My Heart Attack 2: Stop Dragging My Heart Around
On June 7, 2017 I finally got medical attention after 3 days of steadily increasing chest pain. Instead of doing the right thing and heading to the ER, I went to a clinic that was not equipped to handle anything that serious. My sister, a nurse, was relieved when they ordered me to not drive to the hospital, and that I needed EMT assistance. During this whole ordeal, I did not post anything to Facebook or any social media because I didn’t want to worry people unnecessarily and I wanted to focus all my energy on dealing with the situation, not entertaining guests. I’m now sharing this story to alert people not familiar with the dangers of chest pain to get it checked quickly. I was lucky, my heart attack was a very slow onset.
The EMTs showed up in minutes. Like the casting of the cool, funny medics with a serious side from a medical TV drama, they were hilarious and looked like they had been cast carefully in their roles. The heavyset EMT was kind of a quiet good-old-boy with a sparkle in his eye and the dark haired, tall, thin medic was covered in tattoos with an easygoing gregarious manner. Before they even set eyes on me they were teasing each other mercilessly as they entered the room.
They said hi, and I let the doctor (who looked a lot like the Cigarette Smoking Man from The X-Files) catch them up. He told them that they had given me aspirin on top of the aspirin I took at home, the EKG was normal, but blood pressure was high, and the chest pains (he used the word angina) coupled with my family history had all the signs of trouble. Making a quick joke about the word “angina” they walked me over to a stretcher and strapped me down. My sister would meet me in the hospital.
This EMT team was the one I wanted treating me. They were precise, confident, and despite the constant teasing banter, they were absolutely in perfect sync. While one was taking care of a task, the other was already starting the next task until I was quickly wired up to a mobile EKG. (Tall EMT: “This thing cost $20,000!” Good Ole Boy EMT: “Almost as much as your bar tab.” Cue canned audience laughter.) The EKG looked normal.
I wasn’t in a very cheery joking mood, but I really appreciated these guys. I pointed out my sister following the ambulance, and they offered to prank her. I had told them she was a nurse, so they offered to get out of the ambulance with some of the most terrifying props they had in the ambulance to make her think I had crashed out on the drive over. As hilarious as I agreed that would be, I told them they wouldn’t have to face her unforgiving wrath for the rest of their lives and for once in our lives, chose to NOT to take an opportunity to mess with my sister! There was a lot of laughter on the way to the Johnson City Medical Center.
I thanked them as they dropped me off in my treatment room at the ER. I hated being back here because the last time was a scary, but minor inflammation of the kidneys that cost me a fortune, even after insurance, but I could have probably dealt with by taking a bunch of ibuprofen. I had spent 6–8 hours waiting on that trip, and I didn’t relish the thought of doing that again.
They gave me ANOTHER EKG (it “showed normal sinus rhythm”) in the Emergency Room and took some blood. Lots of the usual ER stuff. I was surprised when, in about 20 minutes they said they were admitting me because they had tested and found that my cardiac enzyme level was slightly elevated at .08 indicating I was most likely experiencing a myocardial infarction, better known as a heart attack.
With this diagnosis they got to work, checking, re-checking, and accidentally checking again my personal info and prescriptions. I was given a nitro glycerin patch which gave me the cranial sensation of a wicked hangover without the pain, as well as the devil of a painful shot to the belly containing a blood thinner. (I would have 2 more of these shots to the stomach and both were unpleasant and created a miserable burning sensation radiating out from the site of the injection. They also decided to give me IV fluids.
At the clinic, a nurse had arrived to put in “a line” to act as a quick access to an IV or introducing any intravenous medicines. She was pretty confident as she slid the needle into the front of my left elbow, but her confidence didn’t make it hurt any less. I mean, it was PAINFUL, not like most shots or IV lines I had ever had, it ached.
Well, in the ER, they examined the line remarking on how old-fashioned it was, telling me that model had been replaced years early because it wasn’t as user friendly as the current design. As they removed it, it was obvious to me, but I appreciated hearing the nurse confirm, “oh, they missed the vein.” That hole in my left arm would ache for the next 3 days as blood pressure cuff after blood pressure cuff rubbed against it. It was maddening. It would also be the arm that blood would be taken from most often, so that was a tender spot for a week after. Fortunately, there were no serious effects.
They put a line in my right arm and within the hour, they told me they had a room for me! This was the fastest ER visit of my life! Oh wait, I thought, that’s a sign of how serious this is.
My mom arrived to keep me company, but at this point, I didn’t want anyone to stay with me. Their worry and the need to console them was distracting, and preventing me from really living in the moment and understanding the situation. I asked for a little space, and the response was, of course, that of love, kindness, and concern trying to wrap me in a cocoon of comfort, but that’s not what I needed! I asked my sister to go and enjoy her evening. I begged mom to stop worrying and go home. I asked my other sisters to give me space, I needed to process it all. My oldest sister wasn’t happy, but she left. Mom, however, whom I probably pull my anti-social and stubborn personality traits, stayed. She accompanied me up to my hospital room where my baby sister, who worked in patient counseling at the hospital, was already in a chair.
I adored them all, but I needed space. I tried to nicely encourage them to go home and enjoy their evening knowing I was safe in the hands of professionals, but it wasn’t long before their concern started to get to me and I irritably asked them to go. I appreciated their love and strength, but I needed to retreat into my own thoughts and understand where I was and what was going on, and I couldn’t do that with people I wanted to be with around. Is that counter-intuitive? I don’t know. All I knew was that I was a wounded animal that wanted to slink off somewhere still and quiet.
My baby sister, who had been quietly studying for her Masters, convinced the others to leave. Mom stormed out first, then she left a bit after. I was left in peace for the next couple days, and that was what I needed. My oldest sister, the nurse, was concerned that, without her there, I or my doctors might miss something, but I appreciated the space. It was essential to my personal wellness also because having people, even those I love around, triggered my social anxiety making my chest tight and my blood pressure rise, and I needed to focus on relaxing. I can’t thank them enough for that, and not mentioning it on social networks. Only my immediate family knew what I was going through, and even two days later, when I was released, only my work team and a couple friends would be the wiser. This too was to give me space to deal with it and to relax free of irritating sentiment.
The Nurse had told me that I was going to have a catheterization and stents put in the next day and that she would be back to go over what to expect. That was nice, I work best understanding expectations. I felt like a pincushion and had 10–15 sensor pads all over my chest from all the different EKGs. I managed to sleep a little between nurses interrupting to check my vitals.
Next time, I am moved into my room at JCMCH and I learn what true pain is.
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