A Serious Post- Not Kidding
A couple of months ago I had a “cardiac event”. I've decided to share what happened to me because there's a chance that my experience could help one of you to make the right choice if you have the sort of problem I had. It is not an exaggeration to say that I nearly chose wrong. If I had, I probably would not be writing this right now.
Some background is in order.
I have had a heart rhythm problem since 2006 which has been completely controlled by various pills. From time to time people have noted that I could be frequently seen lodged at the far end of our camp between sets. I took these comments with the humor that they were intended. The reason that I got into the habit of sitting on my throne under an awning was that for a time I was taking one drug that had four pages of warnings about serious side effects. The most amusing one was that if I go too much sun it could turn my skin bluish-Grey. It could make me weak if exposed to too much humidity and heat (duh, ren-faire). Oh, also the drug could deposit on my optic nerves and permanently blind me. I was glad to be pulled off that one eventually.
I'm a big (fat) guy. Each passing year makes me look more and more like my (big) Portuguese fisherman grandrfather. I don't eat that much salty or fatty food when I can avoid it; but you know how crappy the typical American diet is. I've been eating a lot more salads over the past two years. You may recall a shared recipe for the best damned salad in the world on this very blog.
I generally take my drugs on schedule, with few screw-ups.
That being said, I've gotten used to occasional blips in heart-rate and BP. Usually these are within an acceptable range.
Late on the night of July 1st, I was on the phone with a dear friend. We were doing a crossword puzzle. This is not a euphemism for anything. I noticed that my Heart Rate (hereafter noted as HR) was up a bit, but I blew it off. It had been up a bit through the day. We completed the puzzle, and she rang off and went off to sleep. I went on to my normal late-night Intra-tubes monitoring of world events. (It's part of my responsibility as a super-hero.)
I was aware that my HR was still climbing, but I didn't get too concerned. I didn't actually take my pulse. I just noted that things were a bit upbeat.
After a few hours I had a bit of a “dis-organized intestinal episode”....this IS a euphemism. I chalked that up to the familiar effects of the gout meds I take. I also was feeling dizzy, weak and a bit sweaty. The HR crept up a bit more.
I laid down on my bed and chilled for a bit Eventually it occurred to me that I should not be sweating in a room that was way too cold because of a poorly controlled central AC unit...It was about 64 degrees in my place and I was sweating. The sweating increased. The dizzy increased. I noticed that I was smelling unusually funky. the HR increased.
Throughout this, I was vaguely wondering in my dizzy state if this was serious; but I kept telling myself that I was being self-indulgently melodramatic. I kept trying to convince myself that I should get some shut-eye and that my HR would probably drop. I mean, after all, it wasn't like I was having a heart attack, just a fast HR...right?
At some point in this confused and ill-considered internal dialog I recalled two things from my past:
First, during a heat-strokish day at the beginning of fair last year, I was having a tough time getting cooled off even while Meredith was pouring ice water directly on me. I thought,” I'm okay now, but if things got bad, how could I get myself taken to First Aid with the least fuss.” The light bulb over my head went on at some point and I realized that If I was THINKING about that, then I should have it done BEFORE it got that bad. I was taken to an air conditioned area shortly after and everything turned out fine.
Secondly, many years ago, I was an actor in a training course at Georgetown Medical School.. I remembered reading in a pamphlet about heart attacks that people having heart attacks tended to deny that they were having a heart attack.
The light bulb over my head came on again. This could well be a return of my A-Fib event of 4 years ago.
I called 911 at around 2:30am, told them I thought I was having A-Fib episode. I unlocked the door, and dropped back onto my sweat-soaked bed.
Several large EMTs came into my place a few minutes later. The head EMT was a big burly guy named Mike.
Soon his team had stuck lots of electrodes all over me and put me on oxygen. The electrodes are used to show the wave forms as electricity travels through the heart. Different traces in the portable EKG show how the heart muscle is or is not pumping in response. Pretty soon Mike announced “This guy's in V-tach.”
