The doctors and nurses all called it the widow maker. Some may call it dark [humor] but the heart attack that I suffered three weeks ago tomorrow was a whopper. While riding to the first of two hospitals with four paramedics in attendance, it was the beginning of a very surreal experience. I have since been banned from using this word because I freely admit to having used it ad nauseum and probably have worn it out. What I would like to ban are the phrases, “you are the healthiest guy in the hospital” and “we cannot tell you why you had the heart attack that you did.”
The heart attack woke me at 0400. For a moment or two I debated on what to do. It was neither excruciating pain nor as if an elephant was sitting on my chest. Rather, it felt like I had been hit on my sternum with a line-drive baseball. When the pain started down my left arm, it was easy to recognize that something bad was happening. I finally woke my wife, whom I have looked to as the quintessential Dr. Mom for over forty-two years now. I calmly said, “I think I am having a heart attack.” No exclamation mark, no drama. She immediately jumped out of bed, popped four baby aspirins in my mouth, and called 911. Calling 911 also triggers all the alarms at the hospital so that they are prepared to treat you when you arrive, especially if it is at an odd hour as mine occurred. P.S. Never drive yourself or have someone drive you to the hospital, never wait to see if whatever you are experiencing “passes,” do not pass Go, because you will probably die before you collect your $200. Another lesson we learned is that with a heart attack of any magnitude, “time is muscle.”
The first ambulance managed to find every pothole in the local roads, and as a result only one of three IV ports managed to be placed in my arms. At the first hospital emergency room they got the lines in, shot me up with a bunch of drugs, deemed me stable, and then determined that it would be faster and better for me to be transferred to the hospital downtown where the Cath Team was already at work on some other poor heart attack victim rather than to wait for them to come to me.
In the Cath Lab I was not under an aesthetic for the procedure because they do not want to intubate. As a result, I remember laying there on the table, asking occasionally how it was going or what time it was, only to be told, “don’t move” and hearing, “give him some more juice,” which served to keep me in a “twilight” state but breathing on my own.
All told, I have written and published approximately seventy articles over the past seven years. What started out as a quarterly goal soon became a monthly one. I assumed that this practice would continue for many years to come. Reality Check: I am writing this article not quite three weeks after having experienced said widow maker, at 0430 in the morning, because I have spent the previous two hours laying sleeplessly in bed, composing and editing this opus. Second Reality Check: This may very well be my swan song. I do not know what the future will bring. I have garnered an appreciation that the past is gone, and the future a bright question mark, and that it really is all about Today, and that is why they call it the Present.
Ironically, over the years I have encouraged many of my peers to retire, to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy the next generation of their families, always figuring that time was on my side because of the continuing good health that I was enjoying.
For many years, a good friend of mine, a fellow general agent, and someone I respect immensely, and I have debated when we should start our Social Security benefits. With renewal income and such we assumed it would certainly not be before full retirement age (FRA), and most likely not until age 70, for allowing it to grow at eight percent per annum was tantamount to it serving as a growing annuity. Reality Check: His father waited until age 70 and died at 72, not even having received back all his own contributions to the fund. As a result, my friend began his benefits this past year at age 66. My dad died at 69, grandpas at 73 and 74 respectively. Yeah, next summer at 66 and 8 months, or FRA, we will join the ranks of Social Security recipients.
For 65 years, 361 days, I took pride (not bragging rights) in being able to report to medical professionals during annual physicals, as well as to peers, that I took no prescription medications. Further, I worked out for approximately 60 minutes every morning Monday through Saturday, and for the past five years have averaged 20,000 steps a day on my Fitbit. Reality Check: At age 66, for the next year and probably the rest of my life, I now take five medications throughout the day. I am now part of what my neighbor deemed and welcomed me to, as the Survivor’s Club. At our first follow up, it was a relief to learn that the side effects of one of the “better serving” medications is sleeplessness and nightmares/hallucinations. We have experienced both. The good news is that the nightmares and hallucinations have waned in intensity, and are nearly gone, but the timing of this article is proof that the sleeplessness has not dissipated.
