The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
Nothing was going to keep me from our dream vacation, two COVID years in the planning.
I had survived a semi-retirement gauntlet that included three weeks of COVID, a concussion from a bike accident, an ambulance ride to an ER, induction into the Journalism School’s Hall of Fame, and even a second bike helmet-cracking fall.
And then a series of events unfolded that saved my life.
Test results were not sunny. Hey, I was perfectly happy ignoring the symptoms. I am a man after all. And this man could have died like both of my dear brothers, who were felled by Widow Makers, but for my fortuitous falls.
Note, gentlemen, this heart killer isn’t called the Widower Maker.
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I was long overdue for a heart-to-heart about denial. Those years of shortness of breath that I concealed? They had to be silly panic attacks. Nothing to worry about. Probably allergies. Keep that trivial nonsense private. Tell no one.
Occasional lightheadedness? Hey, I’m a dizzy cartoonist.
That tightness in my chest? Must be something I ate. Shake it off.
What stress? I got this. Never met a deadline I couldn’t beat.
Diet? Come on. Live a little. Exercise? When you can, right? Work comes first.
Be a man. Real men power through. I could hear the Master Sergeant, the former Golden Gloves champion, saying, “Ya got this.”
I was led to a respected cardiologist, Dr. Melissa Dakkak, who said my stress test results suggested something troubling. How about an angiogram? As the day approached I grew dizzier. I was gulping air like a goldfish out of water. I buried my panic in jokes.
Then Dr. Dakkak messaged me the three most beautiful words I’d ever read. ”You’ll be OK.”
On the table in St. Mary’s cardiac unit I reminded Dr. Habibzadeh to be certain to amputate the right leg not the left leg. One look around the room informed me the entire team had heard that one before. Really? How about this one? I’m like Tom Cruise. I do all my own stents. Nothing. Just the beep, beep, beep of the monitors. Give him the sedative.
On the screen rolled up next to my face, I followed the cable that had been inserted in my wrist as it snaked across my beating heart. When I saw the terrifying blockage, I saw my shameful gluttony, my sloth, my neglect of my heart in stunning black and white. I was ashamed, mesmerized and humbled beyond words. Even humor eluded me.
I watched the tiny balloon open the blocked artery. I saw the platinum alloy stent slide into place. I watched it expand and was dumbstruck by what I saw when the balloon was withdrawn. I thought “Saving Private Ryan” was riveting, but seeing the liberation of my heart was stunning. The dam holding back the left Anterior Descending Aorta, the Mississippi River of the heart, gave way and I saw tiny rivers of black blood flood the delta I’d forsaken.
Witnessing my own salvation I was a penitent sinner, renouncing sloth and saturated fats forever. Give me this day salmon, red wine, Mediterranean cuisine and give me my 10,000 Fitbit steps and may my resurrected heart forgive me. Amen.
Waking up in my hospital room the next morning, tethered to saline, monitors and hope, I was astonished at what happened when I took my first slow, deep, satisfying breath. For the first time in years, I was free of the insatiable craving for another breath and another breath. Overwhelmed, I wept.
And then I looked up to see a beautiful sight, my Ellen, smiling down at me, asking me how I felt. I felt I had seen the darkness that had taken both of my brothers, too young, too early. I felt lucky, euphoric, optimistic, and grateful for the gift of life that had come to me through a hole in my wrist a tiny bit bigger than the period at the end of this sentence.
Was I imagining my transformation? On his rounds, Dr. Habibzadeh smiled, noting that sometimes results could be immediate.
I arrived home that afternoon with rosy cheeks, homework to study and rules to follow. Take it slow, said every doc. Wait to ride your bike. Listen to your body. Sign up for cardiac rehab. Let the stent root. Take your thinner, aspirin, statin, Metformin, Januvia and your time.
And that dream vacation of a lifetime? This past Wednesday, one week after the procedure, we landed in Vancouver. On Monday, Ellen and I are taking a two-day train ride through the magnificent Canadian Rockies to Banff National Park, to see the top of the world, where I promised my Ellen I will take my time, grateful for every step and for every sweet breath.