“Not A-Fib, I queried?'
“V-Tach”.
I didn't need to hear that. Ventricular tachycardia is significantly more serious than the already fairly serious Atrial-fibrillation. I knew that the next step up is the hilariously titled Sudden Cardiac Death.
“ I'm gonna have to shock him.” They put a couple of contacts on my chest that were the size of slices of bread.
Mike's pal said that he was going to get the traditional sedative given to make the de-fib procedure less “stressful”. Mike promptly told him that there was not time. Goody
I was going to get zapped real good..
The capacitors whined up and Mike hit the button.
POW!
Years ago I used to be a martial arts instructor, so I've been thrown onto concrete gym floors and punched and kicked. I never took a hit like that in 20 years of martial arts.
When Mike punched the switch there was a bright red white explosion, while a big old popping sound filled my ears. Every muscle in my ribcage contracted at once....hard. I may have involuntarily punched myself in the chest; or it may have just been ribs getting to know each other.. It was VERY uncomfortable, but for the very briefest time, then it was over. Well, I thought, at least that's done with.
Then Mike said,” He didn't convert, I gotta hit him again.” Goody, goody.
The EMTs apologized 'cause they knew I knew what was going this time. It seems a slightly odd thing to do, to apologize for getting your heart beating normally.
So they started the charge cycle. The whine built up again, higher and higher. I knew it was coming any second now, and...
POW!
If those ribs got squeezed any tighter, I would have my lungs hanging out of my mouth. At least this time the cardiac rhythm was better.
They stuck me in the arm to run a 18 gauge IV line. The 18 gauge is just slightly smaller than the tunnels those cute little Austin Minis drove through in “The Italian Job.” Having one of those drilled into a vein can be a character building experience.
I was lifted out of the house by several stalwart fellows and deposited in an ambulance for the quick trip to my local hospital. They rushed me into the ER and punched a second 18 gauge hole in my other arm, and sucked a bunch of blood out of me for tests. I was trotted up to the cardiac care unit.
Over the next several hours the staff got my heart rate down from around 240 BPM to reasonable rates and various tests were completed. The cardiologist decided to do an angioplasty to reduce a blockage and inset a stent. Stents are tiny compressed metal tubes that are expanded within an artery to return the flow of blood to normal in a blocked vessel.
I needed to stay immobile for the next 6-8 hours while the hole in my leg healed up some. Bleeding out from the largest artery in your body is a bad way to spend the day. The downside for me was that extended periods of immobility can give me gout attacks; and this one brought a doozey. For the first time I got it in both knees at the same time. Let's take a brief moment to consider how this might interfere with common activities you might need to take care of over the day. Yeah...like that kind of stuff. Tedious. Timing became a matter of careful consideration.
The actual effects of the heart attack were slight. I didn't have a miraculous surge of vitality and power that some folks have after stenting. I felt pretty normal except for being unable to get around with two stiff knees.
By late afternoon of the second day I was recovered enough that I could be released. Paul dragged my sorry gouty ass back to his place. I was predictable in a zombie-like state of mind, as I had not gotten more than a few hours sleep before or during my stay at WAH. I took a nap for a few hours and then we had a quiet evening of music with Bob Zentz, his buddy Jean, Janie, Donna, and family friends.
So two days later, I was sitting with friends doing folk tunes. I had a metal tube in my heart, gout in my knees, and my right hip looked like I'd been hit with a bat.
I also had a normal heart rate, and dear friends nearby.
I'm doing well now. There's been no return of HR problems. There seems to have been little to no cardiac tissue loss; so except for the problem of paying for the excellent service I got, I'm in good shape.
The thing is that I had just a few of the traditional signs of a heart attack. I never felt any pain in my arm, chest, jaw, or back. The dizziness was from a heart rate so high that the heart muscle wasn't filling back up with blood on each beat. This meant that blood was not getting pumped to the lungs to be oxygenated. That meant that my brain wasn't getting what it needed; so I was getting more dizzy and stupider.
