Mrs. Shark Sandwich was out of town with the kids and my mother-in-law camping (Orlando - an hour away), with a planned trip to Disney World on the 15th, and I was looking forward to a long weekend of hanging out with some friends from my college days. I took Friday off for some golf; planned to play Saturday too. We had a poker game lined up for Saturday night. We were going to drink some beers, hang out, watch a couple of movies with lots of fist fights and explosions, eat a bunch of food that contains the word “cheesefood” and “cheeze.” Frozen pizzas, frozen burritos. Foods that don’t require to be cooked, only to be thawed.
I’d been feeling a bit tired for the past few weeks, and I’d been having some pain in my left shoulder blade, but nothing I would define as crushing or incapacitating. Nothing that made me stop to catch my breath. Nothing that made me clench my chest. I didn’t fall to my knees, gasping for breath. My jaw and neck didn’t hurt. My left arm didn’t hurt or tingle. Hell, I even went to the doctor’s a few days before, and they sent me home with a prescription for muscle relaxers for my shoulder pain.
But that Friday on the golf course, I knew something was wrong. I just…knew it. My shoulder would ache just walking the course, or from the green to the cart. Again, it didn’t stop me in my tracks, and it would go away in about 30 seconds and maybe not come back for twenty minutes. Sometimes it would come back sooner, sometimes later.
I had two beers on the course, and one in the clubhouse after the round. When I got home I decided to lay down for a quick power nap; got up about 45 minutes later. Went to get in the shower, and the pain in my shoulder came back. But this time, it was a helluva lot more intense, and lasted a helluva lot longer. I called a buddy of mine and he whisked me off to the emergency room.
The emergency room on a Friday night is an interesting place, and this night it was packed. But apparently “chest pain” is the secret code word, because I was in before they asked my name. This was at about 6:30pm. The said for chest pain they’d automatically admit me for 23 hours for observation, and if two blood tests came back negative, they’d schedule me for a stress test the following day.
So, nine hours, two blood draws (5 hours apart), an EKG, and a chest x-ray later, it was confirmed: I’d had a heart attack. Cancel stress test, schedule heart catheterization. Results? Two 90% blockages in my left anterior descending artery. They installed a stent on Monday the 17th, I was released from the hospital on the 18th. They told me that there had been recent advances in stent technology, and if this had happened four years ago, I would’ve required a bypass.
My age? 39.
I’m not overweight. I’m 5’9", and weighed 175lbs. I’m physically active. I surf, play golf, run daily, lift weights. We eat well. I only eat junk (like I was planning to that weekend) when my wife is out, and the guys are over watching the game, etc. and that’s not very often. My cholesterol was a bit high, but within “normal” limits. My blood pressure was perfect.
Sure I had some of the risk factors: I was a “medium” smoker (about a half a pack a day for about 15 years). I had some family history of heart disease. When I asked my cardiologist how this could’ve happened he said that where my blockages were is indicative of two things: smoking and family history. And apparently it was enough to do the damage. Did I know about my family history? Yes I did. Was I an idiot for smoking while knowing it? Yeah, I’d say I probably was.
So now I take nine pills a day, and have to limit my total daily fat intake to between 30 and 40g. It’s been recommended that because I’m on blood thinners now I should change to a soft-bristled toothbrush, and stop using a regular razor and get an electric razor. I carry a card around in my wallet now that says I have a “CYPHER Sirolimus-eluting Coronary Stent.”
And I’m a non-smoker. Haven’t smoked since the day I had my heart attack, and haven’t wanted to. It’s amazing what the brain can do. I’d been fighting to quit for a few years. Tried some prescription pills, nicotine patches, etc. Nothing worked. But when a doctor in a lab coat is sitting across the room from you telling you that you HAVE to quit, I guess your brain just flips a switch. I’ve had no withdrawals. No desire to light up. I’m just…done.
I have friends who smoke but since this happened, some are trying to quit. And some aren’t. I’m not going to stay away from those who aren’t though. I’m also not going to look down my nose and preach at them to stop. There’s a joke that smokers share: the only thing worse than a non-smoker is an ex-smoker. I’m going to answer questions if they ask them. But I’m not going to push them to quit. They can take my experience and learn from it, or not. They’re adults. They can make their own decisions about their lives, and their health. I hope they do learn from it though.
So I won’t try to convince the 'Dopers out there to quit. But if I could pass on just one piece of information from this whole thing, it’d be this: listen to your body. The doctors and nurses in the emergency room commended me for coming in to get checked out. They said most 39 year-old males probably would’ve dismissed it as something else, and taken an aspirin and waited for the pain to go away. Then a few weeks later, either have a massive heart attack, or they’d start feeling pain again and go to the hospital, and they’d have heart damage because they ignored the pain earlier.
I know there are people out there who are a helluva lot worse off than me. Some may be reading this now and thinking, “you think YOU’VE got problems?” I realize I’m lucky compared to some, and not so lucky compared to others. I don’t want to compare scars, or incite the wrath of those who have no vices, be it smoking or what have you. I just wanted to throw this out there, and think that maybe someone read it and it made a difference.
Thanks for reading,
- SS