“Relax pal!" Well…that’s what they told me
to do after this rather untimely hijacking of my work schedule.
So, being the good little boy that I am (can I get a big “Amen!” on that one? I
didn’t think so), I settled in for the long run of recouping my strength and
letting my heart heal itself and such. Rancho Relaxo is exactly what it will have to be....
at least for awhile. But, there is celebrating to do to. I’m still here. I keep telling everyone, "Don't come to the funeral on Tuesday. I won't be there!".
This is a “first” for me but,
on the whole, I’d rather have been in Philadelphia. At 3 AM
on Saturday March 22, I was suddenly and deliberately attacked by a mis-parked
car. That is to say, it felt like someone parked their ’49 Buick Roadmaster on
my chest. Now, I happen to like Buick
Roadmasters. However, I really don’t like sharing my space with one of them and
felt rather slighted when this all went down (though I was spared the oil leak on my T-Shirt).
“Angina” is the technical
term for it; I can use the term without fear of being accused of being a
doctor. I can, however, use the term and be accused of being a paramedic since
I did a lot of that in my younger days. That came in handy because the event was immediately diagnosed and
immediately unappreciated for its callus disregard for my sleep time.
That also means that I
immediately diagnosed the issue when the angina progressed to an MI. It was the
text book presentation of the classic heart attack (you could say I did it “by
the book”).
Now, I don’t really care for
hospitals all that much. And, I really don’t like them that early in the
morning. The good news is that I had the staff’s full attention. There were no
other distractions. Isn’t that swell? It was a good thing that I had
forgotten my 15 minutes of shtick or I would likely have ended up on the front
page of the local newspaper. Can’t you just see it? “Local businessman
entertains ER while having a heart attack”. Then there would be the picture of
yours truly lying on a gurney and laden with IV’s and hosting a big smile
(boosted by 5 mg of Morphine Sulphate). Another Kodak Moment....shot to blazes.
As far as I’m concerned, that
was the easy part. Next came the encampment part where I became part of the
furniture and a sponge for all of the heart drugs ever brewed up by man. It was
like dwelling in a hornet’s nest. They stuck so many needles in me I thought I
would leak for a week afterwards. My biggest issue wasn’t the heart attack; it
was having a massive case of “TUBES” with an adjunct dose of “WIRES”. I looked like I was hiding in the backside of the instrument panel of a 747. My brain
was asking, “Can I go home now?”.
After awhile (not that long
actually) they figured that I wasn’t going anywhere and shipped me up to ICU.
ICU, of course, is the nickname of the hospital gown (gown being a Greek word meaning “shameless”)
that all hospitals use to give each patient unlimited exposure”to the elements. I sort
of understand the concept; if you keep everyone naked and continually fighting
to keep on a gown that doesn’t fit and will never cover more than a
small percentage of one’s body, they will never leave until given permission or
until someone sneaks them a moo moo.
I did notice that, after a couple of days, you tend to
loose your awareness of the gown and forget that not all of your body parts are hiding
from the Gypsies. That’s not a good thing the best that I can tell and it did
leave me wondering if the nurses were smiling a lot more than usual or if they were just naturally friendly folks.
After a couple of days of
playing the part of “Randy the Pin Cushion Boy”, I was hauled off by ambulance to Kaweah Delta Hospital in nearby Visalia (in California 40 min away is nearby). Once there, they parked
me in their surgery center until the angiogram that next day.
It had been awhile (try
almost 35 years) since I had been in an ambulance and, until now, I wasn’t the
one on the gurney. One of the medics for the company that hauled me was a “patient care specialist” while the
other was just a poor excuse for paramedic. Frankly, he was a disgrace to the
profession. His uniform was sloppy and ill-fitting, he behaved like a goon, and
walked like an egotistical know-it-all (look at me!) thug. I was embarrassed
for the clown. He was entirely disconnected from anything but his paramedic
image and his getting to play with the red lights and siren.
Now to the angiogram: they
carted me to the cath-lab for a look-see of my stumbling pumper. They dump a mild sedative and a mild pain
killer in so that you don’t attempt a backstroke off the table if you get uncomfortable
(and you do). The guy shoves a catheter into your femoral artery and then sticks some wires and a chainsaw into it. He then tinkers around and opens up your blocked
artery but in doing so must precipitate a heart attack by….blocking the artery
with his grease gun and Dirt Devil vacuum. That was uncomfortable. I really
wasn’t looking forward to that chest pain thing again. The discomfort didn’t
last all that long so things were better than normal rather quickly. Guess they didn't need the backhoe that was on standby.
They installed two stents:
one was to keep the artery open and the other, I presume, was to hold the other
one in place or perhaps the artery was a bit weak and sagging in that area. The
other coronary arteries were in great shape. I’ll rejoice in that!
Sometimes you get to go home
after they monitor you the remainder of the day and part of the next. I didn’t
hit that lottery ticket this time around. I had some sort of way-high enzyme
indicator that fibbed about the condition of my heart at that moment. So, I got
to take another day off and check out Telemetry Unit for a couple of days. The next
day after that, they did pull the wires, hoses, and needles (we don’t need no stinking
needles) which allowed me to shower and get ready to go home (Thursday). Sponge baths are OK in a pinch but I really needed to knock the chunks off. I didn't check closely but I wouldn't have been surprised if I had started my own potato ranch while vegging in their fancy electro-whiz bed.
On that bright and shining morning, Connie had my duds all
prepared so I climbed into my street clothes and signed my getaway papers. Of
course, they have to use a wheelchair for transport so I got an effortless ride
to the van.
We really didn't go straight home as there was stuff that needed to be done and a few fresh groceries were called for. So, we grabbed a few things on the way to Rancho Relaxo to make sure that "Joe Unlax" had no lack for things to keep him occupied so he wouldn't get in trouble.
Home…..Maggie the Wonder Dog
was so glad to see me she almost beat herself silly with her tail. As you can
imagine, it was time to just rest and get reacquainted with the ranch so I did just that. My home is my friend.
The tough part about this
event is having to retire my “Superman” costume. Personally, I thought I looked
pretty sharp in a cape. But, it appears that I’ll have to leave the chore of
saving the world to a……younger man. *SIGH*. Always wanting to be a blessing,
Connie said, “No worry, Hon. I’ll sew your cape into an apron and you’ll look
great at the BBQ grill”. You always know you married the right woman at a time
like this.
I’ll take it easy for a few
weeks and then hoist up the sails and get this ship rockin’. Lots to do. Stay tuned and don't touch that dial. Who knows what silly things lie in store at Rancho Relaxo? "Joe Unlax" just may have the answer.
