What it’s like to have a Heart Attack

In the ICU, post heart attack

Remember Sanford and Son, with the great Redd Fox looking to the heavens, clutching his chest, bellowing “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! I’m coming!”? The drama was high (and hilarious), but what’s it like to really have a heart attack? Especially if you’re a woman?

First, it’s super important that that you understand that though I’m incredibly smart and terribly good lookin’, I have absolutely no medical training whatsoever. Heck, I’ve just gotten to the point where I can have blood drawn without total panic (you’re welcome mom!). This is my experience. Check with your doc or your guru or call 911 if you are having any symptoms and think you may start crying for Elizabeth yourself.

I’ve always heard that heart attacks are different in women, and I’ve done the research to see what exactly that means, but trust me when I say, the ladies, well, we do it a little differently. I’m going to walk you through my experience, hoping that if you feel a little squidgy, you’ll take care of yourself…please.

On a Friday afternoon in late September, I decided to take a walk. I love a good, angry walk, and I was feeling the stress of the past few months, so I popped on a podcast and starting power walking through the alleys of the neighborhood. I felt fine (ok, angry, but otherwise totally fine) until I hit the parking deck area of Frederick Health Hospital. I was masked, but started having a little trouble breathing, mostly because I was walking fast…like lightening! I pulled my mask down around my chin (I was flying solo) and noticed a very weird, uncomfortable sensation in the roof of my mouth, and my top, back molars started to ache. Of course, I was convinced that I had COVID at this point, but finished my walk, stopping to chat with neighbors, and forgot about the discomfort.

A couple of hours later, I suddenly felt, well, not great. I could feel my heart racing, started to get the cold, clammy sweats, and had not so much a tightening in my chest, as nausea, and extreme discomfort all over. The most comfortable position I could find was on my hands and knees on the floor.

Husband John wasn’t quite sure what to do. Being the control freak that I am, he didn’t want to call 911 if I was just having indigestion because he knew I’d flip out from embarrassment, and I wasn’t communicating clearly. So I did what any rational person does: I called my friend Jim, who is also an EMT.

Now, this part is super important. As in, the most important part of the entire episode:

If you are experiencing chest pain of any sort, or are feeling as if there is something really wrong, CALL 911.

This was my biggest mistake. I didn’t want the drama of having an ambulance arrive on the street on a Friday evening. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of how I was feeling. Instead, I put a friend in a precarious position, and got extraordinarily lucky that he and his sweet wife were just 5 minutes away, killing some time before a dinner reservation.

I’m sure that Jim could tell you about all of the red flags he saw. I knew enough to know that when he said we needed to go to the hospital, I agreed.

In this time of COVID, John couldn’t come with, and truthfully, as he was (and is) recovering from a stroke, I didn’t want him anywhere near a hospital. Like a lot of women, I take better care of the people around me than I do of myself. Don’t worry…I’m discussing this with my therapist.

Jim and his wife Darla knew what to do, and I live 2 blocks from the hospital. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, and had I been feeling a bit better, I would have given them kudos for their teamwork right there. Jim got me out of the truck and into a wheelchair, and Darla parked the truck while Jim zipped me into the Emergency Department.

Now, if they suspect that you’re having a heart attack (or a stroke for that matter), you get some special treatment. I was zipped right into a triage room, where a staff of the loveliest RNs and PAs were on me in a flash. The whole enchilada: blood work, EKG, pulse, temp and so on. All I could think about was that I was wishing I had one of my comfy bras on instead of a sports bra!

One of the women who was helping get me sorted out, mentioned that this was most likely reflux, as I was having a lot of discomfort right under my sternum. I was so embarrassed, not wanting to waste anyone’s time because I ate my dinner too fast!

Still, they wheeled me back to a room/stall, I sent Jim on his way (I didn’t want to disrupt his dinner reservation any more than I already had) and settled in to see what would happen next.

Every once in a while someone would check on me (I was hooked up to lots of monitors) and a PA named Michele came in to talk to me around 10 that evening. See, the enzymes that they check on when you’re having a heart attack were totally normal. My EKG was normal too. Apparently, there’s a scale of 5 that they use, and I was only at 2. Michele let me know that if I was at 3, they’d admit me, but at a 2, it was less clear. She seemed pretty great and on top of things (as have all the staff at FMH!) and decided that the best thing to do was check with my cardiologist. Note: I have a cardiologist because several years ago I had a DVT and a pulmonary embolism. I didn’t have a history myself of heart problems (my dad and grandfather both had heart attacks), though recently my blood pressure has been pretty high. I thought the blood pressure monitor was broken, not that I was.

After checking with the cardiologist, they decided not to admit me, but to put me into Observation. The best I can gather is that Observation is some weird hospital purgatory where insurance only kinda covers it, but they aren’t sure that you’re sick enough to actually get admitted to the hospital. Currently, Observation is located in the old pediatrics section at FHH while their unit is renovated, so it was a surreal mix of cartoony drawings and adults because yes, you get a roommate in Observation.

My roommate (more on her later) was watching tv, and the great nurses and assistants got me settled in and hooked back up to the EKG. Around 10:30, a phlebotomist came in and took several vials of blood. So. Much. Blood! I settled in and tried not to feel too sorry for myself. I felt awkward and weird, and definitely like I was wasting a lot of people’s time.

I started to get a headache, but was super concerned about looking like a drug fiend, not wanting anyone to think that I was just in to get the good stuff. I’m pretty liberal in my use of extra strength Tylenol, but it’s an overdose of Netflix that made me so self-conscious about asking for ANYTHING for the pain. I’m just not into that stuff, but still, didn’t want to make a bad impression to the staff.

I started to have a lot of pain in my upper left back, to the point that I couldn’t lay on it, and started to feel a bit sick to my stomach as well. I didn’t want to bother the staff, so I fidgeted and tried to calm myself through the pain.

It was 11 o’clock when 4 staff entered the room, quickly. This is where I get a little foggy. I don’t know if they told me that I had already had a heart attack or if I was having one then. All I remember is that it got very exciting, and fast! Someone slapped a nitroglycerin patch on me, I’m pretty sure that someone else shot something into my IV, and there was a lot of movement in the room. It was overwhelming, but my thoughts were to keep myself cool so as not to be a difficult patient. At this point, I got a little bit of morphine, which helped my headache and helped me to sleep (masked of course) for a few hours until it was time for another blood draw. And that’s what I remember.

Now, I know this is a long post (nothing like starting off with a bang!), so I’m gonna hang on to the next part for a day or two, because that’s when it gets really good.

If you’ve got questions, let me know. I’m a pretty open book and I’m happy to answer anything that you’d like to know about this stuff.

Stay well-

cvb