I got up close and personal with the health care system last week when I had to have a second stent placed in a heart artery. At least I didn’t wait to have an actual heart attack this time, as I did 22 years ago. Jogging, my canary-in-the-mine, alerted me to the fact that something was amiss.
In the last two weeks, I aborted three jogs within five minutes of starting because I was experiencing high chest—something. It wasn’t pain, but it didn’t feel right. The first episode was on September 12 on the Ocean City boardwalk, the second in a local park, and the third on the boardwalk again last Tuesday. I got back to the house and called my cardiologist’s office. They gave me an appointment for October 2. “Don’t go jogging over the weekend,” the nurse advised.
Okay.
Of course, when I had my heart attack, it happened unprovoked at 6 a.m. as a dried off after a shower. I had been experiencing symptoms while running back then, too. I called my GP who gave me a treadmill test. I passed with flying colors. A week later, I’m on my knees in the bathroom with a “10” pain. I called my GP who said it’s probably just indigestion. Indigestion never brought me to my knees, so I drove to the hospital.
If you ever want to get served right away in an emergency room, say you’re having a heart attack. Only time in my life I experienced express VIP treatment. The heart attack was confirmed. I had a stent put in at Temple, rehabbed, and have been heart-healthy ever since.
Until last week.
This current episode was starting to have déjà vu written all over it.
The cardiology office called back on Wednesday to say they had set up a stress echo for Thursday at 1:30. Can you be there?
Uh, yes.
I get to the hospital at about 1:10. They take me in at 1:40. I’m dressed in jogging attire because I know I’m going to be on a treadmill. I leave a packed bag in the car in case they admit me. This is a bad news/worse news scenario. If it is my heart that is not good. If it’s not my heart, what to hell is going on?
I’m feeling fine, as I have been when I’m not jogging, and I just know that the symptoms are not going to show up today. I feel like apologizing in advance because I am wasting people’s time.
After they get the baseline reading of my resting heart, we wait for the cardiac doc to stop down. She shows up about ten minutes later, and we go over why I am here, and then it is up on the treadmill.
I start out with inclined walking. There are now four people in the room with me. When the machine starts to speed up, I begin to feel the spreading discomfort in my chest. I know I am not imagining it because the two techs monitoring the waves on a screen are pointing at the anomalies they are witnessing and whispering to each other. Dr. Mazza is asking me to describe what I am feeling. “Same thing I’ve been feeling when I jog.”
Houston, we have a problem.
The test is aborted after about seven minutes, and I am back on the table for more pictures of my thankfully still beating heart.
At least this was worth everyone’s time.
After a few minutes of study and deliberation, the doctor recommends admittance for overnight monitoring and transfer to Lehigh Valley to the cath lab for further evaluation.
“The waves are consistent with a blockage,” she informs me.
The doctor did not have to persuade me.
One of the techs is assigned to keep me company until a bed opens up. I recognize her from my routine nuclear stress test in July. Her name is Sharon.
“I can’t believe this,” she says. “I just checked my notes from July to see if I missed anything. Your EKG today looks a lot different.”
We chat amiably for about 30 minutes before she wheels me up to the telemetry ward. Sharon is kind enough to get my bag out of my car as I get accustomed to room 205A.
Next writing, I will cover my stay in two hospitals.
The Q-View 