their personalities, likes, desires, or dreams.
Had I remembered, I might have seen the same pattern happening to me, now, even sooner than it happened to them. I'm a victim of diets far worse than they had, though I'm spared the smoking and alcohol which likely plagued them and was common to men of their era.
One of the arteries that feeds my heart was 99% clogged, and there was nothing to have announced its deficiency. My cholesterol was good - 'mildly elevated', my doctor called it. No big deal. My glucose - good. My blood pressure - better than good. "Textbook," they called it.
And yet, late on Friday evening and Saturday morning, I had chest pains. When you see Heart Attacks on TV, it's always someone clutching their chest, bending over, struggling for breath - there is panic, the paramedics are called.
That's not what happened with me. I had chest pains - and although they were mild, they were persistent. I didn't have problems breathing. I didn't feel dizzy or weak. Once, I felt the pain radiate up my neck, and down the back of my arms like I hit a funny bone.
I debated going to the emergency room. It's probably something else, I'm feeling tired, I convinced myself. Going to the ER is costly, I don't want to just randomly show up.
I took a quick nap. Two hours later I was still in pain. I went to the ER. No ambulance (how much would that have cost?!?). I got Yazmina to drive me in.
The ER was doubtful about the symptoms. Anxiety, perhaps? They took my heart rate and blood pressure. Normal. Took x-rays of my heart. Normal. put me on the EKG. It seemed normal. Took a blood test...
The blood test came back with a marker saying that I had muscle damage. It's a sign, the doctor said, of a heart attack.
"I'm surprised," he said, incredulously.
I was put on blood thinners. Admitted to the hospital. Dozens of EKG and blood tests followed. The marker continued to climb. The chest pains subsided - the blood thinner did its job. The doctors were concerned, "We have to check your heart - angiogram is the best way," they told me. Fine. "But our lab is closed for the weekend, so we'll have to move you to another hospital. Also, you can't eat for 8 hours prior."
It was more like 16 hours, as it turns out, because it took a while for them to secure the spot, make sure I'm not allergic to the contrast dye and find transportation in a shuttle-ambulance.
As I waited for my turn, a higher priority patient - an older Sikh man - went before me. His was bad news. 100% blockages int two arteries and 90% in a third. They didn't want to proceed further without a heart surgeon. His heart is too far damaged, there is probably nothing left to save. His daughter handled the conversation. She begged for the doctors to not tell her mother - she'll freak out completely - she'll handle the conversation. Outside, the mother heard anyway. She wailed and cried, throwing up her hands in premature grief. The daughter went out to see her - and then it was my turn.
The doctor sedated me with Fentanyl. For all the crisis this drug brings on the street, I couldn't see the appeal. It didn't give me any euphoria. It did make the time seem to skip though, but it didn't make me very loopy.
"We found an artery clogged," the doctor said, after 40 minutes that seemed like 5. "We're going to put in a stent." I groggily agreed. We had discussed this possibility prior.
I was out in recovery soon after. I felt great. There was no pain or anxiety. The nurses took care of me.
I learned that the older Sikh man had consulted with the heart surgeon. "They think he'll be ok," they told me. "They're going to do a stent procedure on him, and if that is a problem he'll go in for bypass." The nurse paused. "But they think the stents will be enough for now." I smiled and agreed. It was good to hear the chance of a good outcome, especially after my good outcome. I didn't care that they could possibly be lying to make me feel better. They probably weren't.
The next 24 hours were slow. Were all my body functions working? Any pain? Any weird EKG readings? They ultra-sounded my heart. I could see it beating on the monitor, squirting false-colored rainbow blood from my ventricles. Here I had thought I wasn't the rainbows-and-candy kind of unicorn.
They released me, with a pocketful of pills. I was tired - I went home, slept some. I was back at work the next day. "Oh, I was out a day for heart surgery," I told my team. "No big deal. Let's get stuff done."
That sounded bad ass. Too bad it was pretend.
It has been a week and I feel good - fine even. I can't exercise much, though.
Tomorrow's Halloween. Day of the Dead.
I wonder what my grandfathers would have thought.