My second heart attack came three years after the first and three years before my father died. The third heart attack would be three months after he died.
Heart attack #2 came on a Wednesday morning at the doctor's office where I worked. It was two days after celebrating the 4th of July at my daughter's house. That day was exceptionally hot. I came to work on Wednesday morning, not feeling very well. The nurse noticed my condition and asked what was wrong. I said that I wasn't feeling well, but couldn't really identify the problem. My heart (or arm) wasn't hurting like the first heart attack, but I was told that I had turned very pale. I took one of the nitroglycerin pills that I carried in my pocket. Not much improvement.
She told the doctor and then put me in an exam room. The doctor came in, asked me some questions, checked my pulse and blood pressure, then said that I probably was at the beginning of a heart attack. He proceeded to hook up an IV, but I can't remember what he was giving me (probably something to keep the blood from clotting). By then I was feeling very weird. The rescue unit was called. It was somewhat embarrassing to be wheeled out of my own office on a stretcher. I told the staff that I would be right back.
Lois was called, and she met me in the emergency room. The EMT had given me a nitro spray while I was in the ambulance, so I was starting to feel better. A cardiologist was called in. He listened to my heart and told me that there was a significant thump in the heart rhythm. He wanted to go in by catheter and take a look. I had to sign all of the necessary release forms and told Lois that I would see her on the other side should I not make it. (I know, very melodramatic.) The hospital staff scolded me for saying that and assured me that I would be fine. I told them that I wasn't being morbid; it was just that I was okay to stay and okay to go.
During the procedure they discovered that a major artery in my heart was 95% blocked. They popped it open with angioplasty, but it collapsed again. They inserted a stent, a small wire device like the spring on a ball point pen, that would keep the artery open. Recovery was more difficult than the events leading up to it, because I had been suffering from sciatica pain. Following this type of procedure, I was required to lay flat on my back for eight hours --- the worst possible position for my sciatica!
My blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 40, and they couldn't give me anything for pain. Even my daughter urged them to help me. I had just read in C.S. Lewis's devotional book, The Problem With Pain, how we should not ask to be delivered from the pain. We should instead pray that the Lord would be with us in the pain. I tried it. Then I fell asleep. How, I don't know. I awoke later with a nurse leaning over me. No pain. I asked if she was an angel. She said no.
Other than my family, I had two visitors while I was in the hospital. One was the nurse from my office. The other was the pastor of the EV Free church. He gently chided me for not contacting him, that he had to find out through a third party. It was then that I realized that we had never become fully committed to that church. And I felt strongly that we would never be.
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