08/17/2009 22:12

642 Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

"How are you?" I'm doing well, how are you? I must answer this question a dozen times a day or more, passing coworkers in the hall or engaging in idle chat on the elevator to bide the time. The butcher at the grocery store, the cashier at the gas station, the waitress at lunch, the neighbor across the street when I'm opening the mailbox. They all ask the same question, but they rarely mean it. And I almost always give the same answer, because I rarely mean it either. The question (of which I'm just as guilty of asking insincerely), or the answer. The biggest lies, somehow, are the easiest to tell. And why not? It's only a few words, simple enough to pawn off as fact. Standing and facing someone, not feeling at the present moment as though you're about to faint, it takes surprisingly little effort to tell them that life is good and you're doing just fine. Truth is, the last time I remember doing just fine was in May. It's frustrating how a heart problem can manifest itself in so many stealthy ways. You have trouble swallowing, you suspect a cold or perhaps strep throat. You can't breathe, you wonder if it's asthma or - as a smoker - something worse. You get light-headed, you probably just need to eat something, or maybe you didn't sleep quite long enough the night before. Eventually you have all of these symptoms at the same time, and your physician responds with nonchalance and yet another new prescription. Then comes the day when despite every physical effort and all mental command, your body refuses to obey. You attempt to stand out of your chair, and find that doing so is entirely beyond your capability. That was me, June 24th, 2009. I couldn't stand up. I couldn't fucking stand up. Since that day, I've received infinitely better medical care. I owe a great deal of thanks to Dr. Michael Pruett, Mid-South Internal Medicine; and Dr. Ray Allen, Cardiology Specialists of Memphis. Were it not for your time and your help, would I be able to write this today? Over those same months, I've watched my quality of life decline rapidly, only to rebound but not yet to normalcy. I haven't driven on the interstate in more than a month, because driving at that speed makes me feel as though I'm going to pass out (I'm fine as a passenger, it's something to do with the stress of driving). I have to watch precisely what I eat, how much, and when - sodium is to be avoided, and if I get too full, I can't breathe. After mowing the lawn on a hot day, downing a great big glass of iced tea like I would have done last year is out of the question; cold beverages make my chest hurt and the rest of my body pulse with discomfort. Yes, we're talking angina. And cardiomegaly. And mitral regurgitation with tricuspid regurgitation. And let's not forget reduced left ventricular systolic function, because what kind of party would it be without that one? Why do I mention all of this, and why now? Because tomorrow, Tuesday, will be the scariest day I've ever faced. I'm scheduled for a coronary angiography, more commonly known as a heart catheterization. A three-foot-long tube will be inserted through a punctured artery in my groin, wound around through that artery into my heart, and poked here and there amongst the heart's chambers to determine what's the haps. It's a routine diagnostic procedure, they say. Only 1 in 1000 patients die during their cath, and only 1 in 250 have complications. Like heart attack, or stroke. Hey, I'm a gambler. This is supposed to be an exciting week in my life. I turn 30 on Friday. But on this birthday, I won't be celebrating the milestone as most do. No party, no fun, no getting drunk or going out on the town. No, this Friday - this Friday it's going to be exciting for an entirely different reason. For a new lease on life, I hope. Catch y'all on the flip side.