My Heart Attack 3: State of the Heart
June 7 I finally got medical treatment for chest pains. It was a heart attack. This chronicles my experience for those curious, looking to understand why eating healthy is important, as well as for my own later reflection. Thank you to everyone that kept my situation private. It meant a lot and has led, I believe, to a more positive recovery.
My sister left the ER when my Mom arrived. I had implored them to leave me so they could pick up what they were doing and give me some space, but it wasn’t happening. My baby sister was in my room when I arrived, so it was her and Mom. Mom, being somewhat of a loner herself, understood and left, but shortly, my sister the nurse came back to deliver some clothes and toiletries. I was grateful, but injured and confused and I really wanted to find some room to breathe and some clarity that I couldn’t get trying to entertain them. I just needed to clear my mind and rest to get my blood pressure under control, and I couldn’t do that with them interrupting me to answer the nurse’s questions without giving me a moment to attempt a response. They were awesome, but I was scared and stressed, and when I’m hurt, I want to be left alone. With my baby sister’s new Social Work degree, she managed to draw my other sister away with her pointing out the importance of respecting a patient’s privacy and autonomy as as essential component of recovery. They did nothing wrong, the hospital I was at had a reputation for being lax and making mistakes, and as a professional, they all wanted to make sure that my care was up to their standards, but I needed more than just treatment to deal with what was happening. It’s just how I work. I’m a loner at the best of times and I needed a little while to pay attention and understand everything that was going on on my own.
In other words, yea, she was pretty pissed off when she left, I invited the whole family back the next day, but they continued to give me space and I was grateful. I asked them to not mention it on social networks or outside of the immediate family for similar reasons. I didn’t want distractions from understanding what was currently happened, and I didn’t want the anger that would flare if I saw a single “prayer request” for me online. I have medicine to take to get better that actually works.
Still, my sisters grabbed me a sandwich and chips from the cafeteria and I managed to inhale it, saving the dessert for later.
My confidence and autonomy restored, I could examine my situation: I had had a myocardial infarction because my arteries were clogged with a lifetime of saturated fats. It had snuck up on me slowly, and now I was wearing my jeans and shoes with a linen hospital gown, my chest was dotted with various white squares and circles of sensors for various EKGs that I had had over the last few hours. The nurse in the room had added a few more and hooked those leads into a wiring harness that displayed my vitals on a monitor. Every time my heart rate dropped below 60 or my blood pressure rose above 150, it would softly ding a warning. It was excellent biofeedback to concentrate on as I tried to relax to keep the tightness in my chest from worsening. I didn’t really have any chest pain following arrival to the hospital. They had given me a nitro glycerin patch that would be replaced every 6 hours for the next 2 days, a blood thinner (sonufabitch that shot hurt!), and asprin, and being off my feet, unable to exert myself, I had been quite comfortable up to this point.
That comfort was about to end. After reading the internet and chatting with some close friends on my phone, fatigue hit and I began to doze off. On cue, the night nurse entered just as I was falling asleep (watching a Marx Brothers movie on the hospital movie channel) and went over print outs of what happened to me, what causes it, what I should expect next, as well as a standard chart of treatment showing a general timeline. She expected I would have heart angioplasty and then they would keep me overnight for observation and I could probably go home Friday. She was great. She was concerned with me getting the important points, so she would gloss over some non-essential stuff, explaining I needed to read it later, then she would stress one part that was essential to my recovery. It made me feel better.
She said that I wouldn’t be able to eat or drink after midnight until the procedure the next day, so I should eat up while I could. I finished the apple the sister’s had picked up and drank the last of my drink at 12:02. I wouldn’t eat or drink again until 9–10pm that night. It was real. I was going to have angioplasty and stents were going to be installed in the sites of the plaque to ensure it can’t get another hold. Just like Dad and his 12+ procedures of this kind. Family history is a bitch.
Once she left, immediately, her assistant came in for another vitals check, then someone else showed up to draw blood. Finally, I was left alone with maybe a couple hours to rest. Well, rest the best I could in a tiny possessed hospital bed and a torture cuff on my arm.
Finding a comfortable sleeping position in that bed was frustrating. The blood pressure cuff checked my blood pressure every 15 minutes. It was irritating, but became just a background issue. The irritating part was that it was rubbing on the sore spot on my left arm where the blood had been drawn and the line had been stabbed into my arm missing the vein. It quickly got red and bruised because it turned out the meds I was given make me bleed easier and therefor bruise easier than normal. This, I also got used to. The part that kept me away most, other than the inability to sleep on my side as was natural, was the bed randomly deflating and inflating all day every day that the bed was plugged in! I suspect it was to prevent bed sores. One 2 square foot section of the mattress would slightly deflate, then another section would inflate, gently shifting me around. I guess it replaced flipping patients. It was distracting and hard to ignore, but by the second day, it was almost comforting. With a little work, I managed to contort onto my side: enough slack was given to the sensors on my chest that I could turn onto my right side as long as I kept my right arm straight through the side rail allowing the IV line to not get twisted. If it did, the IV would start dinging until I got the kink undone. I was exhausted and welcomed some significant sleep.
Immediately, I was aware of the nurse returning. My eyes opened, at least, but I was still in a sleep state. She had asked a question about when I last took a medication, but I had no idea how to answer it, or do anything, I was just staring trying to recover my wits and she alternated between apologizing and asking more questions while she checked my vitals. I must have been asleep for two hours, but it felt like only a minute. She chuckled and told me how bad she felt waking me up since I obviously was so comfortable and sleeping so well, but she had to check on me regularly!
I was still stunned when she left. I managed to fitfully sleep through the night until more vitals, more blood was taken, and more medical people arrived in the morning. Of course, I never found that comfortable spot again.
Thursday was going to be eventful. One doesn’t think about the effect certain moments have on everything that comes after. Sometimes, a big moment will happen that will affect the outlook and routine so completely that it’s known as a Paradigm Shift. On a Thursday afternoon, my life would change forever.