At age 18 in 1976, I resolved to be around for the United States’ Tricentennial, and to live to the ripe old age of 118. Partially because I wanted to be around, partially because I want to torment my children and grandchildren with my own brand of Dad jokes, but most notably because without a goal or a vision, the people perish. Reality Check: This might be pie in the sky now. Despite being the healthiest guy in the hospital, I cannot escape my DNA, and this may not be in the cards, but I am sure going to give it my best shot!
I am no longer the Boy Wonder, nor the 19-year-old college graduate and newly minted Second Lieutenant in Uncle Sam’s Army. I am no longer the youngest captain in the US Army. Reality Check: I now carry a Medicare card (with disdain because Medicare is for old people) and my military ID card, which is still cool and also serves as my Tricare insurance card.
Just as being the child of divorced parents and the countless counseling opportunities that were afforded me as an Army officer made me a better attorney and lay minister, I know that this experience is affording me the ability to be even more compassionate and “dialed in” to those around me facing these life and death situations.
A good friend of mine who survived a heart attack and double bypass surgery some time ago, has been free with advice that I am grateful to have received. “Don’t let the fear in. Don’t let the depression in. These negative influences serve no purpose in recovery or in future life.” Reality Check: I get it. I have thus far avoided both negative energies, but nighttime is still a time of loneliness and increased vulnerability. A deep breath accompanied by a “twinge” of any kind is still a cautionary tale that stirs a little anxiety, but I am getting past this as well.
My now eight-year-old granddaughter has been a gymnast for a few years now. She was a state champion [for her age group] at age six. One of her idols is Simone Biles. We often tease her about competing in the 2032 Olympics when she will be sixteen years old. I never had a doubt that I would be around to be leading the cheering section. Reality Check: Now 2032 seems a long way off. I will be 74.
Yesterday, while we were visiting with some of our adult grandchildren, and my wife was reporting on the entire ordeal, I learned that the doctors had told her that I had been “minutes from death,” and had we delayed any of our actions I would likely have died. Reality Check: Holy cow! Why was I not informed of this little tidbit? This might be a real game changer after all.
What I do know is that I have been temporarily benched and put on the injured reserve list. No lawn mowing for the balance of this season. The docs have said that I should reasonably plan for resuming the lawn part of the yard maintenance next Spring, but maybe leave the tree trimming and heavy stuff as well as the raking of one hundred bags of leaves to the professionals. I can probably live with that compromise. All I need to do now is to sell it to the Boss.
I used to joke that I would probably die of a heart attack shoveling our “BA driveway”—not likely now since the Boss has already informed me that I should plan on permanently checking my snow shovel at the door. I am not too sad about that either, though, like mowing the lawn, there is a certain satisfaction that accompanies the completion of these labors.
Both doctors, their Nurse Practitioners (whom I respect and appreciate), as well as the ICU nurses and “counselors” in the hospital all asked the very same first question: “You are retired aren’t you?” I naturally responded jokingly, “Three quarters,” as I have been for the past twenty months working 10-15 hours per week. I assumed they would appreciate the attempt at humor. They did not, and universally advised that I consider immediate full retirement. Reality Check: This was a real moment of truth for me. Why would they say this to me? Learning as I did that this was a “monster” heart attack and that I had been “minutes from death” certainly reframed the issue in my mind. My initial reaction was to dismiss their counsel, but three weeks of enforced idleness under the watchful eye of my wife and primary caregiver, along with advice from many friends and associates, and well, maybe I must think about the future in a different light.
We all know that you avoid salt because of the tendency it has to create high blood pressure. You avoid saturated fats because of how it impacts cholesterol. My blood pressure and cholesterol levels are both perfect. So, what the heck? Nonetheless, I am on a low salt, low fat, low red meat diet. Not a terrible thing but looking at labels in the grocery stores on some of my “outings” is horribly distressing because of the sheer amount of sodium present in most of the foods we eat. Fortunately, I have been given license to still enjoy Thai food on occasion, so long as I am mindful of my salt and fat intake on a daily basis.
