It seems this blog has now been relegated to major life updates. I’m not even sure that qualifies given a lot has happened over the last 14 months (e.g. returning to Amazon and COVID) but this one probably counts as more life changing than those… believe it or not. Anyway, yeah, I had a heart attack at the ripe old age of 43 while vacationing in San Diego.
It was our second night in San Diego and I woke up at 12:30 am with what I thought was really bad heartburn. As someone who gets heartburn when I drink beer and also as someone who just started a much needed vacation, it all made sense. It wasn’t the stuff you see in the movies, with chest clutching and arm pain – it was more like burning in my wind pipe and occasional radiation of discomfort in my lower jaw. I didn’t know this at the time… and I bet you didn’t until now… but the jaw pain is a known symptom of a heart attack. The pain was significant, but not unbearable, and I spent two hours in the middle of the night trying to find ways for the “heartburn” to stop. Eventually the pain subsided and I went back to sleep until morning. I woke up with the same lower level of pain and elected to stay back in our rental while the family visited the aquarium. About five minutes after they left, I decided I was going to call 911 in case I was having a heart attack. The family returned to the house, the fire department arrived, and I was transported to the hospital for tests. Melissa was unable to ride in the ambulance due to COVID restrictions, but she met me there via an Uber. We were lucky enough to have childcare on our trip with us, so Dom and our nanny continued on to the aquarium while we figured everything out.
The ER nurse also thought I might be experiencing acid reflux, as my cursory diagnostics did not show any obvious signs of a heart attack. A blood test confirmed the presence of an enzyme that showed my heart had experienced distress at some point and from then on out, the conversations with doctors and nurses changed. With my pain mostly controlled by nitroglycerin and no significant signs of heart failure, there was no guarantee I’d get in for an angiogram that same day. I would eventually be wheeled into a procedure room later that afternoon, where they’d stick a catheter in the artery in my wrist all the way up to my heart. Some numbing meds, contrast die, and a whole bunch of controlled breathing exercises later (yes, I was awake during the whole thing) they’d identified a lesion and partial blockage in one of the main arteries of my heart. With the blockage at 22%, the head doc placed a consult call to a colleague and decided to place stents after clearing the blockage. Doctors try to avoid placing foreign objects in your heart if they can and my case was borderline, but they made the call for reasons that weren’t explained in detail. The balloon and stent experience was unpleasant, to say the least, and I found myself doing some meditation on the procedure table to cope with the disturbingly odd feelings in my chest.
I spent the next 24 hours in the hospital recovering. The first few hours after the surgery were fairly painful and I talked my nurses into some sort of opiate to address the pain. My hospital stay was relatively uneventful, if you don’t count having to be moved to a private room because my roommate was somewhat demented and set off his bed alarm by trying to get out of it roughly every 7-8 minutes. I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed for anything, I only got about five hours of sleep, and I had nothing to pass the time except my phone and hospital TV. I watched Fresh Prince of Bel Air and bunch on the start of the luxury auto industry 100 years ago. Riveting stuff. By the time Tuesday afternoon rolled around I was exceedingly anxious to be discharged. Dom was not permitted to visit me in the hospital because he’s unvaccinated, so I spent more time alone than I probably would have liked. Oh, and I also wasn’t permitted admission to the hospital until I tested negative (I’m a month removed from my second dose). The hospital wasn’t particularly forthcoming about my status, but I was doing well enough that they did discharge me that day. Despite the lack of info, I have to commend UCSD Hospital and the medics on their attitude and level of care – most everyone was a delight.
Our family spent the next five days laying low in our rental and rearranging plans to accommodate my recovery. We did get out of the house, but nothing strenuous and no meals out as I didn’t have much of an appetite. I have a bunch of medication I’m on now; some of it will be for the next year and some will be for the rest of my life. I have to see my GP and a cardiologist when we get back to Seattle to formalize a treatment plan that will include a stress test and physical therapy to rehab my heart. My current heart function is slightly below acceptable range, so I have some work to do. My consumption of vices has gone to zero for the time being and my relationship with food, alcohol, and all types of drugs (including ibuprofen) is likely forever changed. We ate pretty well to begin with, as most of our meals were home cooked, but my physical activity had gone to near zero with some of my mental health challenges and a continuing WFH period during COVID. That will have to change now. I get tired really easily and walking too fast does cause discomfort in my chest, so I’ll be taking things easy for awhile. No idea what comes next, to be honest. I’m guessing the cardiologist will be more than happy to inform me.
People have asked if I’m going to take leave from work. I really don’t feel it necessary, especially since I’m not commuting or walking to meetings all day long. I’ve also spent enough time not being at work over the last two years and it’s not like we’re going to use the opportunity to travel the world. I guess I could use the time for doctor visits and/or exercise, but I have enough flexibility with work that I can take half days or just go upstairs and lay down for an hour or two if I don’t feel well. There’s something to be said about feeling useful when you’re in recovery, too. Suffice to say, I probably won’t stress about things at work as much as I used to. If I’m honest, I also feel a greater sense of general warmth towards other humans now too. We’ll see if that lasts… especially after a day traveling the skies back home.
In hindsight, I’d had a few warning signs over the last month or two. I experienced that same chest discomfort a handful of times before, but it always disappeared within a few minutes. I’m lucky that neither those episodes or the most recent one were enough to kill me, as the outcome could have been exceedingly worse. Widowing the mother of your child and a leaving a 4.5 year old without a dad is no bueno, if you have the choice. Suffice to say, I strongly recommend not ignoring any new or unusual discomfort you experience with your body. It’s easy to explain things away or think you’re over-reacting – absolutely no one I’ve spoken to since my heart attack has agreed those are valid reasons for not getting checked out. In fact, most people at the hospital gave me shit for not calling 911 earlier. I distinctly remember deciding not to call at 2 am because I didn’t want to scare my family or disrupt their sleep for what might be a stupid reason. There are no stupid reasons when it comes to your health, I can assure you. I got lucky.
Cheers to another 30 years.
You better have not fucked up the rowing trip. Love ya, man.