I had my first heart attack scare yesterday. I spent eleven hours in both the ER and a Cardio Observation room. I'm fine. Everything is normal. Thank goodness for enzyme tests. But, I now have a Cardiologist. Although the barrage of blood tests and EKG readings demonstrated I am in excellent health, hearing the nurses and doctors say, "At this age...", pick an issue, made me feel old. I don't feel old at all. Others remind me of my age. In my own head, I'm still young.
At least four to five times this last week and a half, I had been experiencing tightening in my chest between my breasts. It was right over my Schatzki Ring, so I thought it was just indigestion. I took Tums to relieve it. In most cases, the Tums worked fine. It seems most things give me indigestion or heartburn these days. It must be my age. Anyway, on Wednesday, I woke up with this tightening sensation again. I thought about it being something other than indigestion, but pushed that thought out of my head. The discomfort went away after about a half hour. But, the idea wouldn't leave my head because it had been about the third time that week that I felt it, so while I drove to my sister, Jeanne's, house to finish cleaning her yard, I called my brand new doctor's office from the road. I got angry with her because instead of making this simple, her office said she didn't have time in the next day or two to see me and advised me to go to the ER. I said, "No. All I want is a few minutes for her to listen to my chest and maybe put me on a EKG machine to make sure. I told them going to the ER wasn't going to happen. I wasn't going to spend the entire day in a hospital. I had things to do." The office called me back about fifteen minutes later to insist that my doctor wanted me to go to the ER. I said, "Maybe I will after I do what I want to do today," and hung up thanking them, but feeling very annoyed. Maybe I made the wrong choice in doctors. Maybe I should go see my old doctor while I'm in the area, and if necessary, I can go to the New Wellesley Hospital ER. I'm more comfortable with our family hospital, the one I grew up going to, anyway.
As soon as I walked in the door and said, "I just want to make sure I'm not having a heart attack." Before the full sentence left my mouth, a young woman was moving to meet me and escort me into a back area. She immediately brought me a "johnny" and told me to lay flat. She put EKG machine plugs on my chest before even taking my name. I was very impressed. I know that going to the ER on a weekend is not a great time to go, but we thought that a very early morning visit may be less busy. It sure was. There was only one other woman who walked in just ahead of me. A man was brought in by police officers shortly after me. We thought he may have been drunk. I never saw him. A nurse (I feel compelled to say, male, here because I so rarely see them, but don't want to appear sexist) came in and took my information, along with four other females doing the same thing within an hour; some nurses, some technicians. I felt so cared for. Larry joked I was just vying for attention as a nurse wheeled me to a curtained "room" past many handsome EMT's and police officers standing around. I echoed the joke.
In the next hour, I was put on a heart monitor and oxygen by Jean, a nurse who also drew blood samples, and was thrilled to tell us that at 65, she was finally going to retire in thirty days. We had wonderful conversations with her about how she'll love retirement, and she was just lovely. She had been working the night-shift for over twenty years, and was so done with it. She couldn't wait to have time to play with her grandchildren and walk her dog. She told us she was tired of working holidays, and missing Saturday weddings. She assured me that coming in was a good idea. I kept needing that reassurement.
The floor doctor came to see me. I told him I felt fine and a little silly because I didn't want to waste anyone's time. He said, "Oh, you're one of those. That's fine until they bring you in here dead. You should have listened to your doctor." "But she's new," I said, "all I've had with her is an introductory meeting. I haven't even had a physical with her yet." This statement seemed to justify why I couldn't trust her judgement, and had to listen to my own body. He wasn't joking, and I got the message. He told me I was at risk for arterial disease. Ok then. Never mind.
Within another hour, I was wheeled to an "Observation Room", a wing that was built in 1993. A very nice nurse, Pat, took care of me. A phlebotomist, Diane, took blood from me in two four-hour intervals, and also gave me two more cardiograms. I had fun joking with the two of them during the course of my stay. I became their "supply monitor" because my room was where they kept the supplies. I also counselled Diane, who had been divorced for twenty-two years and was ready to marry again and "be taken care of". I mentioned getting married late in life and being able to retire early because of it. She was ready for that. I told her to keep hope alive, her eyes open and get herself "back out there". It was fun! Plus, they fed me a not-so-awful breakfast and lunch.
Then, Dr. Farber, the Cardiologist came to see me. Pat explained that when my heart muscles are injured from anything, heart attack or disease, they emit enzymes that show up in blood tests. My new Cardiologist said that without other symptoms, he believed the chances I had been having heart attacks this past week and a half were pretty nil. My having a good session at the gym without symptoms was especially poignant for his preliminary diagnosis. He said if I had a heart attack on Wednesday, the enzymes would have shown up, and my first test was negative. Certainly if I was having a heart attack, enzymes would show up. "Let's wait to see what the rest of the blood tests show, but if they are negative, you can go home." They were and by 3:30 p.m., I was outta theyah.
He advised me that perhaps I was experiencing some reflux spasms, and put me on a daily dose of Prilosec. He also advised I take one full (coated) aspirin daily from now on, and his office will call on Monday to arrange a stress test, just to be sure. He also told me I cannot overly exert myself until after the stress test, so I had to cancel my peronal training sessions this week. Now I also have to bring in a doctor's note when I return to the gym. It's ok, though. As Eric said, "Maybe he has instructions for me too." I love positive people. I'll just walk the dogs every day until I can go back. Pat said that would be ok, but was adamant I should obey the doctor's orders not to exert myself. I promised to be good.
The pups were really thrown when Larry and I left the house at 4:00 a.m. to head to the Charlton Hospital Emergency Room, and were so happy to see me when we got home after 4:00 p.m. We stopped at CVS on the way home to get my Prilosec, and today begins a new day. I am much more heart conscious than I ever was, and will be more aware of how much I eat at any given meal. Portion control can be a problem sometimes. I eat pretty healthily in general, although my sweet tooth has kicked in again. Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. "Shut up and just do it!" OKAY! I acted just like my father: stubborn and in complete denial. The day he got out of the hospital after his heart attack, he went home and built a shed by hand, by himself. I judged him for it; now I get it. Geez. I'm glad I listened to my heart.
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