Emergency

Emergency

“You’ll be up and running on all cylinders in no time.”

That's what they said. Every single one of them. After spending months, almost two years, arguing with the doctors that work was not possible, but falling to my knees was. I think the labs have drained me twice over. There was not a day or an hour I didn't wonder if it was my last. Going to sleep was another matter, simply put, exhaustion took over from staying awake twelve hours. This unwanted journey felt to have been a lifetime, nearly was in fact.

The problem arose one night on graveyard shift. The sudden shaft of stabbing pain ripped through my chest. Sweating and gasping for breath I sat awhile the discomfort eased and I finished my shift. Wondering if I had a heart attack I visited my doctor. He told me I may have had one and gave me time off. Having a second attack my time off extended longer, no reasoning for the cause of these attacks. So began the long journey.

The nightmares were pretty much my daytime. The mornings were okay but as the day wore on, after a nap or two, the pain would start. On the worst nights my wife took me into the emergency.

The nurses must have gotten tired of seeing me. The man must be crying wolf again. I guess I can't blame them, the more frequent the hospital visits became, the more doctors I saw, and the test vial count grew. This continued until they found that there was a slight rise in troponin, in the enzyme that shows that the heart is under stress. The levels were never high enough to state I was having a heart attack. It was low, just enough to show stress.

Meanwhile the pain became worse. I could only sit in one position that eased the agony minimally. I was told to go home and rest for a few days. The symptoms of a heart attack continued and the next emergency visits that became Hell itself due to the staff shortages and budget cuts.

The health insurance company wanted answers and kept contacting me, warning me that I would be cutoff soon. I would send in paperwork and have more doctors' visits to have that paperwork done. There were no answers for the insurance company.

The vague answers the insurance company received were the same ones I was getting. When stress was supposed to be at a minimum it was growing. They wanted answers, I wanted answers. I knew I could not continue living with the pain I was living with every day.

Living in a small town has its draw backs for some medical procedures. My wife and I had to travel by car or plane to have some tests done. Our children would stay home and wait for our return. These trips were so exhausting that I would nap extra hours for a few days.

By this point in time, I was unable to work, unable to vacation or even go for a long walk. The bare minimum would set off sharp pains, dizziness and breathlessness. Most of the time I had somebody with me because I could not be alone.

As the attacks continued, the troponin levels would be slightly higher when I would arrive and then level out to normal, so off home I'd go. In and out I went, time and time again. The doctors and all the nurses had to have been saying here he comes again.

I became familiar enough in the busy emergency that they would recognize me and comment that I had been there only a couple nights before. The cycle was a painful journey. I was losing hope and the desire to seek help.

But the worry grew with the ongoing pain radiating from my chest. I had electrocardiograms, angiograms, X-rays, stress tests and so on. The results showed some minor blockages but nothing to be serious enough to cause this much trouble.

My teenage children rarely left my side. My son was my muscle and able hands. My youngest daughter was by my side during one particular bad episode, firmly telling me to stay awake. She made me focus on her and our soundings while waiting for the ride to the emergency and during that trip. My family was affected deeply, their fear peeped through at times, tears were shed but they held it together very well.

In the last month of hospital visits I got to stay in the hospital and was monitored until I was back on my feet, so to speak. On the third day of my last stay in the small local hospital my doctor asked the ‘right’ question of the ‘right’ specialist a few hundred kilometres away. The next morning, I was flown to the cardiac centre where I met with several internal medicine specialists, cardiologists and cardiac surgeons.

Within minutes I was wheeled in for an angioplasty coronary that resulted in two stents. The blockages were in the left descending artery which is the largest coronary artery that extends from the base to the apex of the heart. These blockages were 95% closed and deadly.

Often called the Widow maker, patients are lucky to survive them with a twelve precent survival rate. I am one of the lucky ones. Usually, diagnosis is much easier for doctors, but I had to be an oddity and be one in a thousand where my symptoms were subdued and confusing for all.

After nineteen months, the several heart attacks, blocked artery and stents I can look towards my future. Tweaking my diet and cutting out the flavourful red meats I love out and taking a dozen different medications twice a day I can put this fear behind me. So importantly, I can see my loved ones, taking part in their lives without scaring them. I can start rebuilding and taking baby steps in a new direction at 41 years. I can live again.