My Heart Attack

My adventure started on a cool Thursday evening. I had arrived home from work at around 9:30pm, and decided to fix me something to eat. I felt fine. There was no indication that anything was wrong or out of the ordinary concerning my health.

By 10:20pm or so I had finished eating and was cleaning up the kitchen. I wasn’t stressed or upset, nor was I fatigued or strained in any way. I was tired from working all day, yes, but in no way exhausted or stressed. It was then that it hit.

As I was about to exit the kitchen, I quickly developed a very sharp, burning sensation in the center of my chest. When it arrived, I just thought that I had eaten something a bit too hot, and surmised that it had mildy irritated my esophagus. I drank 2 glasses of ice water, then a small glass of milk, hoping that the coolness would suffice to ease the now worsening discomfort. Well, no such luck. Though I was far from being panicked, I was wishing with all I had that it would soon pass.

I recall stopping and debating whether or not this was digestive in nature, or a heart attack. Yes….the H word did pop into my head. However, the pain was very localized and seemed like it was right above where I assumed the top of my stomach to be. What I can now refer to as a localized pain, can only be likened to a burning chunk of charcoal resting right above my stomach. It was a searing kind of pain, as if something was literally on fire in my esophagus. There were no shooting pains over to or down my left arm, no pains up into my jaw area, nor was there any shortness of breath or tightness in my chest. Though I was beginning to get very worried, I still held out hope that this was a bad bad bad bad case of heartburn.

Within 2 minutes of its onset, the terrible pain, which I affectionately refer to as ‘horribly heinous’, had my total attention and nearly rendered me unable to do much other than drop to the floor in agony. I ordered myself to remain standing, then walked…..slowly….to my bedroom. I laid down on the bed to see if changing the gravitational pull on my body would effect the pain. It didn’t. In fact, I think it got a little worse.

After lying on the bed for a moment or two debating what I should do, I began feeling sick to my stomach. I had to puke. After dragging myself to the bathroom and emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I fully expected to feel a little better. Since I felt sick to my stomach, I, in my very fearful opinion, assumed that it must be a digestive issue. However, the burning was still there and getting worse by the minute.

I went back to my bedroom and sat down on my bed and again thought about what I should do. If I called 911 and went to the emergency room, I worried that I’d make a big embarrassing scene only to be told it was just a minor issue. I didn’t call my room mate, since I didn’t want to drag him away from whatever he was doing, then later find out it was a false alarm, making me feel bad for disrupting his life. So I decided to drive to the drug store approximately a mile from the house, buy some maalox or something like that and see if that would relieve my pain. I put on some sweats, grabbed my wallet and my cell phone and headed to my truck.

The drive to the drug store, now, looking back, seems more like a dream than anything. I was in a dazed agony and fortunately don’t recall much about it other than how I wished I drove a rocket ship instead of a pickup truck.

I really can’t stress strongly enough how painful this was. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my 37 years. It was a horrible searing unrelenting pain that would not let up one tiny bit no matter what I did. It was very difficult to stand up, let alone walk. My face was blood red from the straining to keep going as I walked into the store. I hoped….out loud….that the stomach remedy aisle would be easy to find.

I located the correct aisle and picked up something maximum strength and fast-acting. I struggled to the front of the store and paid the 6 bux for the medicine. As I walked out of the store I tore open the lid and drank several mouthfuls of the horribly flavored concoction. With each step I took towards my truck, I realized more vividly that it wasn’t helping, therefore, I must be having a heart attack. I climbed into the truck and thought about my next move. I was getting weak, as well as sick to my stomach again.

Since I knew there is a small, fairly new hospital 3 or 4 miles from where I was, I decided to head off in that direction. I was very new to the city and had no idea what the quickest route to it would be. However, I was going there one way or another.

As I drove across the parking lot towards the exit to the street, I saw a police car parked on the shoulder of the street, right next to the edge of the parking lot. I drove to the side of the parking lot, exited my truck and started the 50 foot stumble towards the patrol car.

By this time I had been in pain, I’m guessing, around 15 minutes. The time was after 10:30pm so it was totally dark outside on this February 2004 night. One or two lights illuminated the area next to the drug store, so I could at least see where I was going as I walked across the grass and through the shallow ditch that stood between me and the police car.

Having been in the security business in the past, I know that police officers do NOT like people to walk up on them as they sit in their car. Therefore, I made sure the officer, a young woman around 25 years old, saw me clearly and could plainly tell that I was in extreme distress. I squatted next to her car as she rolled down the window.

Me: (out of breath and obviously in pain) Can you tell me how to get to the nearest hospital?

Her: (very concerned) Why, is something wrong?

Me: Well…..I think I’m having a heart attack.

