Home from the holidays

If you have a cardiac arrest outside of a hospital, your chances of survival are somewhere around 7.6%. If you have a smart, experienced doctor who listens to her patients and thinks about what they tell her – and if you’re scrupulously honest with her – your chances of actually having that heart attack go way down.

Some of you already know that I spent the day and night after Christmas last having a cardiac stent installed in my left anterior descending cardiac artery. That would be the one they call the “Widow Maker.” It was a life-saving procedure that probably rolled back the clock on mortality mine by a significant factor. 

Turns out the ol’ left anterior descending was worse off even than the stress echocardiogram  had indicated. The term they used to describe it was “95% occluded.” But I’ve seen the film, actually watched the film being recorded and I gotta tell you that “95% occluded” is probably an understatement. I watched the process of this artery going from damn near useless to positively surging with beautiful, oxygenated blood flow. And I’m here to write about it.

The procedure itself was fascinating and I felt much better almost immediately. Having to stay overnight in the hospital bed, measuring my “output” for the nurses’ amusement and eating food that validated every joke ever told about the stuff were collectively awful. But the procedure itself was actually riveting and – dare I say it – kind of fun. I really enjoyed watching the video feed as they fed this catheter through my blood vessels and approached the heart.  I could see the same four screens the docs used to guide their work and it was so cool!

I have to admit it got somewhat less cool when the cardiologist and the physician’s assistant said, unpracticed and in perfect unison, “Oh, wow!” At this point they went into whisper mode and I could pick out the words “…think we should continue?”

Anyway, it all went well, they put in the stent and I’m feeling better than I have in years. Funny how you don’t know how much you’re hurting until you stop kicking yourself. I’m enjoying my trips to the gym and trying hard to avoid eating the wrong foods. And life goes on – literally.

I’m tempted to write a much more contemplative piece revolving around my mortality and this recent near miss. Perhaps I will. But just now, I know a few things for sure and I’d like to share them with you.

I didn’t cancel a doctor’s appointment even though I was busy that week and really needed the work time. I’ve postponed lots of medical appointments over the years but I sure am glad I went through with this one. At this time of year, postponing would likely have meant putting the appointment off for several weeks – probably longer than I had.

Even though the appointment was just a medication check-in, my doctor took the time to ask me what else was going on in my life, and she listened to the answer. So when I said I was ramping up my weight loss program and particularly that I was starting a serious workout program, she asked me to hold off on the strenuosity and ordered a couple tests. And I listened. And I had the tests.

I have to let this simmer awhile before I write a more personal piece. The cardiologist said I had weeks, not months. It could well have happened at 40,000 feet over North Dakota. A month ago, time was not my friend. Now, I have years. That’s worth some thought before I write about it.

 I love you guys. Please, if you don’t have a GP like Anne Bankson, get one. And when she asks you a question, answer it honestly. And then follow the doctor’s advice.