The Bloody Doors Off

(continued from “I’m still here“)

I’ll say this. When you’re presenting possible heart failure, the doctors and nurses move fast.

Which, of course you want. Seconds matter.

I got there when, 7:30 pm? We’ll say 7:30.

The hand-off was instantaneous. The paramedics already had my health card, and fortunately I was already in their system (from when I was having ocular migraines). (I didn’t realize they had my old address on file until I was discharged, and no one had followed up.)

I was lifted off the stretcher and onto a medical bed. Eyes still closed, I felt the speed at which they wheeled me through the Emergency entrance to an elevator, and up to the 7th floor to the Cardiac wing.

Then they started taking my clothes off.

The shirt, obviously, because they had to attach those stickers over my chest, thigh. Hook me up to the wires that connected to the machines that monitored my condition. (This included the most expensive machine, and the machine that goes ‘ping!’)

The pants were next. Made sense.

And then the underwear.

Maybe that’s why my blood pressure hovered at180. (At most, it should be 135.)

But I doubt it.

My eyes were open by this point.

Modesty prevailed; there was a blue sheet covering the crown jewels. But I was still showing some skin. Because they had a choice to make. To insert a catheter in my wrist, or my groin. Either option meant a tiny camera was travelling to my heart to get a good look at what was happening.

The nurse was prepared to shave me.

But the wrist prevailed.

A local anaesthetic later, and they had a clearer picture.

That dark patch in the upper right section of the artery? 40% blockage.

Not enough for a stent.

Their initial observation? Not a heart attack. (At least in the conventional sense, it turned out. I’ll get to that in a future post.)

But they definitely weren’t sending me home that night.

I was wheeled back to my room. They took blood. Kept an eye on my oxygen.

Marlo dropped off my CPAP with security (visiting hours were over for the night). (Author’s note: she dropped off the CPAP with a nurse from Cardiac ICU, who met her downstairs in front of the hospital.)

The night nurse checked my vitals again, then turned off the light.

She stood vigil outside for everyone in the ICU as they slept.

Like I could sleep.

(Continues in ‘The 59th Street Bridge Song‘)