My Dad died, in my arms, of a heart attack, on July 14, 1982. By May of 1983, as a college senior, I had chest pains. I hadn't been to a doc other than the campus clinic for a few college related things during my entire college career, and so I called my friend and mentor Dr. Bob, a neurologist. He referred me to his primary physician, a nice young frum guy in the Grove, who gave me my first ECG. It was normal, though I have a variant called bundle branch block. The doc, who's name escapes me but died young, explained it wasn't a life threatening thing, but did make ruling out heart issues with a mere ECG difficult.
He diagnosed the problem with my 21 year old self --PTSD from my Dad's death, manifesting in chest pains. I realized one didn't need a PhD in Psychology to figure this out.
Thankfully, due to hopefully my mother's cardiac genetics and taking statins -- no problems. But the psychomatic symptoms return most years -- always in late Spring and early Summer.
In July of '17, two months before D1 and Joey's wedding and days before my 56th birthday, I felt chest pressure -- not pain. I called Dr. Eric and told him. Turns out pressure is more concerning to a cardiologist than pain -- and he ordered me to go immediately, without stopping or passing Go, to his buddy Harry Aldrich, in South Miami. I did, but Harry was on vacation. Miami being the schtetl it is, Harry is also close friends with Kenny -- their boys went to school together. The office got me in to see Harry's older partner, Yale Samole.
Dr. S ordered an ECG, immediately saw the bundle branch block, and gave me unnerving news: I had unstable angina, a non diagnostic ECG -- get thee to the hospital until a stress test could be performed. I begged off -- amazingly I never spent a single night in a hospital and wished to keep up my streak -- and so Dr. S made me promise to return the next day for the stress test. I went home and the next am got my haircut -- also a creepy coincidence, as my Dad died in the barber chair in Delray. The literary symbols were piling up on me.
And then, Dr. S's office called -- Av-Med wouldn't approve the test without my being in the hospital. What? How about I pay myself. The secretary said "Well it costs $3000." I told her I would be in, AMEX card in hand. There are plenty of fairly well off people who won't get the best medicine if "it isn't covered by my insurance." I am not one of those fairly well off people.
Wifey came with me, and into the room. I walked to tiredness as Dr. S watched the machine, and made verbal comments to himself. "Hmmm. Well. A ha." I then got the X ray with the stuff in my veins.
I had two thoughts. If the test was bad, they wouldn't have sent me out. But all those comments? I told Wifey I was done for. The receptionist said I would hear from the doc in a few days. Wifey begged her to have Doc make an exception -- we were due to meet D1 and Joey for dinner for my birthday -- and I would worry for days. She was right. No promises, the receptionist said.
We got into the car to drive to Brickell. Just past 27th Avenue, Dr. S called -- "David -- completely clear vessels. I guarantee no ischemic events for one year. Glad to share the good news!" I got a bit emotional, of course -- the Big Man decided I would get more time.
And WHAT time it has been! Both Ds married to great men. Two beautiful grandsons. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan buying a house near D1 and Joey, and adding to the grandchild roster. Trips that Wifey requests, and I reluctantly accept, and then end up having the best time! Wifey having a health crisis and recovering. D1 having an IVF related health crisis, and recovering! Big runs, all around.
Of course, I haven't followed up with the cardiologist since then, though get executive physicals each year, and several blood draws, all of which reveal the same diagnosis: "Pretty healthy for a fat pig." As my trainer Juan noted -- my balance and strength have improved with years of training, but I "eat like a king!"
Well -- this year I decided to avoid the birthday rush. I just called and made an appointment for a heart check -- with Dr. Aldrich. They gave me July 19 -- the day after my birthday. When the annual symptoms appear -- I'll already have the appointment! Eric suggests I get a calcium score, which I plan to before I see Dr. A.
Our dear friend Elizabeth followed with a cardiologist for a possible rhythm problem -- but they never checked her for ischemia -- and she died in her sleep after a hike in Utah. Hopefully I prevent that for myself.
If not -- no regrets. I never really had a bucket list, but it I did, the bucket would be not only empty, but missing its bottom.
Now will I get to see one or more Canes championships while I'm still on the planet? Hmm...
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