Heartfelt

If it weren’t for my pushy friend who insisted that I get myself to the emergency room, I might not be alive to talk about it today. Thank you, Barbara.

“I’m out of shape, that’s for sure,” I said, coming into the house after a short walk. My chest was hurting, a dull ache. My arm didn’t hurt, so even though I thought it could be my heart, I just attributed it to being out of shape from lack of exercise. My chest ached when I laid down, too, yet I didn’t let it bother me enough to do anything about it.

My disability income had just started and I didn’t have health insurance, so I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor with every ache and pain. I had filled out paperwork for Medi-Cal. However, it had not been approved yet. I’m sure that was part of the reason I was downplaying the chest pains.

I did continue walking, working toward getting in shape again. I knew my sedentary lifestyle wasn’t healthy. When I wasn’t walking or lying down I didn’t have chest pain.

By the time my friend, Barbara, said that if I didn’t go to the Emergency Room on my own she would drive me herself, I thought she was probably right, at least check it out after three weeks of these dull chest pains.

I left her house and drove to the Department of Public Social Services (welfare) to check on the progress of my Medi-Cal application. I told my case worker that I had been having chest pains, but hesitated to go for medical attention until the Medi-Cal came through.

Mrs. Smith, my case worker, told me to go ahead and go to the Emergency Room. She assured me that it would be okay, so I drove to the ER and checked myself in. I was seen right away because of the chest pains. After the EKG, I was promptly admitted as a cardiac patient.

The week that followed is a bit sketchy in my memory (this took place in May 2003). I had three different roommates. They all got to leave. Since I was pretty new in town, Barbara was the only friend nearby, and she didn’t visit. I must’ve told my sister I was in the hospital or the hospital contacted her. She and my brother-in-law came to see me a couple times, and brought me crossword puzzle magazines to help pass the time.

One night it was raining and I thought about my car still parked in the ER parking area with the window rolled down. I asked my bedmate’s husband to roll up the window for me, which he did. After being parked for several days, I was worried that my car might be towed. One of the nurses told me to call Security and let them know I was a patient, which I did. The security officer assured me the car would not be towed. Good, one less thing to worry about.

The days and nights slowly rolled by. I was there in the hospital holding tank, so to speak, waiting for Medi-Cal to come through. At the end of the week I was finally transferred to St. Bernardine’s, a hospital which specializes in heart surgery. After an angiogram, I was scheduled for surgery, a six-way bypass. Six-way, whoa! I was clueless that those chest pains would amount to this.

Ignorance is bliss, I guess, and I was in God’s hands the whole time. After surviving the surgery, I realized that God isn’t finished with me. I have a purpose. That’s nice to know, and even though I don’t know my part in that purpose real well, I like knowing I have one.

While I was in ICU, the hardest thing to do was stay awake for half an hour. I couldn’t be released until that was managed. Finally, I told the ICU nurse that if she’d bring me a piece of paper and pencil I could keep my mind busy and stay awake. She finally brought the paper and pencil, and I made up a couple word games. I like to think of a word or phrase and see how many words are in those letters. When I got tired of searching for more words to be found in “Spanish Steps,” I doodled. Finally, I passed the “stay awake” test!

The following days were spent recuperating, walking around, taking breathing tests, and diabetes blood-sugar level tests. Every time my blood sugar went to 150, the nurse would slap an insulin patch on me. I had ignored my diabetes before this hospital stay. Maybe this is something I need to pay attention to, I thought.

No matter how much I begged and pleaded, I couldn’t get a cup of coffee during my two weeks in the hospitals. I was very constipated and coffee helps to get me unplugged. I got to drink some hot liquid that’s brown, but that’s as close to coffee as soda is to water. The nurses gave me Milk of Magnesia, which doesn’t do diddley compared with coffee.

I was looking forward to going home and that day finally arrived! A medical transportation van drove me home.

Home, sweet home, and life as a non-smoker with a new heartfelt lease on life.