Had a bit of a shock last week when I had a mild heart attack. It came from a genetic predisposition to accumulate plaque in my arteries. Two of them were 90%+ narrowed by the time I had angioplasty to implant stents to reopen the vessels.
Color me mind-boggled.
I guess you’d never think you’re old enough or ready for a major health event. A secondary shock, was to realized this could have turned out much worse.
It began with pain right where my heart is — a pain I initially discounted as probably a bad case of heartburn. It wasn’t such a big pain you’d right away think, heart attack. But after I lay down and it went away, I got up and went around doing things and it came back. Again, I went into denial. This is really bad heartburn — could my ulcer have reopened? Never, heart attack. I just turned 72 this month. Although my father and brother both had heart disease, my mantra was, I’ll take after my mother.
Called my doc’s private number. He picked right up, listened, said “Go to the ER and tell them you’re having chest pain. You’ll go to the head of the line.”
It wasn’t a comfortable procedure or hospital stay. But everyone who cared for me was wonderful. It was comforting to feel I’d survive and live well after this, as my cardiologist told me.
The story’s punchline
Everyone during my two-day stay in the hospital for angioplasty said, “Tell everyone you know if they have chest pain, call 9-1-1! Don’t drive yourself to the ER, don’t hesitate. Heart is muscle and begins to die during a heart attack. That damaged muscle never can come back. If you tell others about this, you might even save a life.”
So I’m telling you: IF YOU HAVE CHEST PAIN, CALL 9-1-1. Don’t delay, don’t drive yourself. GO!
I’m lucky to be here, have had a sophisticated procedure to reopen my arteries, to have a good doctor and facilities to keep me healthy. I plan to make my days count — not that I didn’t before, but with a new appreciation and gratitude. I’m filled with gratitude, actually. For the care I was given in the hospital, for the loving friends and family who surrounded me with flowers and cards and let me know their prayers were there too for my healing.
And the first thing I wanted to write when I could, was a poem. This one is for everyone I met and everyone who sent love.
The Heart
The heart is a muscle.
I feel its clench
protesting the lack
of blood, its nourishment,
and I go down, prone, bowing
to a central throne it inhabits in my body,
thrown to my back
and then to hospital,
where relinquishing clothes
and goods, I’m surrounded
by those familiar with a distressed heart’s ways.
Hours later, I am profoundly
embraced by science and love
that inexplicably flows
from these people whose powerful hearts
and muscles show up here every day.
And prayers that like a cavalcade of butterflies
shore me up in this new and sweeter life.
Rachel Dacus
June 1, 2021