A look of shock and surprise flashed across her face, but she handled it brilliantly.

Her: Wouldn’t it be better if I called an ambulance for you? If you think you are having a heart attack, you shouldn’t be driving. They could be here in just a couple of minutes.

I looked over my shoulder at the truck.

Just the thought of walking back to it made me agree with her.

Me: (wincing) Yeah….that might be a pretty good idea….can you call them?

By that time, she was already on her radio, requesting assistance.

I thanked her and leaned up against her car. Within 30 seconds, another police car pulled up in front of hers with it’s rotating lights on. A male officer got out of it and asked what was wrong. I told him I think I’m having a heart attack. As the female officer got out of her vehicle, they both suggested that I sit down on the nearby curb. I did as suggested.

As I sat there in the dark, all alone in this strange city, I simply could not believe this was happening to me. I had just moved there and started a new job a week earlier, so my insurance wouldn’t be going into effect for another 10 days. I had no family or friends within 1500 miles, and there I was, on the verge of kicking the bucket on the side of the road. Sheeesh…..what luck eh?

After 2 or 3 minutes of enduring some stupid questions from the male officer about what I had eaten that day, a faint hint of a siren in the distance broke the serene silence of the evening. As it got louder, my mind was racing….

‘I hope this isn’t just a simple digestive thing, but then again I really don’t want it to be a heart attack either. I was torn between embarrassment and bankruptcy, when actually all I should have been concerned with was staying alive long enough to see my children and the girl I love just one more time. Realizing that, I was ashamed at my own thoughts, and decided that whatever happens, I have no plans to die tonight.’

To my surprise, a fire truck rolled into the parking lot. Two firemen exited it and approached me with a suitcase and an oxygen bottle. The first one, whom I assumed was in charge, began asking me a series of questions about what I was feeling right then, the series of events leading up to his arrival, what I had eaten earlier, and if I was on any medication. I answered his questions as he strapped a clear mask over my mouth and nose. He told me to just breath deeply and try to stay calm. He informed me that an ambulance was on its way and should be there any minute.

It was about this time that I came upon the realisation that…, “Oh shit, this is serious. I am actually having a friggin heart attack!”

The ambulance soon arrived and 2 burly guys got out of it. The larger of the two came over to the firetruck I was sitting next to, got a run down of my vitals from the fireman, then proceeded to ask me pretty much the same questions the fireman had asked.
(All emergency folks must attend some course that teaches them to ask what people ate last)

The 2nd ambulance guy was unloading a wheeled bed for me. I rolled my eyes. Oh great.

They helped me climb up onto the wheeled bed and told me to relax as they strapped me on. I was sooo thankful when I saw that they weren’t going to put a neck brace on me like you always see on TV. I laughed to myself.

Once in the ambulance, the leader of the pair began checking my pulse and blood pressure, then he initiated radio contact with the hospital. He was giving them a lot of info about me and my condition, as the other guy sat down to start an IV in my right arm.

I asked him if he was any good at starting IV’s. He seemed a bit insulted by my question, but eventually answered “yes” as he cleaned the planned IV site with an alcohol pad. I watched as he poked me 4 times, without any success. At that point, I told him to stop and let the other guy try it in the other arm. Once again, he seemed insulted, but heck, that shit hurts. One needle going in you is bad enough, but when someone has made four unsuccessful attempts, it’s time to try something different. Of course, the other guy hit the vein on my left arm on his first try. I was so glad.

While the leader of the two resumed his radio communications, and putting little EKG monitor stickers all over my torso, the other guy got behind the wheel and started us on our way.

Within a few seconds I noticed that we were going in the opposite direction of the hospital I mentioned earlier. I asked the EMT why. He then explained that they were taking me to the bigger, better equipped hospital about 10 minutes away. Sounded good to me, so I laid back and relaxed, allowing myself to be lulled a bit by the wailing siren we emitted into the night.

Throughout all of this, I resolved to chill out and stay as calm as possible. I was asking questions and cutting up a bit with the EMT, but he didn’t really seem interested in visiting. I suppose that what he knew, and I didn’t, was that I could die at any second. Now, several months later, I hear stories that folks tell me about their uncle or grandfather who had the same thing happen that I did, but they keeled over and croaked before emergency people arrived. Man, I was indeed lucky to be in that ambulance.

He kept checking the EKG readout and asking me about my pain level. I told him, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst possible pain known to mankind, I was hovering at a good solid 7.38. It wasn’t as bad as it had been at home, but was still pretty bad.

He radioed the hospital again to give them an update as we flew down the road. I pictured us blasting past red lights, and people pulling over unemotionally to the side of the road as the ambulance passed, then continuing on their journey to taco bell or wherever they were going.

