The Heart is a Lonely Hunter...

 

     ...unfortunately, I'm the one it's hunting. Anyone who's been following my thrilling exploits since at least last July will know that I had a massive heart attack that month. Well, filmdom tells us that every thrilling story must have a sequel and that's what happened to me yesterday.

     It seems that lately every time I do all three of my errands the second Wednesday of each month, something catastrophic happens. Last March 8th, I came home to find Mrs. JP gasping for breath. It wasn't until after I admitted her that I discovered she had COVID-19. 

     Next thing I knew, the hospital engaged in some mission creep and tried to take custody and care of Barbara out of my hands and to place them in the hands of others who haven't seen her in years or even decades. No doubt, those who's been outrageously placed in the sphere of ignorant judgment will attempt to lob insults my way and perhaps even add this piece of news to the shyster who'd been hired to represent that so-called hospital. If it comes up in court when we have the guardianship hearing on the 27th, I'll know exactly who spilled the beans.

     Yesterday proved to be more potentially catastrophic. The heart attack I had yesterday was also toward the end of my Wednesday errands. The chest pains began in the laundromat and, as with last July, I tried to fool myself into thinking they were gas pains. Again, no dice. Still in this potentially fatal denial, I proceeded to carry up my laundry, two heavy bags of groceries plus two gallon jugs of water and six large bottles of Fiji water.

     So I sat down and relaxed and waited for the pain to subside as it had twice before. Then the pain came back with a vengeance. Still in denial that what was happening could kill me, I then finished a chapter of my newest novel that had languished and I then sent it to my copyeditor. Nobody can say I'm not a gamer. Then, when the cold sweats came, that's when I called 911.

     Bottom line, nearly the same damned thing happened to me that happened to me last year. The first hospital to which they'd sent me told me both cath labs were full and they had to send me back to the same one down the highway that had wound up treating me last summer. And, as with the last time, I checked myself out today after less than 24 hours.

     They inserted another stent in the same radial artery for the same reason- An occlusion made up of cholesterol. They did some blood work and realized my cholesterol level was at 270, about 70 points higher than it should be. But this heart attack had a kicker- My triglycerides were off the fucking charts, at a whopping 710. Not only that, but my heart attack yesterday was accompanied by some funky beat to which no sane person would want to dance.

     The cardiologist with whom I'd spoken today was blunt- "Your heart attack nearly killed you."

     The way he'd explained it, when I exhausted my meager 30 day supply of Lipitor that the last cardiologist had given me, it allowed blood clots to form and degrade the original metal stent that had been inserted through my radial artery last year. Essentially, they had to replace it with another then inserted a third one in the same artery.

     I'm supposed to be on Lipitor, or Atorvastatin, as the generic name is called, for the rest of my life. This would have required my getting a fulltime cardiologist for a regular supply, But when I asked the drug store to ask the doctor to give me another refill, she refused. This time around, however, my cardiologist gave me a 90 day supply of five different meds. So I'm back home, thanks, again, to my sons and religiously taking my medication.

     Now, I have a friend who's a former MA state trooper and when he found out from my Facebook feed that I had another heart attack, he immediately sent me a text accusing the hospital that's currently holding my fiancee of causing my heart attack. That almost verges into conspiracy theory territory. However, it's taken as an article of faith in medical science that stress can elevate one's cholesterol level. So maybe my friend is onto something.

     But this isn't about me but about a very interesting phone call I'd fielded today from a very unlikely source as I awaited my discharge paperwork. Specifically, it was from Barbara's lawyer who will represent her at the guardianship hearing. It ought to be understood right now she's representing her and not me. I may still wind up having to go in pro se or without a lawyer.

     And what Barbara's attorney cannot understand any more than I can is why UMass Memorial Hospital in Marlborough, MA is even considering putting her future in the hands of people who haven't seen her in years or decades. She wants to know what the hospital's agenda is. So do I.

     When I had my first heart attack last July, I checked myself out after less than a day, too. But I had Barb put into a hospital. I told the EMTs who were working on me to keep me from dying that she needed to go to UMass Memorial to be cared for. So, yes, I took a huge risk in checking myself out that day because even then, I didn't trust those bastards. And it looks as if my distrust was well-placed.

     I can't hide behind such high-minded ideals this time but I will do whatever I need to do to keep living. Barb and I still have plans, still have a life to live. And nobody can say their "sister is everything" with a straight face when they're actively trying to put her in a nursing home so she can end up as some invisible, neglected old woman.