Ever Had A Heart Attack? Let Me Tell You About One

I’ve had a few TIA’s (Transient Ischemic Attacks), and they’re not comfortable. But they didn’t prepare me for what happened about a week ago.

During the morning of that memorable day I as usual went to work on my computer polishing a novel I’ve been writing, rewriting and polishing for years. I quit about 1 p.m. and had lunch with my wife before we returned upstairs for an afternoon nap. My wife was downstairs in the kitchen when I awoke. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Then my world of peace and comfort abruptly changed into one of confusion and unending pain.

It began with a pain in the center of my chest about the size of a baseball. I thought it might be gas, or a cramp and I went through the usual stretches, grunts and groans to alleviate it. It got worse, not better. The thought struck me: I’m in trouble I yelled to my wife: “Peggy, call 911!” My reaction wasn’t fear, but process. Something has to be done – soon.

My wife is a bit hard of hearing. She was cooking in the kitchen when I called. By some magic or miracle (I prefer the latter), she not only heard me yell, she reacted instantly and without question.

I was dressed at the time in my writing uniform – summer shorts and a t-shirt. Previous experience told me I’d soon be in the ambulance on a bumpy, painful ride to the hospital. I reached for a sweat shirt to keep me warm and turned to go downstairs so that the attendants wouldn’t have such a tough lift. I didn’t make it – I fell unconscious on the bed. And that’s how I was found.

My heart wasn’t beating (I was later told). The operators immediately performed what they call chest compression – they pump the chest repeatedly until the heart beat satisfies them. In the course of doing this they accomplished two things: 1) They probably saved my life; 2) They ripped from their moorings the muscles and ligaments that lay below the ribs (fortunately, they did not break any ribs).

The journey to the hospital was predictably painful. When I arrived in the emergency room, I presented the doctors with two problems: 1) A heart attack; 2) Physical harm to my body because of the way it had been handled (necessary, but also damaging.)

Except for medication to dull pain, whatever its source, the heart got all of the attention. Up one corridor; down another; in one bed; out of another. Move this way, please; move that way. Each maneuver was made for a sound medical purpose so that the main goal could be reached as soon as possible – the stabilization of the heart. But each movement also did something else – it made the muscle/ligament problem worse.

I was transferred to the heart ward for monitoring and rest when treatments were ended and a stent was in place. It’s not an exaggeration to say that at that point I knew nothing but pain. Wherever I moved, knife-like pains shot across my chest. Medications were increased; eventually, they (with good reason) included morphine. I couldn’t get in/out of bed – a catheter was inserted; fortunately, I became constipated.

This state of affairs continued for four days. A daily mini-battle of wills occurred each time when the nurse changed. I tried to manage pain and minimize further damage to the chest; sometimes the nurse had other ideas. Usually, we formed a plan that involved minimum movement of the injured area.

On the fifth day, it was obvious that I was no longer a heart patient; muscle/ligaments and the related pain were the remaining problems. If I could get in and out of a car, I could go home. I opted to try. And with the help of a strong friend, I made it, painfully but successfully.

I couldn’t get in and out of bed during my first two days at home, so I got my sleep on the downstairs couch. Going upstairs for anything would have been impossible absent the chair lift I had installed a few months before.

As I sit here today, about one week from the day of the heart attack, my chest pain is perhaps half as severe. I can get in/out of bed with my wife’s help and I can walk the hallways of our townhouse with the help of a cane. A nurse and a physical therapist keep an eye on me a few days of the week. The end of this nightmare is near.

If your lifestyle invites heart problems, it’s possible that reading this column will help you to mend your ways and save you from the experience I’ve just described. A heart attack ain’t fun. Avoid it if you can.

Robert Kelly, author of several books on baseball and history/politics, is also a freelance, award-winning journalist whose work has appeared in many newspapers. His latest books, The National Debt of the United States and Neck and Neck to the White House, are available at Amazon and the better bookstores. His e-mail address is bobkelly17@comcast.net