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As my family and most of my friends know, I had a bit of a scare last week. On or around Tuesday, Nov. 6th I started feeling my heart get off rhythm when beating. This was on Election Day, so maybe it was the thought of Fletcher winning another election that set it off (not that I have a whole lot of faith in Beshear). As far as describing it, it was like it would beat normally for two or three beats, and then slow considerably. Then all the sudden it would start beating really fast trying to catch up and feel like it was passing a massive amount of blood through at once, sending my blood pressure through the roof. But at no point was I in any pain or discomfort, it was just really, really annoying. This is something I have experienced since my teens. Usually when it gets off rhythm, it catches the rhythm back within an hour. So I basically just ignored it. When I woke up Wednesday, it was still there doing the same shit. I ignored it again and just figured it would reset itself at some point. By Wednesday night when it was still constantly missing rhythm, I finally decided to tell my wife Dre what was going on. She was worried, but I assured her I was nothing to be worried about. I figured I just needed to exercise to get it back on track. So Thursday I got on my skier and exercised pretty strongly for about an hour. I felt much better afterwards, but that still didn't work. I knew I was going to have to go to the hospital at some point, but still put it off. To be honest, I didn't want to know. What's going through my mind is "Open Heart Surgery"! Plus I had some serious work commitments the next week that I didn't want to have to back out on. Friday I got tied up at work until late, so no exercise. Saturday came and I put it off all day because we had a lot of things to do. By this point Dre was very concerned. I kept insisting it was nothing; however I knew something serious was wrong. We went over to Daniel and Christina's to watch some movies and hang out. It was nice, but I learned that drinking beer only made matters worse. We left around 1:30am in the morning. On our way home, Dre noticed the concerned look on my own face and asked what was wrong. Once I told her that it had gotten worse, she basically made the decision for me that we were going to the hospital. I wanted to put it off until Sunday morning, because I knew I my condition was serious enough that I would have to stay at the hospital once we got there. She talked me into going right then, at 1:30am in the morning, and I will forever be grateful to her for that.
We arrived at Baptist East Hospital sometime around 2am and went into the emergency room. Luckily we were seen right away. The nurse took my vitals and saw what was going on with my heart. I remember her saying "I think I know what's going on", but she wouldn't tell me. I had to wait for the emergency room Dr. to diagnose me. So they put me in a wheelchair, that's when I knew some shit was up, they wouldn't even let me walk back to the room myself. They had me lay down on a "bed", (and I say "bed" because it was nothing more than a gurney with a solid piece of wood underneath it with an inch-thick pad laying over it. Not exactly the model of comfort). They ran an EKG on me and it seems like everyone knows what's going on, but no one will tell me. I'm freaking out but trying not to show it, I can see on Dre's face that she is freaking out as well. These techs and nurses keep coming in check vitals and rushing everything, making me think I am having a heart attack or something major. Finally the emergency room Dr. comes in and lets me know what the fuck is going on. They diagnosed the condition as Atrial Fibrillation, and set me at some ease when they told me it wasn't a life-threatening condition. But apparently if it goes untreated, blood clots can form and be passed to the brain, causing a stroke. Or it can lead to a heart attack. A student nurse comes in at some point to hook me up to a couple IV's. Apparently the two medicines they need to give me (Heparin, which is a blood thinner, and Coumadin, which helps prevent blood clots.), can't mix. So they have to put IV's in both arms. Now I'm not scared of needles, and I donate blood at the Red Cross every couple of months. And in my days of wayback when I had no money, I used to donate plasma for cash. So I'm used to getting needle sticks. In fact, I have scar tissue in the folds of both my arms where they always stick me. I have never had a problem with anyone finding the vein in either folds of my arms EVER. Even I could stick myself and easily find the vein on the first try. Actually I would probably make an excellent heroin junkie. Well in comes this student nurse to hook me up to the IV's, one in both arms. My left arm, fine, she found the vein with no problem. I don't know how the fuck she couldn't find the vein in my right armfold, but she can't. So she has to stick me in the vein in my forearm. And I discovered that not only does it hurt more to get a needle in your forearm, but it is also quite awkward as well. You can't do SHIT without either feeling the goddamn needle in your forearm, or the IV tube getting in the way. Still, they have me lay there (I still have EKG wires and IV's stuck in me, so I can't get up or go to the bathroom).
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Papa Jerf!