There comes a time in every man's life when he pauses to reflect on what he has done in the [REDACTED] years that have led up to this particular moment. The stereotypical response is to become enthusiastic about grooming again, purchase some variety of compensation for insecurity (preferably with a lot of horsepower), and then simply be embarrassed about the whole shebang 5 or so years later, when you laugh over it with a couple of friends over beers. Then there is the other time in a man's life, when he has a fucking heart attack before age 40. Today we review "Having a Heart Attack".
So, after several days fighting off various other illnesses ranging from colds to strep throat, I had just settled down for along fall nap (known 'round the Kotas Household as "going to bed") in our "sick bed", when I awoke with some vague unease in my chest. I dismissed it as "random bullshit", like ya do, and returned to try to sleep. The pain, however, decided that I would simply lie there and whimper, as it began the slow dialing up from 1 (vague discomfort) to 8 or so (Augh why! But hey, I still have my limbs...I think). Around 5 or so, my loving wife shows up with "Uh, are you okay?" We then proceed to discuss the relative merits of "going to the hospital" and "maybe it's just really bad heartburn." Two Pepto-Bismol, level 7 and 15 minutes later, I'm being shoved into the car while my father in law screeches into the driveway to watch our child while my wife and I tear ass over to the hospital.
The ER staff was initially somewhat hesitant to declare that I was having a heart attack, given that I had a horrible wracking cough (thanks, previous illnesses) and had probably just pulled a muscle. When my initial blood test came back with "Oh yeah, he TOTALLY had a heart attack", the pain had subsided and I was installed into a normal hospital room. It was about that time that Mr. Chest Pain (possibly the worst mascot ever invented) showed back up at 3, and just kept cranking up. I informed the staff of this, and after several sticky pads were shoved onto me and an EKG hooked up, they decided "Fuck it, off we go to get a heart catheter" and...well, let's be honest, I was scared shitless. When half a dozen medical professionals are slapping a wide variety of medical instruments to you (with adhesive, and without time to shave...places), shouting medical jargon and rushing, you get scared. Real scared. It wasn't more than anxiety until the words "Kiss your wife goodbye" were uttered, and then the tears began. It was kind of awful, is what I'm saying.
To their credit, the medical staff were all professional and did their best to keep up my spirits. There is, however, only so much dignity and calm that can be conveyed in an emergency situation. So many sticky pads, needle sticks, and disinfectant wipes were used on me, before I was dragged, literally, onto a very uncomfortable and cold metal table, where the drugs were administered. This calmed me down a lot, and it goes kind of hazy at this point. I remember cracking a joke about getting a Brazilian due to the multiple apologies from the nurses about not having had time to shave my chest and other places before applying the diagnostic sticky pad things (oh so many of them), but mostly I remember just waiting and being cold.
I'll let you look up what a heart catheter is on the Internet, but the TL;DR version is that they shove a tube up your femoral artery (through the groin, naturally) to poke around and see what's up. From there they can install a stent or do an angioplasty or several other things. For me though, they just found the problem: A blood clot was gumming up the works. It was decided that drugs would be the answer, since physical interaction might knock the clot to "elsewhere", and that would be bad, or so I'm told. From there, I ended up in the Cardiac Care Unit (CCU), and was unable to lift my head or leg for six hours. That had numerous awkward moments, such as trying to use the portable urinal without moving much, and having my wife feed me my late lunch around 2pm, which was the best lunch ever having not eaten since...7pm the night before.
After some recovery time, I managed to sit up enough to eat, and take a handful of pills. For the next couple of days, I would go through a lot of sleep, some podcast listening, some texting, and more sleep. Thank goodness for smart phones and free WiFi, or I would have gone insane. On Halloween I subjected myself to a "Ghost Adventures" marathon in the vain hope it might be "somewhat spooky", but mostly it was dumb. I also had a second heart catheter, which showed the clot be dissolved yo. I consider this a win, and eventually moved to a normal room for a couple of days before going home.
A few asides: The food in the hospital looked absolutely amazing. However, I was on the Cardiac Diet, which essentially means...no salt. So while the food LOOKED really good, the flavor did not match the appearance. It wasn't horrible, but in many cases it certainly wasn't good. I still ate all of it though, because hell, I was hungry. The desserts were usually the exception to the bad flavor rule, because it is really hard to fuck up pudding, and I do love pudding. The "chocolate pudding with marshmallows, chocolate chips, and graham cracker crumbs" was a personal favorite.
Sponges baths. We all make jokes about them, and they seem to be a popular thing for "randy old people" on TV. Let us say that they are way more awkward, cold, and humiliating than advertised. First off? No sponges. It's somewhat warm damp rags and/or extremely cold disinfecting wipes, usually done at 5 in the morning. Imagine being scrubbed down awkwardly with Lysol wipes and you get the idea. To describe it in one word: indignity.
Lastly, hospital gowns. Could their be a less flattering outfit? Probably, but this one is pretty terrible, given it had both too many snaps and not enough. Ah well, it was at least comfortable, if not warm. Speaking of warm, they have blanket heaters. This is awesome, and I want one.
On the FACE Rating System, the heart attack gets the worst possible rating: 5 Frownie Faces. My own body literally tried to kill me, and I was never so happy as the day I got to go home. Heart attacks are stupid, and I hope to never, ever, EVER have one again. Not recommended for anyone!
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