Why am I telling you all this?
Keep your eye open to that light bulb. If I had followed my confused instinct to sleep it off I probably would have not survived.
Make the call.
Some background is in order.
I have had a heart rhythm problem since 2006 which has been completely controlled by various pills. From time to time people have noted that I could be frequently seen lodged at the far end of our camp between sets. I took these comments with the humor that they were intended. The reason that I got into the habit of sitting on my throne under an awning was that for a time I was taking one drug that had four pages of warnings about serious side effects. The most amusing one was that if I go too much sun it could turn my skin bluish-Grey. It could make me weak if exposed to too much humidity and heat (duh, ren-faire). Oh, also the drug could deposit on my optic nerves and permanently blind me. I was glad to be pulled off that one eventually.
I'm a big (fat) guy. Each passing year makes me look more and more like my (big) Portuguese fisherman grandrfather. I don't eat that much salty or fatty food when I can avoid it; but you know how crappy the typical American diet is. I've been eating a lot more salads over the past two years. You may recall a shared recipe for the best damned salad in the world on this very blog.
I generally take my drugs on schedule, with few screw-ups.
That being said, I've gotten used to occasional blips in heart-rate and BP. Usually these are within an acceptable range.
Late on the night of July 1st, I was on the phone with a dear friend. We were doing a crossword puzzle. This is not a euphemism for anything. I noticed that my Heart Rate (hereafter noted as HR) was up a bit, but I blew it off. It had been up a bit through the day. We completed the puzzle, and she rang off and went off to sleep. I went on to my normal late-night Intra-tubes monitoring of world events. (It's part of my responsibility as a super-hero.)
I was aware that my HR was still climbing, but I didn't get too concerned. I didn't actually take my pulse. I just noted that things were a bit upbeat.
After a few hours I had a bit of a “dis-organized intestinal episode”....this IS a euphemism. I chalked that up to the familiar effects of the gout meds I take. I also was feeling dizzy, weak and a bit sweaty. The HR crept up a bit more.
I laid down on my bed and chilled for a bit Eventually it occurred to me that I should not be sweating in a room that was way too cold because of a poorly controlled central AC unit...It was about 64 degrees in my place and I was sweating. The sweating increased. The dizzy increased. I noticed that I was smelling unusually funky. the HR increased.
Throughout this, I was vaguely wondering in my dizzy state if this was serious; but I kept telling myself that I was being self-indulgently melodramatic. I kept trying to convince myself that I should get some shut-eye and that my HR would probably drop. I mean, after all, it wasn't like I was having a heart attack, just a fast HR...right?
At some point in this confused and ill-considered internal dialog I recalled two things from my past:
First, during a heat-strokish day at the beginning of fair last year, I was having a tough time getting cooled off even while Meredith was pouring ice water directly on me. I thought,” I'm okay now, but if things got bad, how could I get myself taken to First Aid with the least fuss.” The light bulb over my head went on at some point and I realized that If I was THINKING about that, then I should have it done BEFORE it got that bad. I was taken to an air conditioned area shortly after and everything turned out fine.
Secondly, many years ago, I was an actor in a training course at Georgetown Medical School.. I remembered reading in a pamphlet about heart attacks that people having heart attacks tended to deny that they were having a heart attack.
The light bulb over my head came on again. This could well be a return of my A-Fib event of 4 years ago.
I called 911 at around 2:30am, told them I thought I was having A-Fib episode. I unlocked the door, and dropped back onto my sweat-soaked bed.
Several large EMTs came into my place a few minutes later. The head EMT was a big burly guy named Mike.
Soon his team had stuck lots of electrodes all over me and put me on oxygen. The electrodes are used to show the wave forms as electricity travels through the heart. Different traces in the portable EKG show how the heart muscle is or is not pumping in response. Pretty soon Mike announced “This guy's in V-tach.”
“Not A-Fib, I queried?'
“V-Tach”.