After exchanging some medical terminology over the radio, my attendant instructed me to open my mouth and raise my tongue. He then sprayed something with a tart flavor under my tongue and told me I’d have a splitting headache in a few seconds. I waited. Nope. No pain in my head. He seemed frustrated, then sprayed the stuff under my tongue again. I was anxious for the headache to hit me, but uh uh, nuttin. “The stuff isn’t working.” I told him.

He sprayed the chemical (which I was later told is nitro glycerin) one more time, and finally, I started to feel a head rush of sorts. That’s apparently what we were shooting for, because he didn’t spray any more. He asked me if my chest felt any better. At that moment I really couldn’t tell, but once I thought about it, I agreed that the pain was a tiny bit less than it had been moments before, but I was still very uncomfortable.

I asked him point blank if I was having a heart attack. He said that he isn’t a doctor, so he can’t make a diagnosis. I said I understand, then I asked a different question. “In your experience with numerous cases similar to mine, and taking into consideration the stuff you can see on that EKG readout, would it be logical for me to surmise that it is highly likely that I am having a heart attack?” He replied with a slight smile, “Right now we’re blazing down the road with lights and sirens, desperately trying to get you to the hospital as fast as possible. And Jeff, lemme tell ya, we NEVER do that. So, whudda you think?”

Though I knew the answer before even asking, I replied, “Wonderful.”

I asked him how long till we arrive at the hospital. He said 2 or 3 minutes. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and called my room mate Stephen. He was freaking out, since he had driven by the commotion at the drugstore, saw a truck that looked like mine parked nearby, but wasn’t for sure, since it was pretty dark. I told him yes, I’m on my way to the hospital with what looks like a heart attack. I was mostly concened with someone notifying my family in case I exited stage left. He was still in a state of amazed horror, but told me he’d see me in the ER as fast as he could get there. Though I had only known the guy for a couple of weeks, it calmed me and made me feel pretty good that he was already a friend I could count on when I needed him most. As I watched my life flash before my eyes, I felt extremely lonely and a little scared, and needed all the support I could get.

Everything that occurred over the next 2 or 3 minutes, from the time the ambulance stopped until I was moved from the wheeled ambulance bed and onto the hospital bed, was a blur. I don’t remember any of it at all.

The next thing I do recall is about 4 or 5 people hovering over me, asking me a lot of questions, (yes, some were about what I had eaten) taking my blood pressure, taking blood, checking my temperature and sticking more of those patches all over my upper body so they could hook me up to a heart monitor. I asked why they didn’t just use the same patches that the ambulance dude put on me. The nurse replied that they weren’t compatible. I made a mental note to suggest later that they simplify the process by using compatible equipment.

A nurse to my left was hooking me up to an IV, while a nurse on my right was trying to start another one in the same place that the driver failed to start one at in the ambulance. Eventually, I talked them into starting the second IV in my left arm, since it seemed to have easier to locate and puncture veins. They did as I requested and hit the vein on the first try, taped it down and capped it off. In frustration I asked them what the sense was in putting me through that painful ordeal, when all they were going to do was cap it off. They explained, in a practiced tone, that they always have 2 IV’s, in case they have to pump me full of large amounts of meds all at once. I said…”Oh…ok….makes sense I rekkin.”

The doctor then came in, looked at all the machines I was hooked up to, read some papers the nurses had been scribbling on, which I assumed contained all the info gathered on me thus far, then asked me to tell him the whole story from the moment the pain first hit me. As he listened to me, surprisingly attentively, I told him the entire story. It took me a good 5 minutes, then I sat back to await the verdict.

He said, “Well…..you are having a heart attack. We’ve already contacted the Cardiologist on call, and he is now on his way up here to examine you and see what he can do. Until he arives, we’ll keep you stabilzed and give you some morphine to ease your pain a bit.” Within seconds, a nurse walked in and injected a shringe full of clear liquid into my IV.

I remember thinking…”Yessss!!!…..MORPHINE!!!” I’ve always wondered what it felt like when they jack you up with that stuff. I smiled as I awaited it’s presence in my system.

If you’ve never had morphine injected directly into your bloodstream in copious amounts, I’ll try to describe it. It was almost worth it to have a heart attack, just to satisfy my curiosity.

Over the years of watching the ER shows on the discovery channel, I’ve seen them, on numerous occasions give folks morphine via IV. They always seem to feel better afterwards, so I knew it had to be good stuff.

