I have had a brush with mortality.
It happened on Friday, May 7. I went to my doctor for a routine physical. About 9:00 am, while I was hooked up to the EKG, the nurse noticed something wrong. She left the room with a printout. I didn't realize there was anything amiss until the doctor came in a few moments later with the printout and a serious expression.
I had mentioned to him that I occasionally felt a strange sensation my chest, but I had thought this was heartburn, or stress. Sometimes this "bubbling" feeling went on for a while, sometimes it only lasted a few moments. On this particular Friday it happened while I was on the EKG. It was in actuality an irregular heartbeat. This, said my doctor, was a signal that I ought to get my tail into the Emergency Room of the local hospital posthaste. It was, as he said, a potentially serious situation. The time was 9:30 am.
Dressed in work clothes, I headed back home to change, to grab the cell phone and address book, and to call my wife. I had to leave a message on her voice-mail because she was not in her office. I happened to have with me my little Sony hand-held tape recorder, on which I had been making notes for my second ancient Egyptian murder mystery. So I started taping my thoughts and feelings. I do make some claims to being a writer, after all -- and I thought this might be an experience worth documenting.
I confess, I walked around the house wondering if I'd ever see it again. I mean, I didn't think my situation was that serious, really -- but who ever knows? I took a few moments with my dog, wondering if it was the last time I'd ever pet him. I called Mike Slom, the singer in my band to tell him what was up. This caused a lot of anxiety because we were supposed to play that night and the next night. I had no idea if I would be able to, or if I'd have to be admitted to the hospital, or what. Then I got in my car and headed for the hospital.
First, however, suspecting that I was going to be sitting (or laying) around in one place for the next several hours, I stopped off at the supermarket to pick up something to read -- a new Dean Koontz novel, as it happens. I'm not a huge Koontz fan but I've read several of his novels and find them perfectly adequate. Besides, that was the only thing in the rack that even vaguely interested me.
After I signed in to the ER I underwent some tests at the hands of the staff. The initial diagnosis was atrial fibrillation, defined as an irregularity in the electrical impulses between the top of my heart and the bottom. Something was out of whack, causing the "stuttering" beat. This is definitely something I can feel -- it's a bubbling feeling, as I mentioned above, and not really unpleasant, but certainly odd.
By 10:39 I was laying, sans clothes except socks and underwear, in a bed in cubicle #10 of the ER, with an oxygen line running to my nose and two IV shunts, one in my right arm, and the other, particularly galling, in my left wrist. Electrodes were stuck all over me, and a rubber sensor cuff covered the tip of my right forefinger. I had a chest X-ray, an ultra-sound.
(The machine that goes PING! actually was in there with me, but someone came in and turned it off. I am not making this up.)
After a chat with a doctor about my condition, I was told it was "likely" that I'd be admitted overnight. I told him that I wouldn't agree to this, because my band was performing that night and the next night. He wasn't going to forbid me to go to the gig, of course, but he did say that he strongly recommended against my playing. Then a cardiologist came in after about 45 minutes and said more or less the same thing at somewhat greater length.
An administrator came in bext. She was pleasant enough, but she said that the staff had told her I was taping the proceedings. This they would not allow me to do. I had to make it clear to her that I was actually not doing that -- I was simply dictating my thoughts and impressions. I wasn't taping anyone. I offered to play the tape back for her but she took my word for it, which was decent of her.
Then someone from Risk Assessment, I believe she said it was (do hospitals really have such a department?) came in and I had to reassure her, as well, that I was only taping my own observations.
Shortly thereafter I had another EKG, and a doctor came in to discuss with me what I was going to have to do as an outpatient. Basically I will have some medicine, and they will have to monitor my blood for a while to make sure the levels of the drug are where they are supposed to be.
I did speak briefly to Paula on the phone, and managed to reassure her that I wasn't in any immediate danger.
Ironically, two messages concerning job offers dropped into our voicemail while I was in the hospital. So it's an ill wind, as the cliche goes.
I was released from the hospital around quarter to two that afternoon. I returned home with three presecriptions. The doctors still maintained that I shouldn't play a gig that night -- or the next night -- but had to admit, when pressed, that I seemed to be in no immedieta danger. Taking them at their word, then, I insisted that I be released, and they had to agree. I played my gigs and was -- and am -- fine, except for worry and the occasional flutter in my chest every few days, unless that is simple nerves. I will have to be monitored, and will have my bood tested once a week for a while. I will have to modify my diet, I suppose. It's all just as well. In a way I've gained some appreciation for life. This experience makes me want to try to improve some of the areas in which I am lacking. If I am to suddenly check out, I'd like to be taking positive steps toward betterment rather than remaining stuck in some of my old habit patterns.
In other, more cheerful, news, I am happy to report than my band has gotten some more gigs - see our gigs page for details. Also, as I mentioned above I am working on the outline for the second book in my ancient Egypt mystery series. Haven't started on the second draft of the first book yet, although I am starting to read my reference material again to tease out additional details. I'll likely start the draft in a week or so.
Life -- go figure.