It was a great fishing trip: Terry and our sons, Bill and Ben, along with our faithful guide, Rob, on beautiful Lake of the Woods. Two days of perfect weather, outstanding fishing, and the centerpiece of any fishing expedition, shore lunch.
Rob is an artist when it comes to shore lunch: deep fried fish and potatoes with bacon, onions, corn, mushrooms, and more. I love it. Saturday night, however, I felt I was paying for my overindulgence with a bad case of indigestion, something I usually never have. Some ancient Tums from Terry’s purse allowed me to get some sleep, but the pain was back again Sunday morning, the day of our departure. The return home is a long haul, 45 minutes by boat, one and a half hours to International Falls, and then three and a half hours home.
The “indigestion” stayed with me. Terry drove, and once we passed Grand Rapids, we decided to go straight to the Aitkin Hospital to check this out. Terry is famous for her “lead foot”, and we made it home in record time. The boys were asleep in the back seat and unaware of the situation.
Thank God Aitkin has a brand new state-of-the-art hospital. A blood test showed that my cardiac enzymes were up. It wasn’t indigestion. Nitroglycerin and morphine controlled the pain, and I was admitted. Subsequent blood tests showed the enzymes rising. I was having a heart attack. Monday morning I was strapped into the ambulance for Abbott Northwestern Hospital and an angiogram.
The cardiologist explained I would most likely need a “stent” to repair the blockage in my coronary arteries. I can’t say enough about the care I received at Abbott. These are a team of real pros. After I was whisked down to the staging area for the angiogram, I was met by a big muscular nurse anesthetist, a former Gopher football player.
“Hi! I’m Mike; I’ll be your bartender today. I’ve got Versed, Fentanyl, and Valium. Whatever you need for a comfortable trip.”
The other nurse’s aid said, “And I’m Suzy. I’ll be your designated crotch shaver.” After being depilated by Suzy and fortified by Mike, I was wheeled into the angiography suite. Everyone was so nice, and the procedure was virtually painless. Everything was going swimmingly until the anxious face of my cardiologist appeared before my bleary eyes. I needed more than a stent; the blockage was so bad a quadruple bypass was required. Sensing my disappointment, Mike said, “Here, Bill, this one’s on the house,” and gave me another shot of Fentanyl to calm me down.
Surgery was scheduled for the next morning. The chaplains took care of my spiritual needs. I felt at peace and in good hands, both God’s and those of the staff of Abbott Northwestern.
Tuesday morning the preparation began. First I was scrubbed from head to toe. Terry said, “Look on the bright side — you’re being bathed by two beautiful women.” I observed that I wasn’t feeling very sexy, especially with this catheter in place. “Yes, I know,” Terry replied with a sly smile.
Finally I was wheeled down to pre-op. Two nurses jumped on me and sheared me like a sheep. I wound up looking like some kind of demented poodle. The anesthesiologist came by to introduce herself, and the next thing I knew it was off to dreamland, or more correctly, dreamless land.
The surgery was a tremendous success. They were able to do the quadruple bypass without having to put me on the heart/lung machine, thus sparing the very real possibility of short-term memory loss and other mental sequellae that I could ill afford given the already dubious capacity of my “squash”. I was a very helpful patient, evidently extubating myself in post-op. I do remember some consternation on the part of the nursing staff after that stunt, but the rest of the day was a blur. All I remember was feeling Terry’s bedside prayers washing over me like soothing waters.
The next two days were spent getting back on my feet. It seemed the only thing available to watch on TV was Ronald Reagan’s never-ending funeral. As much as I loved him, all I could think was “better him than me”. Thanks to lots of prayers and excellent care, I was home four days after surgery. I’m getting stronger every day.
People ask me why it happened. Mostly bad genetics — both my parents died with heart disease. But I was way overweight, I didn’t exercise as much as I should, I had all kinds of good intentions, but inertia ruled. I was watching “Joan of Arcadia” the other night when “God” told her, “Sometimes choice needs to be taken out of your hands.” TV theology that it was, it sure made sense to me. Here I am, alive and grateful, 25 pounds lighter and still losing, and working out every day. Maybe I’ll finally even get that associate I’ve been procrastinating about.
Through this whole ordeal I have been humbled by all the prayers and support from all of you. Dentistry is a wonderful profession, and the help and concern I have received has literally saved my life. Dave Winegar, Al Quam, Mark Anderson, and Bill Beasley have volunteered their time to treat my patients. Thank you all for your prayers, cards, letters, and gifts. Most of all, thanks to our own dear Patty Lien [Northwest Dentistry’s Advertising Manager], who took it upon herself to have her own heart attack in solidarity with me. That is dedication above and beyond the call of duty for Northwest Dentistry magazine.
Do I have any sage advice? To quote Hulk Hogan: “Say your prayers, work out every day, and take your vitamins!” (My cardiologist told me that the 3,000 mg of fish oil I have been taking daily saved my life.) To this I would add, love one another, especially your patients; you may be a patient too when you least expect it!
