I guess now would be as good a time as any to relate the following. On June 23, 2008, just five weeks ago today (I think), I suffered a near-fatal heart attack. I know, I know. From looking at my photos I look like I'm in my 20's or 30's at most, but believe it or not (and I know it's hard to believe), I am at the time of this writing 54 years of age!
Anyways, my boss had talked me into doing all of the post-50th birthday checkups, so I've been going to the doctor, getting poked and prodded and having needles stuck in me and X-rays and all those nice things. A few weeks ago my back began to bother me a little bit. I complained to the doctor and he agreed with me that it was probably just muscle spasms, but let's use this as an excuse to get a Thallium heart stress test. The insurance company might not pay for it (it's expensive), without some indication of heart problems.
I scheduled the test for June 23. I was required to fast for 24 hours prior to the surgery and arrive at the hospital no later than 8:00 am. Well, the day arrived, I bemoaned the fact that I couldn't have my usual morning cup of coffee, and I drove myself to the hospital. Now listen to this: I was in the cardiac center of th hospital, hooked up to a bank of heart monitors, wires out the wazoo, surrounded by a bevy of heart specialists when BANG! They grabbed me and threw me on a gurney and had me in surgery within minutes. Turns out they only had to insert a stent, but I was discovered to have 99% blockage of the LAD, an artery in the heart that has the nickname of "the widow maker."
Doctors said that I was within mere minutes of being dead. Had I not been where I was when I was it is most unlikely that I would have survived. I had the same kind of heart attack that killed Tim Russert. I was already at the hospital, and he wasn't. I am alive and he is dead.
Well, after it was all over, I went back to visit the cardiac center personnel. They were all excited to see me. They appreciate it when one of their patients returns for a visit -- especially after scaring them the way I did. Needless to say they saved my life. But here is the interesting part: Every person there, including doctors and nurses said that while they were prepping me and asking me questions the only thing I could talk about was my animals. They said that I insisted that they call a friend of mine and make arrangements and inform me that my animals were okay. Bonnie would need to be boarded at the vet since she takes phenobarbital twice a day. The other animals would have to be checked on, and above all, if I did not make it, I needed to know that someone would look after them.
The people in the hospital told me that I would not let them operate or do anything until my orders were carried out.
Hey, I got through the surgery okay. Subsequent tests indicated that there was no serious, discernable damage to my heart. Good thing. When I arrived home and saw all my babies, were they happy to see me! And was I happy to see them! My heart was okay then.
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