The Cardiac Kid

Do you remember when you were 8 years old? You were industructable right? You had an old table cloth as a cape and you'd jump off little ramps made out of two cinderblocks and a piece of wood.  The world held promise, there were no real worries at that age other than how long until Christmas.  Then you get old, meet more people, have more experiences. Then it's on to college and the real world. And for the most part, with the exception of a blister on your big toe, you are still that indestructable 8  year old.  I was like that as well. 

I went through high school and college drinking, smoking like a Turk and eating the most horrific fast food. Horrible greasy things that tasted so good.  You never thought or cared what this doctor may have said or this news article you read. None of that applied to me so I never cared. I not only lived a life of gluttony, sloth and bad habits, I rejoiced in them.

Now, comes the payback. A price I thought at 46 I'd never have to pay.  I decided to go to a doctor because I wanted to know everything. I was not a kid and things that never hurt hurt, things that worked no longer worked. The breaths weren't as full, those stairs a million miles away. I hop on the treadmill for the stress test, have all sorts of blood drawn, have an EKG and an Echo of my heart. When all was said and done, I'd know all.   And now I kind of wish I didn't.

"There is a slow rate of injection of blood leaving your heart. Most people's pressure is 45% after the treadmill , yours is 15%. Now, due to excessive belly fat and other assorted fat, it was difficult to see everything. There is a reason for the low precentage and usually it is a blockage caused by some sort of heart damage."

After the words "heart damage"  everything sounded like Mrs.Othmar, Charlie Browns teacher.

"Waawaawaa, waaa, waaaa, damagewaaa, waaa, schedule you for an angiogram, waa, waa wah. . ."       was all I could hear.

I came home and sat on the couch for a while. I was not sure what to do or how to feel. I just knew it was all because of how I lived.  You smoke, you get cancer, you eat fried crap and don't exercise, they take an artery from your leg and put it on your heart. I knew this.  Now, they were only going to put some odd radioactive dye in my system to check for blockages and other assorted flotsam. I jokingly told the woman drawing my blood that don't be surprised if Crisco comes squirting out.  I have no pains, other than my imagined ones, I have no trouble breathing. My doctor told me I had the lungs of a 46 year old man. There were no problems there. I soon found myself comparing myself to others

"This guy smoked 10 cigars a day and lived to freaking 90"

"This dude eats nothing but Big Macs and is not even 120lbs!"

"This poor bastard jogs every day, eats nothing but organic fresh food, no fats, no sugars, has 9% body fat and drops dead one morning while in the shower"

"Me?  I go straight to damaged heart that doesn't work no more"

It was a pity party for me. But the party soon came to an end and I soon became real about my situation.  This is a procedure that is done every day, well actually Yale only does it on Monday and Friday.  I'm trying to develop a positive attitude. I am grateful that I wasn't rushed into the ER that very day. I sit there on the edge of my bed and take my medicines. Each day, I eat less sugar, less salt, less fat. I feel slightly better, as better as someone who might have "heart damage"

Now, I know this space has been one of humor and nostalgia and it will be again. But for now, I plan to return to this space after my "procedure" to relate those events for all of you. We are all at risk, even if we think we can't possibly be. We run around and never think of how fleeting our lives really are.  But we can't stop living. We all need to take control of ourselves and our families. We can't take anything for granted. We all want to be able to play in the sun again. . .