Last Monday I got up early to mow, trim, and edge the backyard before the heat of the day. I finished around 9:00 and was getting ready for a shower when I started feeling some pain in my chest. I laid down on the bed and told Nancy what was going on. To make a long story short: 911...Rapid Response arrives in 3 minutes...ambulance shortly after that...Mike (EMT) says, "John, you are having a heart attack!"...sirens...coded...paddles 2 times... ER...cath lab...stent...coronary care unit (CCU) by 11:00 and for the next 30 hours...regular hospital bed after that...back home on Thursday.
The pictures above tell the whole story...if you're a doctor. That's my right coronary artery, and in the picture on the left, it's blocked. The doctor had no trouble finding it since apparently there was a frowning-face on the scan pointing to the problem. The picture on the right, taken 9 minutes later and after the stent was in place, shows things pretty much back to normal. When I got into the ambulance, the paramedics hooked me up to monitors and transmitted the data to the hospital. Doctors at the hospital diagnosed the problem, and that's when Mike the EMT told me what was happening. According to my family doctor, from that point until I arrived at the cath lab took only 11 minutes! I returned home in almost exactly 72 hours.
As I write, I am happy to report that I feel just fine. Except for the bruising at various points around my body where doctors and nurses inserted needles and things, I could probably convince myself that it never happened.
Lots of people were and continue to be instrumental in both my physical and mental recovery. What can I say about the Rapid Response Team that showed up within 3 minutes of dialing 911? And the paramedics/ambulance just a few minutes later? I've heard lots of negative comments on TV and in newspapers about our 911 system, but I'm a believer. Mike and the other paramedics kept me alive (and it wasn't easy) until we reached the hospital. The cardiologist in the ER, Dr. Cheng, made the quick diagnosis, and Dr. Strickland placed the stent. And there was the person who throughout that part of the treatment kept telling me that everything was going fine and that she'd been keeping Nancy up to date on their progress. The CCU teams headed up by RNs Laura and Elizabeth did everything they could to help me along including apologizing profusely every time they had to rip off a bandage, stick in another needle, or otherwise poke, prod, and pressure as necessary.
And then there were the other people. The family members and friends who called, or left messages, or visited, or sent emails, cards, flowers; they are helping my mental recovery. My son, who rushed up from Birmingham that first day and my daughter, who was trying to get here from Arizona until it was clear the danger had passed. The guy I used to work with, Jerry, who kept all my former coworkers up to date and was among the first visitors. A dozen or so other persons from work who dropped by with kind words of encouragement and prayers. An important person, Myra, who didn't visit me, but came to the hospital several times to visit with Nancy when Nancy couldn't be with me and needed support. My niece, Leila, a doctor herself, who spent an hour on the phone with me after I got home translating the details on my medical report into words of comfort that I was able to understand. And last night a note from Melissa that, hands down, made my day.
But most of all, there's Nancy. She hardly ever left my side. When she had to go home to get some sleep, she called on the phone just to be sure I was OK. And I'm positive that those 72 hours were much, much longer for her than for me. She not only had love to offer, but being an RN herself, she joined in on the ripping, prodding, and poking. And she stayed calm and reassuring just as long as she had to.
My heartfelt (that's the right word) thanks to all of you. As Nancy would say, we were totally blessed by everything that happened after those first few minutes.
On the lighter side, click anywhere in this paragraph to see the get-well card from my almost-5 year old grandson Jackson. He did wonder how you could "attack a heart"!
