My Big Event

 I must say, despite all the good things that have been happening in 2021, it kind of feels like 2020 is still trying to get in a few good licks before it completely leaves my system.

In January, I was stressed beyond coping with everything that was going on: all the political crapola that was happening and being spilled over all of social media; the Old Woman continuing to drive us nuts; and of course personal finances (because not getting paid at the first of the month when you’re supposed to because all your bills are due then is just so much fun). Early one morning, I was awakened by a pain in my chest that wouldn’t go away. I listed all the symptoms of a heart attack, and the only one that fit was the pain, so I just figured it was asthma and tried to get back to sleep.

Not happening. Giving up on sleep, I got up and took an aspirin, which didn’t alleviate the pain. Then I took a hit of albuterol and the pain eased. So did my breathing. Asthma. It sucks.

Then, in the early hours of the 8^th of February, I was once again awakened with chest pain. I assessed what I was feeling: chest pain? Check. Jaw pain? Nope. Left arm pain? Nope. Tightening in the chest? Not really. Difficulty breathing? I’m asthmatic, so it wasn’t much different than usual.

What WAS I feeling? It felt like a pillow had been stuffed into my chest. A very hard pillow. But the difference this time was the pain in my back and what I can only describe as tingling “tracers” running down the backs of my arms. There was no relief in changing positions. I might have been a little nauseous, but it didn’t last long. Nothing read “heart attack” to me, according to what I’ve read about them. Later in the morning, Tammie and a friend finally convinced me to get checked out.

I called the non-emergency number for the local fire department and asked if I could come in and get checked out. “Of course, but are you ok to drive, or do you want us to come to you?”

The last thing I wanted was an ambulance sitting in the driveway. The Old Woman would have a cow, the dogs would lose their minds, and I really wasn’t in the mood to give the neighbors a show.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The paremedics met me at the door and ushered me into a small room, hooked me up to the ekg and chatted with me about symptoms and stuff while the machine did it’s thing. The captain strongly suggested that I go to the ER because, while THE EKG WAS NOT SHOWING ANYTHING ABNORMAL, but he was concerned with my slightly elevated blood pressure.

I made them promise to not run lights and sirens.

We got to the hospital, where I was placed on a most uncomfortable gurney and hooked up to more monitors. There was a lump directly under my tail bone that, after an hour, had surpassed the pain in my chest and I set off alarms trying to get comfortable. I apologized and tried to be still. Blood was drawn, calls were made, and I heart someone at the nurse’s station say, “St. Joe’s is full. Longview has a bed, but they require a negative covid test.” Mind you, I was not the only patient in the place, so I didn’t think anything of it.

Until that nurse came in with the angry hamster on a stick and jammed it up my schnozz. “It’s a covid test. Longview won’t take you unless you’re negative.”

“Oh, my god, that hurt. What do you mean Longview?”

“We’re transferring you to a place with a cardiac unit because we can’t diagnose you here.”

Another ambulance ride and I was in Longview. More monitors, and of course, none of them use the same leads, so it was slap on, rip off, slap on again, rip off once more, and slap on. I felt terminally sticky. And MORE blood draws. IV’s hooked up, and so many beeps, hums, buzzes... They put me in a bed with one of those air mattresses that adjusts to keep you from getting bed sores, but this one was protesting my excess weight and refused to stop running. The whole time I was in it, that damn thing sounded like someone was waxing the floors right outside my door. But it was a pleasant distraction from all the beeps of the IV’s and monitors.

Within an hour of my arrival, I was listening to the doctor say a bunch of words, but only two stuck fast: “heart attack.”

“Wait… I had a heart attack? My heart attacked me? I thought we were friends!”

“Your enzymes are elevated, and continuing to climb which indicates damage, so tomorrow we’re going to do a procedure called a cardiogram and go on a tour of your heart. If it doesn’t look too bad, we’ll put you on meds. If it looks bad, we’ll put in a stent. If it looks REALLY bad, we’ll transfer you over to another hospital and they’ll do a bypass.”

“Um… ok.”

Now, mind you, I was NOT prepared for ANY of this, emotionally, or physically. I had NO change of clothes, NO phone charger (and my phone battery is notorious for lasting all of five hours on a charge, and it was already quite low). Contacting anyone had to be done quickly and via text (and only a couple of them). Fortunately, when I mentioned this to a nurse (around eight pm). She let me use her charger and I was able to bring my phone back to life, but since the battery had gotten so low, I would have to wait about 45 minutes to use it and she was going off shift in an hour, which meant I still wouldn’t have a full charge.

Fortunately(?), I was kept too busy to do much communicating. More blood draws, more questions, forms to sign, and at some point, someone brought me a tiny snack at 11:30 because I was going to be NPO at midnight and I hadn’t eaten since noon. I was having a hard time thinking about anything other than what was happening and the fact that both my parents, and my maternal grandparents, died from “cardiac events.”

I needed comfort, a friendly voice, some contact with my family, but… the charger was plugged in and the phone was out of reach, unless I got up from the bed to get to it. In order to get out of bed, I would have to call the nurse to have her come in and move the IV stand. I felt she had better things to do, so I stared at my phone and willed it closer. It didn’t work. Besides, I had no news to share, nothing new. I needed to get some rest, which was hard. Then my gut decided it had been good long enough and didn’t want to hold on to anything.

Three hours later, I felt like I’d shed 50 pounds. I was sure the bed would stop vacuuming all the air from the room, but no.

The next day was a waiting game of blood draws, IV’s of nitroglycerine that, let me tell you, WILL give you the WORST headache, and of course, I was not allowed aspirin, only tylenol, so that was fun. I did get an ice pack, which helped a great deal, but damn, that hurt. Fortunately, it was time to go in for the procedure. To keep me calm, they gave me a valium. To keep me alive (because I’m allergic to the contrast) they gave me a shot of benedryl.

I’m not sure what hit hardest, the valium or the benedryl, but I was pretty out of it by the time they rolled me into the OR. Of course, the pain wasn’t affected by the meds, and they were still doing all the jabbing, so that was lovely, but by the time they were ready to start invading my heart, I was happily snoozing and didn’t feel a thing.

Until the end.

They had put a compression bracelet on my wrist to keep the incision site closed. They’d held my arm in whatever position necessary for so long, my shoulder was on fire and my wrist was screaming. I must have struggled a bit because someone was telling me to relax and everything will be fine.

One question for medical personnel: WHAT THE HELL IS IT ABOUT NOSTRILS THAT YOU NEED TO JAM THINGS INTO THEM??? Seriously. I was starting to calm down when someone stuffed a grumpy hedgehog up my right nostril.

“What the hell was that for?” I demanded. The doctor said something and the nurse sounded defensive.

“It’s to check for MRSA. It’s IMPORTANT!” Just like that. To the doctor. And probably me. I kept my thoughts to myself after that.

TL:dr I had two heart attacks. My symptoms were NOT textbook, which is why it took TWO of them to get me to the hospital. I am now a card-carrying member of the “thing in my heart” club declaring my stent-in-residence. Also, there is residual heart disease, so I’ll be on a “heart healthy” diet for the rest of my life (which I fully intend will be long). It will be an adjustment, but it’s for the best. My body has been trying to get my attention for a long time to take better care of it. Apparently, diabetes wasn’t enough of a warning for me, so this time it brought out the big guns and, this time, I listened.