The AFTER Birthday

Yesterday I turned 56, and until the end of the day, it was a crappy one, or at least an angst filled, worrisome one.

I don't fear death.  I've been around it three times in my life.  The first was when my Dad died in my arms.  Years later, in a (now) comical case of mistaken identity, I was held at gunpoint by three cops, one of whom I saw had a twitchy finger.  And closest of all, I was in my boss's King Air plane as we lost control, an event the VERY experienced pilot later admitted was the closest he ever came to dying in a plane, too.

Each of these three times, I was suffused with calm.  I don't know if it's psychological or physiological, or both, but it was the calmest, anxiety free feeling I experienced, other than waking up from propofol, which is great, too.

No - what I fear is the effect my death would have on, in particular, my Ds.  I greatly fear visiting upon them what was visited upon me when Dad died 35 years ago.  And that is why when I have a health scare, it really bothers me -- inordinately so.

So, as it turns out no coincidence, last week I started feeling a tightness in my chest.  I chalked it up to the memory of Dad's death -- I first got chest pains in the Fall of '82, and an EKG confirmed it was only stress.  Twelve years ago Eric made me get a stress test -- having a Dad die at 63 and a paternal grandfather die at 55 -- both of heart attacks, is a "bad family history."  The test years ago was normal, and last year, during a CT scan to check for kidney stones, they also looked at my heart circulation, and found ZERO calcium deposits -- a very good sign.  But the tightness persisted, and on Monday I called Eric.

"Go get checked NOW," he said.  He was more concerned that it was tightness than pain -- pain could be a pulled muscle.  How about after my birthday?  No NOW, Eric insisted.  In addition to being my brother from another mother, he's a brilliant doc -- Harvard trained -- a cardiologist's cardiologist -- head of a major health company's heart division.  So when Eric tells you to do something medically, you freakin do it.

He told me to either go to an ER, or try to see his buddy Harry, who practices in South Miami.  I walked into Harry's office -- it was packed.  Harry was off, but the nice manager, hearing my tale, added me on as a patient of the senior guy, Yale Samole.  I waited about 3 hours, and then met Dr. S.

I knew of him -- he's from a prominent Miami Jewish family.  His older brother hit it big in electronics -- he invented 3 D chess, and founded the Chess Hall of Fame here.  The brother died in '00 and the museum moved to St. Louis.  But Dr. S was a top guy -- used to be head of South Miami Hospital -- a place I hold pretty dear, since they were nice enough to sell us both of our Ds there, and they saved my Mom's life a couple of times, too.

Anyway, they did an EKG, and it was inconclusive.   I have a normal variant called a right branch bundle block -- I've known about it for years.  It isn't a cause for concern, but it makes reading EKGs tough.  Dr. S said he was considering putting me in the hospital until they could do a stress test.  I protested -- I felt pretty good -- couldn't I just go home and come back, AFTER my birthday?

My negotiation was partly successful -- no hospital, but stress test would be next day -- birthday or not.  I was set for 1:30.

Ha.  Not so fast.  I got a call from the office canceling it.  AvMed refused to pay -- their protocol was an echocardiogram BEFORE they paid for a stress test.  I called the office -- I would self pay.

It always amazes me that people who can afford it let insurance companies dictate their health care.  They have no problem spending thousands on stuff, but if a better doctor or faster care costs out of pocket -- they refuse.  Not me -- I gave them my credit card for $1600 and figured I'd try to collect from AvMed later.

Wifey took me.  We arrived 3:30, and I was taken in around 5.  They injected a radioisotope into my hand, and then put me in a scanner for 8 minutes.  Then another wait, and I was on the treadmill.  Dr. S was there -- reading the equipment.  I went for 10 minutes, which Eric later said was "decent."  He said a few things to the medical student with him -- I figured this was my bad health sentence.  I asked him.  He said he doesn't comment until all the testing is done.

I then went back to the scanner, first on my back, and then ample belly.  This checks the heart POST exercise.  I finished and got dressed.  It was 6:30.  I was convinced I was going to hear bad news.

Roberta, the manager, said the doc was in his office calling each patient he had seen that day.  I was impressed.  The man clearly isn't doing it for money anymore -- a Google search told me he lives in a $7M house in Miami Beach.  But he's 70, sharp as a tack, and really loves to help folks.

We got into Wifey's SUV and started driving to meet D1 and Joey.  I conferenced in the Ds, and told them what was going on -- I knew the fact that they let me leave the office was a good sign.  And then Dr. S called.  I jumped off the phone.  He said the tests were essentially normal, except that at high exercise, my heart was beating too fast.  In essence, I was a fat, out of shape, pig -- but no disease!

I told him I was with Wifey, and he had given me the best birthday gift in a good long while.  Hearing Wifey's name, and knowing right away she was a Sabra, he wished me happy birthday in Hebrew.  What a guy.  Sometimes people come into your life briefly and it's a true blessing.

I called Eric, and then Barry, who I had forced to share my anxiety. I was crying.  I love them both.

Barry told me he clearly remembered the night in '82 when Eric and I came into his parents' townhouse, in Davie.  My Dad had died - - I was spending time until I had to pick up relatives at FLL.  Barry was 18.  He admitted he didn't know what to say -- parents weren't supposed to die at that stage of our lives.

Years later, he deals with worse deaths -- those of children in his ICU.  I don't think it ever got easier for him, but now he at least knows the words to use.

Wifey and I met D1 and Joey, at Capital Grille, the old celebratory restaurant Paul and I spent many nights following professional triumphs.  Joey had never been.  I ordered the fish -- just for the halibut.  The waiter laughed -- some Groucho lines never get too old...

So I will truly celebrate today.  I already took my first mile walk -- I have pledged to the Ds I will move myself.  A LOT more.  We have a treadmill and bike in front of an upstairs TV -- I plan to do my watching while MOVING.  Wifey says she will commit to better health, too.  I hope she does.

We've had an amazingly blessed life together.  We're about to marry off D1.  We hope to do the same with D2.  And dare we hope for grandkids?  We do dare...

So I begin my 57th year on this earth -- another trip around the sun.  And when you're, to borrow an AC/DC phrase, cut loose from the noose that had you hanging around -- in my case a noose of angst and worry -- well, you're one blessed and lucky Daddy in the USA...