I didn't need to hear that. Ventricular tachycardia is significantly more serious than the already fairly serious Atrial-fibrillation. I knew that the next step up is the hilariously titled Sudden Cardiac Death.
“ I'm gonna have to shock him.” They put a couple of contacts on my chest that were the size of slices of bread.
Mike's pal said that he was going to get the traditional sedative given to make the de-fib procedure less “stressful”. Mike promptly told him that there was not time. Goody
I was going to get zapped real good..
The capacitors whined up and Mike hit the button.
POW!
Years ago I used to be a martial arts instructor, so I've been thrown onto concrete gym floors and punched and kicked. I never took a hit like that in 20 years of martial arts.
When Mike punched the switch there was a bright red white explosion, while a big old popping sound filled my ears. Every muscle in my ribcage contracted at once....hard. I may have involuntarily punched myself in the chest; or it may have just been ribs getting to know each other.. It was VERY uncomfortable, but for the very briefest time, then it was over. Well, I thought, at least that's done with.
Then Mike said,” He didn't convert, I gotta hit him again.” Goody, goody.
The EMTs apologized 'cause they knew I knew what was going this time. It seems a slightly odd thing to do, to apologize for getting your heart beating normally.
So they started the charge cycle. The whine built up again, higher and higher. I knew it was coming any second now, and...
POW!
If those ribs got squeezed any tighter, I would have my lungs hanging out of my mouth. At least this time the cardiac rhythm was better.
They stuck me in the arm to run a 18 gauge IV line. The 18 gauge is just slightly smaller than the tunnels those cute little Austin Minis drove through in “The Italian Job.” Having one of those drilled into a vein can be a character building experience.
I was lifted out of the house by several stalwart fellows and deposited in an ambulance for the quick trip to my local hospital. They rushed me into the ER and punched a second 18 gauge hole in my other arm, and sucked a bunch of blood out of me for tests. I was trotted up to the cardiac care unit.
Over the next several hours the staff got my heart rate down from around 240 BPM to reasonable rates and various tests were completed. The cardiologist decided to do an angioplasty to reduce a blockage and inset a stent. Stents are tiny compressed metal tubes that are expanded within an artery to return the flow of blood to normal in a blocked vessel.
I needed to stay immobile for the next 6-8 hours while the hole in my leg healed up some. Bleeding out from the largest artery in your body is a bad way to spend the day. The downside for me was that extended periods of immobility can give me gout attacks; and this one brought a doozey. For the first time I got it in both knees at the same time. Let's take a brief moment to consider how this might interfere with common activities you might need to take care of over the day. Yeah...like that kind of stuff. Tedious. Timing became a matter of careful consideration.
The actual effects of the heart attack were slight. I didn't have a miraculous surge of vitality and power that some folks have after stenting. I felt pretty normal except for being unable to get around with two stiff knees.
By late afternoon of the second day I was recovered enough that I could be released. Paul dragged my sorry gouty ass back to his place. I was predictable in a zombie-like state of mind, as I had not gotten more than a few hours sleep before or during my stay at WAH. I took a nap for a few hours and then we had a quiet evening of music with Bob Zentz, his buddy Jean, Janie, Donna, and family friends.
So two days later, I was sitting with friends doing folk tunes. I had a metal tube in my heart, gout in my knees, and my right hip looked like I'd been hit with a bat.
I also had a normal heart rate, and dear friends nearby.
I'm doing well now. There's been no return of HR problems. There seems to have been little to no cardiac tissue loss; so except for the problem of paying for the excellent service I got, I'm in good shape.
The thing is that I had just a few of the traditional signs of a heart attack. I never felt any pain in my arm, chest, jaw, or back. The dizziness was from a heart rate so high that the heart muscle wasn't filling back up with blood on each beat. This meant that blood was not getting pumped to the lungs to be oxygenated. That meant that my brain wasn't getting what it needed; so I was getting more dizzy and stupider.
Why am I telling you all this?
Keep your eye open to that light bulb. If I had followed my confused instinct to sleep it off I probably would have not survived.
Make the call.