FROM TRACIA How I went in for a Well-Woman Visit and Ended up Having Open-Heart Surgery: A Cautionary Tale Like many women who reach that special age (the big Four-OH!), things have had a tendency to start changing in my body, traitor that it is. Fatigue was the watchword of the day. Mood swings and unexplained pain in my shoulders, back, and arms made me want to scream. Hot flashes became a regular part of my life. (This was not without casualties. Just ask the lawn service man who saw me strip in my living room. He’s young. I’m sure his vision will return. One day.) And seriously, peeps, all of this was messing with my writing mojo. I’ve got characters to torment, stories to tell, and books to publish. Let’s get with the program, shall we? Alas, my determination was outweighed by those damn symptoms, so obviously a trip to the doctor was in order if there was going to be any hope in not maiming the nearby villagers. My husband fairly insisted on this little caveat. Seriously, the man is a super soldier who has faced down the Taliban and lived to tell the tale, but one little ol’ mood swing was all it took to have yours truly bundled off to sick call for a blood test. And yep...the happy little blood test did indeed show a change in estrogen levels. Heelllllooooo, early onset menopause. Woohooo. I could just tell that this was indeed going to be a barrel of monkeys and just what I needed in the middle of my already tight schedule. Not. Fast forward a couple of weeks. Those pesky hot flashes were getting worse, and by this time, I was fairly certain I was gonna lose my mind in the process. Soooo....once again, off to the doctor for a well-woman appointment. Being the well-prepared well-woman that I am, I had my lovely list of symptoms written down and ready to relay to the physician du jour at the base hospital. I was bound and determined to get the absolute best damn hormones and any other pharmaceutical goodies they might be giving out that day. This is where it gets good, sisters, so pay attention. Halfway through my recitation of the horrors of menopause, I just happened to mention that those recent overwhelming hot flashes were accompanied by not-so-welcome pain in my back, chest, and jaw. You would have thought that I had just shocked the man with a cattle prod. My menopause manifesto was suddenly forgotten, and that medico had a blood test taken so fast I thought my already-spinning noggin was gonna take flight. Fifteen minutes after that, I was flat on my back with an oxygen mask attached to my obviously shocked face. Why, you may ask? Because I had just presented with the typical symptoms of a heart attack in a woman. And the doctor recognized it. And that quick little blood test verified it. My heart enzymes were severely elevated. The EKG showed that my heart was doing something called “throwing PVCs”....and actually, if I could have found the energy, I would have thrown the whatchamadoodles back. I either had recently had a heart attack or was about to have one. Holy hell. How could I have gone from needing a few happy hormones so I could get back to my writing schedule to being bundled off in an ambulance to a hospital in Nashville for more tests? Hospital Number Two did another blood test, and the levels had already doubled. Not exactly what we wanted to hear at that moment. And the arteriogram the next day showed the reason why. My left main artery into my heart was 80% blocked. And this artery, my friends, is the one that when it goes, the heart attack it produces is called “the widowmaker.” Yep. Not kidding. Not one damn little iota. The freaking doctor told us that. Most people don’t even know that damn artery is even there, let alone blocked. (And here I thought the only Widow-maker I was ever gonna know about was what I had nicknamed Jake in our Passion in Paradise series. Seriously. Damn.) Well, that was all Hospital Number Two needed to know. Surgery was the only option. In less than 36 hours, I took my second ambulance trip, this time to Hospital Number Three, which has a super-duper cardiology department. (Trust me, we know. My bestie’s husband ran background checks on every doctor that came near me and researched the rankings of all the surgeons and hospitals in the region. For all I know, he now knows if any of them owes a piddling library fine in their home town or hasn’t paid their parking tickets. But I digress.) So here I am in Hospital Number Three. I’ve had an ultrasound, am hooked up to the ubiquitous IV, have met with the surgeon, and am now waiting for open-heart surgery on Tuesday. The surgeon told me this is it...this is my only option. I’ve probably already had at least two heart attacks that they can tell. Without surgery, I don’t get to see my kids grow up. And I gotta be around to see my grandchildren....how else will my husband and I ever get revenge on our children for everything they’ve put us through if we don’t spoil THEIR children?? I still have my priorities, you know. As strange as it feels to say this, I’m one of the lucky ones. Most of the time, this heart blockage doesn’t get diagnosed until after the worst has happened. I had a doctor who didn’t automatically assume that menopause was the only thing wrong with me or dismiss me as a hysterical female. Thank God. And now, here’s the moral of this cautionary tale. Don’t do what I did. DON’T tell yourself that you’re just tired. DON’T tell yourself that those strange pains are nothing to worry about and that they’ll just go away. DON’T automatically assume that one diagnosis (menopause) covers everything. It DOESN’T. DO get to the doctor ASAP and DO get a blood test for cardiac enzymes. Demand it if you have any of these symptoms. Pay for it out of your pocket if your insurance won’t. You may just be buying time for your own future. **** Click here for signs of a woman’s heart attack. Don’t wait. Do it NOW! heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/HeartAttack/WarningSignsofaHeartAttack/Heart-Attack-Symptoms-in-Women_UCM_436448_Article.jsp
Posted on: Sun, 31 Aug 2014 03:20:18 +0000
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