The cardiologist retrieved us from the waiting room and took us into the doctor's "lounge." He turned and said to my mom, "I don't usually call people who have had a major heart attack lucky, but your husband is a very lucky man."
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Last night, my dad was out riding his bike as he normally does on nice days. After pedaling up a decent hill, he began to have some slight chest pain. He proceeded to bike home and then tell my mom. They gave him an aspirin and waited a few minutes, debating whether or not to go to the ER. They finally decided to go and drove about 4 minutes over the hill to the closet ER. They knew this hospital did not keep heart patients but they were kinda thinking he'd get checked out and be sent home. They walked in the ER, uttered the words "chest pain" and were quickly ushered to the back. The tests were coming back normal but the doctor decided to go ahead and treat him with aspirin, heparin, and something else I keep forgetting. He wanted my dad to go ahead and get checked out by a cardiologist so dad needed to be transferred downtown. Of course this meant an ambulance ride for dad which he balked at "Can't I drive myself downtown?" He had an uneventful ride with no siren and no flashing lights to the hospital downtown where my mom, dad and sister got to wait around for the cardiologist.
By the time Dad arrived downtown, his enzymes had turned positive which meant heart damage. Still dad never rated the pain above a 4 on a 1-10 scale and no other symptoms. He saw the cardiologist around 12:30am who wanted to do a heart cath but didn't feel it was urgent so he scheduled one for the afternoon. Dad was admitted to the CCU but was feeling pretty good and was in good spirits when mom and Erin left about 3am.
My mom and sister went back up to the hospital when visiting hours started at 10am. My sister and I switched off about 12:45. They started the heart cath about 1:30pm. One of my parents' good friends, Ken, waited with us and around 2:15 my aunt and uncle showed up from Aiken. They decided they didn't want to work today and Dad was a good excuse to come up. The dr came to get us around 2:30pm. Instead of meeting in the little conference room, he wanted to take us to the dr's lounge so he could show us some pictures.
That should have been our first clue.
What happened next was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Its hard for me to accurately convey the emotion in the room. The dr wanted to show us the pictures because the blockage in the arteries in dad's heart was so severe. In fact, this is the kinda of blockage that people typically drop dead from. Dad had two arteries that were 99.9% blocked. The dr showed us all the pictures of dad's heart which he couldn't make heads or tails of. He pulled one picture up and said, "When this picture came on the screen in the room full of people who do this for a living, the room fell silent." The dr said the treatment given at the ER last night very well might have saved Dad's life. This is the same thing that
Jim Fixx died from in 1984. The difference between him and my dad (except the obvious that my dad survived) is that Jim's family had a history of heart disease. My dad's doesn't.
Anyhow, the cardiologist put two stints in dad's arteries and that is the only procedure that will be done. It was all over before we even knew to be worried or scared. Now dad will remain in the hospital over the weekend and then will work with the doctor's to reduce the chances of this happening again. The cardiologist said its easier when this happens to a patient who is a sloppy pig. He can quickly point out lifestyle habits that are contributing to the condition. But my dad already exercises regularly and eats pretty healthy.
After taking all this in, Mom and I got to visit with Dad after he was resettled in his room in the CCU. We began conversing and quickly realized that he didn't remember the doctor talking to him post-procedure. Then began one of the most humbling, life-altering moments of my life. Mom and I began to tell Dad all the doctor had said. But how do you convey to someone that there isn't a medical reason why they are still alive? How do you tell your dad that he came within inches of death? It was easier telling it from this side: the side that says you were inches from death, but instead you are full of life. Praise God.
I get emotional when I think about what could have been. I hear God telling me that He doesn't dwell in the almost. He is- present tense. And I am very, very thankful.