For many years I have been told that both my greatest strength and weakness is my optimism. When faced with the potential loss of a grandchild before his birth (the doctors were quoting a 99 percent fatality rate) I shared with my kids that someone must be in that one percent, and that our baby boy would be the one. He is now twelve years old, sporting a new Apple watch that he bought for himself with proceeds from his trash can washing business, and serves as an inspiration to me and another reason for me to stick around.
To this end, I am going to wrap up this piece with some of the Positive Affirmations and Realizations that I have adopted over the past three weeks.
- From my doctor who performed my procedure: “This was not a failure on your part. In fact, your choice of lifestyle (no alcohol, no tobacco, moderate diet, lots of exercise and activity) coupled with the quick actions taken the morning of your heart attack, saved your life. Any variation would not have allowed me to work on you and your surviving. You would have surely died.” The doctor continued: “Further, the procedure I performed is usually 20-40 minutes. I worked on you for three hours. I used every tool I had available, and yet was still not completely successful. I was able to place a stent in your vessel, but I was not able to clear the entire blockage. Nonetheless, your previous good health saved your life. Hopefully, the drugs will continue this process, and your heart will develop its own work around. Your heart has the same level of function as anyone else; the difference is that the bottom of your heart is not working, and the top portion is compensating for it.” I am choosing to view these comments in the positive spirit that the doctor intended them.
- I am neither damaged goods nor a walking and ticking time bomb. While I may not be jumping fences, or skydiving, or doing other “dumb” stuff (my wife’s characterizations) I am still alive and kicking with a whole lot of life yet to live.
- I am going to get back in the race but maybe driving at a reduced speed around the track.
- The outpouring of love and affection touched my [slightly damaged] heart in ways I never imagined.
- I am a much better caregiver than a caregiving recipient. I do not like having to be cared for but appreciate the concern that has been showered on me. It has provided me with an even greater appreciation for the need to be a clarion blast to the public about the importance of planning for long-term care. While I did not have to trigger my benefits as some of my friends have done after requiring open heart surgery, I realize anew that this is a big part of the estate planning process. I also realize that it may be time for me to pass the torch in this endeavor.
- My wife has framed this experience as a “moment of change” and probably an even greater “do over” than my switch in careers from the practice of law to the long-term care industry was twenty-five years ago. I usually have not gone wrong when I have heeded her counsel. In fact, it has been when I have not heeded her counsel that I have encountered the worst that Life has to offer.
- James Dean said, “Die young, and leave a good-looking corpse.” Given the choice, I am opting not to do this and remain committed to following doctors’ orders and adapting my lifestyle as appropriate.
- Material things mean a whole lot less. The idea of buying anything tangible seems like a losing proposition at least at this moment in time.
- For many years, I have typically responded to someone saying to me, “Nice to see you,” with a hearty and wry “Better to be seen than viewed” retort. Reality Check: There is far greater poignancy to the comment now.
- It is going to take me longer to recover than I originally envisioned. But that is okay, and certainly beats the alternative.
- This heart attack is now the sixteenth entry in my log of times that I could have died during my lifetime. Clearly, again, it was not my time.
- I may not be able to leap buildings in a single bound any longer, nor run two miles at an average clip of 10:39, but I am still here, having a lot to offer to those around me, and a great work to still accomplish. I do not know what this work is, but I am going to be an instrument for good with whatever time I have remaining because Charity Never Faileth, and there are no small acts of kindness.
Oh, yeah, I was the healthiest guy in the hospital.
So, in the spirit of sharing lessons learned, remember when in doubt, check it out. If you sense something is wrong or different, don’t ignore it. Don’t wait a single minute while thinking it will pass. If you are wrong, you might not get a second chance at this wonderful Life as I did.
