Anticlimax

I recently had a spiritual experience: I thought I was having a heart attack, so I called 911. Three years ago, when I had an episode of fainting in my living room because (it turned out) my heart decided it only needed to beat once every three seconds, I waited until the next day to drive down to Wiscasset to ask my good friend and long-time physician whether I should be concerned. I caught Hell from him and everybody else  for being so obtuse and stupid (my wife was already pissed off for not letting her take me to the e.r.).  The end result, after a long process, was getting a pacemaker implanted (I've never had a natural sense of rhythm). This time I called 911. What ensued was a host of  revelations, reflections, and almost inexpressible gratitude, though I'll try.

First, how reassuring the 911 operator was, and how insistent she was that my wife get me an aspirin and that I chew it and swallow it while the first responders and ambulance were on their way. Second, how quickly the local volunteer F.D. responded, particularly my near and dear neighbor Louis, who directed the ambulance into our driveway, which is not as well marked as it should be (that will be fixed).  The ambulance E.M.T.'s were both funny and efficient, and they introduced me gently into the surreal world of high-tech medicine while keeping track of my vitals and communicating with the E.R. . I relaxed and trusted.

You get wheeled around a lot lying on your back,staring at the ceiling. At one point, the next day, while being wheeled down to the cardiac cath lab, I asked one of the "patient transport" staff how far she walked every day. She said they had been given a step counter, and her average was about 8 miles/day. She said she complained to her daughter that she wasn't losing weight, and her daughter replied "Mom, you're gaining muscle!" We both laughed.

The nurses, both the R.N.'s and the C.N.A.'s, were wonderfully competent and compassionate. It remains hard to get a decent night's sleep in a hospital: they have to keep checking your vitals and doing bloodwork, your chest and abdomen are pasted with sensors and wires which make turning over awkward, getting to the toilet can be daunting, etc., etc.. But, they made it all possible, and they did it cheerfully and expertly.They are true heroes.

And yes, of course, the M.D.'s and P.A.'s. I thought they were great at explaining what they knew and didn't know about what was going on with me and why they were doing what they were up to. So, what were they up to, and what were the results?

The answer remains something of a mystery. The cardio catheter revealed that my heart is in basically good shape, better than average for someone about to turn 70. This has nothing to do with the neural problem involved with arrhythmia, but with the build-up of plaque in arteries, veins, and the heart itself. So, they thought I might have a pulmonary embolism, but the CAT scan didn't show it. They sent me home with a prescription for nitro in case I might need it. I'm grateful, but what an anticlimax!

So, I'm left with questions, about my decision to call 911 to begin with and about the hugely elaborate and immensely expensive process I went through. We're fortunate in this area to have a brand-new, state-of-the-art hospital in Augusta, but maybe having a new tool tempts one to use it when it's not appropriate, particularly when the patient is fully insured (as I am, with Medicare + BC/BS) Just a thought.In an exit interview (and that was a good thing) with one of the hospital's internists, I noted that the day I was admitted had been particularly stressful, ending, just before I started cooking dinner with me single-handedly stacking a bunch of scaffolding metal and planks onto sawhorses to get them off the ground before the snow. The chest and shoulder pain (keep in mind, I'm left-handed), which persisted while I was in the hospital, have now subsided. I feel like a fool.

Despite that, the whole experience was illuminating. Happy New Year!