Thanks for the good wishes! purple haze, I remember most of what I deleted, so here’s your big, long, rambling shaggy dog story:
I was 33 when it happened. I’d quit smoking cigarettes about ten years earlier. I was overweight; about 5 pounds more than I weigh right now. Still, I walked or rode my bike daily, and did weightlifting…my cardiologist has told me that the strength of my heart is actually the main reason I haven’t died. Just a week earlier I’d carried 200 8-foot 2x4’s and 30 sheets of 1/2" plywood up four stories by myself without any pain or anything. I’m still overweight, but my blood pressure, pulse rate and cholesterol are all lower now. Anyhow, it felt sort of like it does when an adult elephant is doing a pirouette centered on your chest (I guess). I puked my guts out and kept on retching for a while, but the problem, unknown to me, was in a coronary artery and couldn’t be expelled that way. I flopped onto my back on the bed for a moment, gasping and trying to figure out what was happening. I called 911 and told the operator about the pain I was having and he suggested that I see a doctor (I know how to talk to 911 properly now). I decided I was having a heart attack or the worst heartburn ever on the face of the earth, and so I would go to Jewish Hospital…because they’ll be familiar with both heartburn and heart attacks and will know the difference and besides, I was born there…it’s as good a place to die as any.
So I drove on over to Jewish and found the parking garage. First two floors were ‘Doctor Parking Only’, the next two floors were ‘Valet Parking’ - WTF??. Finally, the 5th floor, red level, said ‘Patient Parking’ and I says to myself, ‘self - this is it!’. Parked the car and staggered to the elevator. It opened and a nurse got out: I confirmed with her that the ER was on the first floor and she warned me that it was all under construction down there…I’d be fine if I just followed the signs. So I followed the signs and I found the ER. I got behind the man who was talking to the lady at the window and when my turn came, I asked her if this was the place someone should come if they had a heart attack. She said no, she was the cashier, and I wanted those doors over there (pointing), so then I entered the ER (for real this time). I asked the lady at the desk if this was the place to come if one were having a heart attack and she said yes and asked who was having the heart attack and I told her I was. She told me to have a seat and someone would be right out. My butt had scarcely hit the chair when Grizzly Adams, RN (the guy was HUGE and bearded, and that was still unusual 20 years ago) came looking for Mr. 3acresandatruck…no, not me…he wanted the one having a heart attack. Yeah, that’s me, man…
We discussed momentarily why I thought I was having a heart attack: my family history and the pain that was now in my chest, both arms, my jaw and the back of my neck and skull, whereupon he whisked me away to an examining room. There we encountered the resident, who’d likely been rousted just for me, poor guy. He was doubtful, but didn’t throw me out. That disappointed me, as I really wanted them to tell me “Get out of my emergency room!” Alas, they hooked me up for quickie cardiogram. While it was running, I heard the doctor and Grizzly out in the hall talking about the brief family history I’d given: you don’t want to hear them say something like “Wow! Fucking classic!” Suddenly all my doubters were converts: not only had I had a heart attack, I was right in the midst of a massive MI at that very moment.
It suddenly looked like an episode of some hospital show, but much more business-like. Within seconds there were IV’s in both arms, lights shining in my eyes, questions and needles coming in from everywhere. A portable x-ray machine appeared (the thing was nearly as big as a VW bug, with some tiny little gal pushing it), the blood pressure cuff went on, and they explained what streptokinase was (a clotbuster), as they injected it through one of the IV lines. Heparin, saline, and who-knows-what was also getting pumped in; then they explained to me that I was being admitted as soon as a bed was ready. Apparently the x-ray told them where the clot was, because now they seemed really surprised that I was alive, much less conscious. They wanted my car keys so a guard could move my car out of the emergency lane and kind of freaked out when they realized I’d parked my car in the garage and walked in. They hauled me up to the cardiac icu, where all the cardiogram electrodes were yanked off, so they could put their electrodes on (youch!!). Grizzly Adams, RN was helping the icu nurses get me settled, trying to get my boots off (he remarked that people with MI’s usually had the good manners to show up wearing slippers, rather than dressed for an assault on Everest). I was still in pain and showing arrythmia, so they very graciously injected me with some morphine - good stuff!
I called Dad and gently let him know what had happened; he’d had about 20 MI’s by then, and I didn’t want to upset him too much. But he went and got Mom from work. Her boss let her off early even though it was against the rules, especially on a holiday. They got to the icu about 10 or 11 AM. First thing Dad said as he came in was “Wimp! One measly heart attack and you go to the hospital?” The nurse shot him a dirty look, but it was perfect…I was laughing and told him he was the weenie; it took a strong man to abide being wired and plumbed up the way I was.
Anyway, I got lucky and survived. I got yelled at once for shaving while being pumped full of blood thinners, but it was worth it to get clean. A week later, I agreed to have this ‘new thing from Europe’ done (an angioplasty): there was a doctor from Belgium (or was he Swiss?) who did the actual procedure as several others watched. It must have been educational, as they had some trouble with the blockage and had to use two different balloons. When they’d inflate the balloon, it felt like another heart attack. I did my part and told them where the pain was; then they’d deflate the balloon and do it again. It was unpleasant, as the room was chilled to keep the equipment from overheating and I had to lie on my back on a bare steel table. They told me not to move: “If you move, you could die”. Alrighty then. When I got so achy from laying still on the metal slab that I couldn’t take it, I told them and after about ten more minutes, they lined up on both sides of me and shifted me imperceptibly. Damn, that didn’t help at all. My poor Mom and Dad were waiting in increasing panic the whole time, as we’d been told it would take about 90 minutes, but lasted a little over 4 hours. Then I had to lie still, flat on my back for 24 hours, till they decided the procedure had worked and they removed the guide tube…it was about 3 feet long and, of course, dripping with blood, when they pulled it out the next day. It was another four hours waiting for the doctor to release me. Then I almost escaped on foot, but they caught me at the elevator and made me sit in a wheelchair till Dad arrived to take me home. Good thing, too…I found out later that day that more than 25 yards on foot and I’d be so exhausted that without assistance, I’d collapse.
