What’s it like to have a Heart Attack, Part 2
When we last left our heroine…
Here’s a pic so that you know I’m not currently in the hospital, but instead slapped on a little tinted lip balm and kinda did my hair.
I’m excited to see that so many of you are reading this! The more you know, right? If I can figure out how to turn on comments, you can leave comments here, which I think is supposed to be smart. Whatever. Let’s get back to the heart attack and the aftermath…
When we last left our heroine, (it’s my story, so I totally get to be a hero if I want, amiright?), I had the heart attack but was still in Observation, aka Hospital Purgatory. It was early Saturday morning, and a cardiologist, or someone from the cardiologist’s office (still foggy) came to let me know that I would need to go to the Cardiac Catheterization Lab. He let me know that they didn’t usually do these procedures during the weekend, so I may need to wait until Monday. This was of course no issue for me, as I figured docs know best and I didn’t have a damn clue what was happening. I was pretty excited to find out that I would be moved to a regular room, but other than that didn’t know how things would move forward.
It wasn’t too much longer before I found out that I would indeed be going into the cath lab that morning. My water and crackers had disappeared from my bedside table and there was a little more activity going on.
I started to get a little suspicious when a pastor came into the room to pray with me. Now, if you don’t know me, know that I am not a religious person. This isn’t the place to get into it (we’ll do that sometime in the future if you’re interested), but know that an unrequested pastor coming in to pray with me was a big red flag. He was a super nice fellow and I tried to let him know politely that I wasn’t the right audience for him, and though I appreciated the offer, it wouldn’t be necessary. Despite this, he gently insisted, and I did what most other middle-aged gals in the same position would do: I said, oh ok, and let him get his prayer on. (Even after having a heart attack, I was more concerned with someone else’s needs more than my own. Again, discussing with my therapist.)
Once he was done, my roommate snagged him before he got out the door, and they prayed, loudly, together (she was doing the loud praying-he was just regular praying). Once he was gone, she came over to my side of the room, with her mask around her chin, wanting to pray with me. She clutched her hospital gown in her right hand, keeping it closed as she was sans panties, a saga I heard explained to the nurse. This gal was a little bit older than me (my math had her at 59-60ish) and regaled me with tales of her daughter having heart surgery at 4 months old (she’s 25 now and living the life) and her mother’s best friend having the same procedure that I was about to have, though it didn’t work out well for the mother’s friend. Yikes!
Things started moving quickly again, with a nurse coming in to do a rapid COVID test (the results of the test taken the night before hadn’t come in yet), then me begging off to go to the bathroom. When I came back into the room, there were more people there, ready to take me to the cath lab. This was awesome because it let me escape receiving a second IV, and one less stick is always good news!
I was asked to sign a consent form and told that 99 times out of 100, everything is fine, nothing to worry about. For someone so mathematically challenged, I’m really good at fractions and percentages, and 99 out of 100 seemed a little low on the success scale for me. I got myself up onto the gurney with a bit of assistance, then two large pads were adhered to my chest. I thought I knew their purpose, but was kinda hoping I was wrong. Nope. I was right. They were in case I needed a bit of defibrillator action.
An RN named Chris wheeled me to the lab and tried to be pleasant and keep me calm. I didn’t think too much about, as I didn’t feel that I had any control at all, but was more just along for the ride.
Now let me say this: The Cath Lab is the coolest part of the hospital. There were a ton of people moving about with purpose and intention, but I wasn’t sure who was doing what or how things would play out. I was introduced to folks, but didn’t retain any of the info. And because my rapid COVID test hadn’t come back yet, I was treated as a potential COVID positive, which didn’t mean a darn thing to me. My job was to lay there.
So that’s what I did. There was a very large monitor hanging over me, my right arm extended and strapped down, my girly bits trimmed just in case they needed another point of entry (cue complete mortification) and we got started. I felt a sting of lidocaine, some pressure and movement around my arm, and must have been given something to make me foggy. I was awake the entire time, and felt that I was 100% together and coherent, but don’t think that’s quite accurate.
I heard someone say “There it is” but didn’t think they were talking about me, because of course, my heart attack wasn’t a big deal. I had found out that everyone had been called in on a gorgeous Saturday, and I felt really guilty about it.
At some point during the procedure, I heard someone yell “COVID’s negative” and felt the air go on and the mood in the room shift. I tried to crack a joke, because humor is how I handle stress, but it landed flat and one of the RNs nodded in my direction, like I should just pipe down (my impression). I shut my pie hole and laid there quietly so that everyone could do their work and not have to deal with my incredible sense of humor. Bummer for them.
In my mind, the whole thing took about 15 minutes, but I’ve heard that this is really an hour long procedure. Once finished (and I still didn’t know what “finished” meant), I was wheeled to the ICU, where I would spend the next 24 hours. It was there that I found out that I had a 100% blockage of my LAD (left anterior descending artery), also know as The Widowmaker (cue dramatic music!). Because of the blockage, I am the proud owner of a brand new stent, put in to keep the artery open and the blood flowin’. My blockage was midway in the artery, and I’ve since learned that if it’s at the top, that’s super bad, almost always a game over situation, and if it’s at the bottom, you’ve got a little more time. Had they not come in on that gorgeous Saturday, I might not be writing this now.
Exciting stuff, right? Vaguely terrifying too? Yup. I’ve had all the emotions, but mostly, I just try to forget about the specifics.
So that’s part two. I’ll finish it up for you tomorrow, because those folks in the FHH ICU are pretty frickin’ great and I’d love to give them the shout out they deserve, and also, I don’t want to bog you down with a novela. Three posts in and they are looooooong.
Stay well-
cvb
