The Reports of My Death …

I live. That’s the important thing. Don’t want any of my readers to fear the worst … that comes later.

Sunday morning, August 29^th, I woke with heartburn and pressure (the proverbial elephant on the chest variety) which gradually escalated to painful teeth. Believing this to be part of a nightmare I couldn’t remember, I checked the clock and found it was 4 AM. When my jaw started to hurt, I woke my husband, took two antacids, and went to the bathroom. A belch was reassuring until the pressure increased. While I chewed four enteric coated 81 mg aspirin, my husband called the local ambulance.

“We think you’re having a heart attack and would like to take you to the hospital.”

I looked at my husband, weighing my options, our little seaport town was in a higher incidence of Covid cases since the beginning of the Global Pandemic a year and a half ago. Hospitals were packed. The pain increased. I wanted a blessing first. The paramedic stepped aside. As my husband finished, the fire department arrived, and I was whisked away to the local hospital – alone. No visitors. Two male nurses wanted to undress me, and I ordered them out until I gowned myself.

My troponin level was near zero and the diagnosis suspected heart attack. Still sure this was some weird form of heartburn; I had a niggling fear that something serious was amiss. It was. The nurses returned in time to put the EKG leads on me, sit me up, and then I felt all “floaty.” What happened?

“Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you jerked as if shocked. We think your defibrillator went off. Probably paid for itself just then!”

I was diagnosed with a moderate to severe heart attack. They showed me the strip. Normal sinus rhythm and then an extra beat and then fibrillation! My troponin climbed and a helicopter was discussed to transport me to Portland. One bed available in the entire metro area. All the hospitals were slammed with patients who were sure they’d never get Covid. Before I could be prepped for the flight, all hell broke loose in Emergency and an accident victim came in, suddenly and unfortunately minus an arm. He properly and immediately got loaded into the helicopter. I took an ambulance and arrived safely at OHSU.

OHSU was a war zone. I was placed in a corner room as we waited for another bed to open. My Troponin levels began to climb. Both the ICU and the CCU were full of Covid, many of them children. No water was allowed as they might have a bed open at any time and an angiogram had to be done ASAP to find the suspected blockage. Nurses and doctors scurried past. Everyone had to be somewhere. Just as a new group of young official-looking people moved past my room, I thought I saw a handsome dark-haired young man –

“Bronson?” I called.

“Gramma?” He replied as he stuck his head around the door. “What are you doing in here?”

Finally, a friendly comforting face. It was my grandson who works as a travelling nurse, and he just happened to be back in Portland for three shifts! Some say happened, I say it was yet another blessing. My Troponin level climbed to 18,000. No typo. That’s three zeros after an eighteen.

No water for over twenty-four hours is doable if you’re a camel but I normally drink 64 ounces a day and I was desiccating slowly. My skin looked like discarded tissue paper after opening Christmas presents. Bronson took charge of his grandmother, and I finally received some water (it was too late for further testing) and a bit to eat so I had strength to be wheeled to a room now open in Intermediate Care between the ICU and the CCU (Intermediate didn’t have any Covid). Exhausted, I passed out!

Monday dawned bright and clear or at least I presume it did as my room had no windows. I didn’t care. I found myself actually awake and feeling surprisingly well. But again, the water treatment or actually the lack of water treatment. No water except to take pills until after my angiogram. No visitors allowed but my daughter and husband were listed as Support Personnel so came and explained things to me. Their faces made everything all right and I began to understand one of the horrors of Covid – Dying alone. I’d been vaccinated and two brain probes revealed I did NOT have the dreaded disease.

Doctors came, explained tests were needed, nurses were in and out, vitals were taken, and blood. Lots of blood and IV’s, mostly to liquify my blood against clotting until I could have more tests. Late Monday afternoon, I was wheeled through the maze that is Oregon’s premier teaching hospital, which sets into a hill – the Emergency Department is at street level on the Eighth Floor. By then I’d had one vein blown, two IVs taken out, and a third put in, and AGAIN I was naked! Yikes! More guys had seen my boobs in the last 42 hours than in the last 52 years! I was beginning not to care.

The test was over sooner than I thought but I might have slept through part of it. I remember joking with the doctor, him starting, and then finishing, and looking at my arteries on a jumbotron. I was taken back to my room and moments later my doctor came in. As I didn’t have my hearing aids in and as we were all wearing masks and as my doctor had a lovely accent, he approached my bed and slid off his mask to explain things. Do you know those toothpaste commercials where the guy smiles and his teeth sparkle and a little bell goes ‘Ding”? My daughter and I both looked at each other and named him Dr Handsome. Such a cutie.

But back to the saga …

“You were right,” Dr Handsome said.

“About?”

“The report says your arteries are ‘pristine’ – all three! We have no idea what happened except you have an irritable heart.”

Lol. I could have saved him the test and told him that or at least my husband could have.

“What does this mean? What is my life expectancy? Will I return to as normal as I get?”

“It means more tests. The average life expectancy of a woman your age is 79 (my eyebrows shot above my hairline) but based on your overall physical condition and your ‘pristine’ arteries (there goes that sparkle again), you’ve got decades ahead of you.” I’ll take decades, maybe four or five. I’ve always planned on 120!

I finally ate real food (the cafeteria has a crack cook and staff) and late Monday about 11 PM, they came for me to do an MRI. Someone had jumped the gun, but it was cancelled.

Tuesday I was put on a special diet! Preparation for a PET scan requires strict KETO, and I ate veggies, eggs, bacon, salmon, and more bacon! Little did I know that it would be another 20 hours before the test on Wednesday afternoon without food and only sips of water. My stomach felt like it was a deflated balloon hanging off my middle rib!

Again, I was wheeled through the bowels of OHSU to have an injection and then wait an hour, and then 20-30 minutes for the actual scan, back through hallways, up and down elevators, and safely into to my room. I was so very hungry.

The reports came back. I had ZERO inflammation – anywhere! Yeah me! Dr Handsome came in and asked if I wanted to stay or go. Knowing I probably had the healthiest heart in three wings, that Covid raged inside and outside (People get vaccines and wear masks, please!), I volunteered to leave and free up bed space for someone who actually needed it. So we journeyed homeward and although I love to travel, sleeping in my own bed was bliss.

What’s the bottom line? The Sunday morning wake-up call at whatever level finally diagnosed showed an unexplained but definitely irritated heart. But as it received continuous oxygen, I will recover fully. Did the arteries spasm? Was I exposed to some weird or random heart virus? I’d not been ill. We don’t know. There does seem to be a rare and random PVC (heartbeat) which was recorded both immediately before the discharge of my defibrillator and several times later throughout my hospital stay but without incident.

I don’t have much to change in my life. I don’t smoke, drink, or do recreational drugs. I do drink plenty of water and eat mostly fresh food. I love Keto. I take Vitamin K2 – good for clear arteries. And, I’m getting a puppy later this month so my exercise levels should improve.

What have I learned?

• With all the preparation in the world to protect oneself, life still happens.
• Get straight with yourself and your God. Don’t let death be the first time you meet.
• Tell your family and friends you love and appreciate them – Do this often!

With minimal damage or no blockages detected, my grandkids now say that “Nana has a magic heart!”  All I know is that I’m grateful – for family, faith, and friends and for being granted another day to explore life, hopefully a few decades!