Within mere seconds after the injection there is a distinct warmth that begins at the site of the IV, then spreads throughout your body over the next 45 seconds or so. Though I expected it to make me forget who I was as soon as it reached my brain, I was a bit disappointed that my first noticable reaction to it was pain cessation. Well, not really cessation per se, but rather, I didn’t care so much about the pain due to morphine’s remarkable ability to help you to not give a shit. Sorry, but that’s the easiest way to characterize the sensation it creates. I was still hurting, but silly things like the colors of the nurses uniforms mesmerized me for a moment or three, helping me to forget that I was in pain.

Then came the loopiness. Finally, no pain, and I was stoned. What better way to go through an experience like this. I recall thinking to myself how it was perfectly obvious to me now why people would or could become a morphine junkie. If someone could bottle that feeling and sell it legally, they’d be a billionaire. Man, that morphine is good stuff.

Ok, back to the story.

The cadiologist showed up. I liked him immediately because….well…..he was going to save my life. That, and the fact that he was wearing a Texas t-shirt, served to make me feel more at home. I had been living in Texas for two years prior to moving to South Carolina three weeks before this night.

He sat down and calmly explained what he felt was the wisest course of action, which was to do angioplasty to open up the blocked artery and effectively stop the heart attack in its tracks. He explained that it was not without risks, but that any possible risks were far outweighed by the HUGE risk I’d be taking by refusing to let him do what he was suggesting. Like anyone with any sense, I consented. Immediately I was whisked away down a hallway and into a waiting elevator by his two assistants. The following hour or so was the weirdest part of my adventure.

I recall being put onto a table and stripped nude. The male assistant began shaving a part of my groin area, while the 2 females began rapidly dressing the area around me for the surgical procedure. I was, as usual, asking questions and cutting up a bit, but they weren’t responding.

I asked them why they were in such a hurry. One of the females stopped long enough to look me in the eye and told me, “We are desperately trying to save your life, so we are preparing this room, and you, for this procedure as fast as humanly possible. Do you understand?” I nodded, and didn’t speak to them any more.

Once the doctor came into view, I asked him to knock me out for the procedure. I explained that I was terrified and did not want to be awake and conscious of him digging around inside me. Just the thought of that gave me the creeps. He told me not to worry, that he’d make sure I feel nothing, and that I’d remember none of it. That calmed me, so I sat back and waited for the festivities to begin.

I remember looking up at the ceiling and counting the tiles hanging above me. The doctor asked me if I could hear his voice. I told him that I could, then he informed me that it was all over, and that all went picture perfect.

I was speechless. Holy cow….that was wild! My amazement at going out then back in without even realising it was eclipsed only by the relief of not remembering any of it.

As they readied me to be moved from the room, I asked if I was out the whole time. I was shocked when he told me that I was awake and talking to him during the entire procedure, giving him feedback on what I was feeling at certain stages. That blew my mind. It’s so cool what these guys can do with drugs.

I was formally diagnosed with a myocardial infarction involving the LAD. That means....a heart attack caused by a plugged up left anterior descending artery. In case you don't know....the LAD provides the vast majority of your heart's blood supply, and, in it's plugged up state, according to the info I was given, is the most common cause of death in men.

In my case....the doctor did angioplasty, but the artery closed back up. Therefore, he installed a stent. A stent is a small tubular device that is permanently installed in the artery to help hold the artery open. In addition to the stent, I have to take 4 pills every morning, and 2 in the evening. These are blood thinners, blood pressure pills, a cholesterol reducer and a beta blocker.

I'll have to take meds every day for the rest of my life. Sound fun? Oh, it's not too bad, until it's time to renew my prescriptions. The meds I have to take add up to over $400 per month. That kinda throws a damper on things doesn't it? Welcome to my life.

Now, several months later, I look back upon this experience with sadness. It marked the end of my youth and the beginning of old age. No….I’m not really old….but just the thought of having to take medications every day to keep me alive, makes me feel old in many ways.

Like most young men, I never worried very much about death or being disabled. I felt good, looked good, and expected nothing like this to occur until I was at least in my late 50’s. But it just goes to show you how life can be sometimes.


As a result of the heart attack, I’ve suffered depression and angst, fear and constant anxiety. I was not able to continue the career I enjoyed so, and was forced to re-align my priorities and go a different direction. Every little strange sensation causes me to stop all I’m doing, to listen to my body, expecting at any time to be hit again with a pain you just can’t stop. It’s hard to live like this, but I have to. I have no choice.

The purpose for this essay is to enlighten and educate. I was lucky, damned lucky, for every day, thousands across this planet don’t get the opportunity for a second chance at life like I have.

No, I'm not bitter. Well, maybe I am a little bitter, but deep inside I know that everything happens for a reason, and that this path would not have been placed before me unless I was perfectly able to overcome it.

I guess the moral to this story is……always expect the unexpected, tell those you love how you feel about them, call 911 if you have a terrible pain, and if it does happen to you.......don’t give up.