A recent Tuesday ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with discomfort in my chest and both arms. Since I had a bad case of indigestion a week before, I thought it the same and an hour later, I was able to fall back asleep.
The next day, Wednesday, I was very tired, didn't feel up to par, and for the most part, slept the day away.
Thursday, I felt like my "old self," had plenty of energy and conducted business as usual.
Never the less, Friday morning, I went to see my internist to report Tuesday's night episode and to get an EKG.
My physician, who is considered by the medical community to be "All Star" level, listened intensely, did some blood tests and became concerned when he compared my EKG to the faded one I had in my records from twenty years ago."
"Hank, there are some very subtle changes here that could indicate some blockage." It was hard for him to be definitive because the readings of my old EKG had pretty much faded. "I am scheduling a stress test for you immediately."
Because I have excellent "denial strategies," I left his office not too concerned, especially since I was symptom free since Tuesday.
Early Saturday morning my phone rang. Usually, I don't answer at such an early hour but since the caller ID told me it was from my physician's office, I thought I better. It was a very short conversation.
"Dr. Weisinger, this is Dr. Altbaum's office." The voice had urgency. "Your blood tests came back and you are to go the hospital immediately! Don't drive yourself. You could be in the midst of having a heart attack!"
My wife was out of town so I woke my son up, telling him he needed to drive me to the hospital right away.
"Dad, what's wrong," he asked while jumping out of beds and scrambling to put on a t-shirt and shorts.
"The doctor wants me to go the hospital right away. I might have a problem with my heart."
On a Saturday morning, Bridgeport Hospital is only 15 minutes from my house but I had to tell my son, Danny, to slow down at least five times. "Dad, are you OK, are you OK." I could see that his eyes were drooling tears.
Entering the hospital, we found our way to the proper administration desk and I was promptly ushered into an ER room. Lying comfortably, I called my wife. Before I could finish describing the situation, she was on her way home. Next, I had my son call my daughter in LA. It was 8 am her time.
He tried to soften the news: "Bri, everything is ok, I am with Daddy, he is in the hospital."
"Danny what's wrong??" I didn't need the help of a speaker phone to hear the fear and tears in her voice. I told Danny to give me the phone so I could explain.
"Bri..." She interrupted. "Dad what's wrong." I wanted to tell her what was going on, but I couldn't. Tears came to my eyes and I couldn't speak. If it were AROD, you'd say I was choking.
Telling my daughter that I was in the hospital for heart program was an emotionally overwhelming experience that I will never forget. In fact, I couldn't do it, so I passed the task to my son who seemed to becoming more mature with every heartbeat. I was feeling so proud of him. Before their conversation ended, I did manage to get the phone back and reassure her I was OK.
"Dad, please, you've got to take care of yourself. I love you so much."
"I love you to Bri, I will speak to you later."
Soon after, the cardiologist entered. More blood tests, another EKG. The results confirmed what my internist had suspected: definite heart damage. My wife arrived just as I was given the news that wouldn't make anybody's day.
The rest of the events were standard. I was moved into the cardiac unit and later that night, an angiogram was performed resulting in my heart welcoming two stents.
Monday morning, the cardiologist discharged me, but not before he gave me a horrifying answer to my question, "What can I eat?"
"Nothing good," was his quick response, and I did note a sadistic smile.
Well, I didn't have to be Pritikin to interpret his response: No more of those fantastic Kettle Chips, M&Ms (peanuts), hot dogs, hamburgers, steaks or Chinese (the good stuff.)
It would get worse: Carvel is out, so were my nightly Hershey bars, frosted flakes and sugar smacks, Juicy Fruits, and chocolate covered doughnuts (I live around the corner from a famous doughnut shop). More pain: I was to forget my beloved corn beef sandwiches, meatball heroes, and chocolate egg creams.
I could eat turkey burgers, carrots and apples, Oh My! Yes, I could eat these foods, but only if I wanted to be healthier, live longer and most importantly to me, significantly increase the odds that I would not have to see my children suffer with the fear of losing their dad.
It's been two weeks since I have been discharged, and although I am not happy about it, I have been faithful to my new life style: healthy eating and morning exercise. I feel pretty good.
Here is what I have learned: Health reform is not the responsibility of President Obama or Congress, the medical community or the insurance industry. Health reform starts with all of us taking responsibility for our health. Doing so will change your life and the life of your loved ones.