Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 19, 1994 TAG: 9406240009
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: EXTRA1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Cody Lowe
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I told you once that I use that phrase a lot. It crossed my mind again the evening of May 23 as I was lying in the back of an ambulance rolling to the emergency room at Lewis-Gale Hospital.
The Moneta Rescue Squad members and I thought - hoped - my hiatal hernia was just being particularly stubborn, causing the burning pain in my chest that wouldn't be relieved by antacids or food.
No such luck.
Within seconds of being hooked up to the electrocardiogram in the emergency room, the doctors announced I was in the middle of a heart attack.
Straight up the elevator we went to the cardiac care unit to where I would spend six of the next 11 days. Fortunately, the good doctors were able to open the one artery that had become completely blocked, and I'm recuperating at home for a few weeks before getting back to the office routine.
Of course, the pressure really is on now. I've been through one of those life-changing experiences that is supposed to leave a person with a new appreciation of what is important and what isn't.
For someone who makes a portion of his livelihood writing a column that occasionally, at least, passes itself off as profound observations on faith and life, you'd expect that surviving a heart attack would be a perfect opportunity to reflect on deep or lofty visions of ``truth.''
I'm afraid what follows isn't earth-shattering. Some of it will be familiar to the hundreds of you who similarly have survived a heart attack. But for what it's worth - and because it's expected - here are some observations about my experience.
Although the doctor's calm but no-nonsense pronouncement that I was having a heart attack was something of a shock, my first emotional response was to worry about how my wife would take the news.
At that point, I had been through more than two hours of pain without being completely incapacitated, so - foolishly or not - I never thought I might die. Since most of us, though, think about death when we hear ``heart attack,'' I was afraid Doris would make that association, too.
While I was sure I was going to be feeling better soon, I knew it wouldn't look good from the outside. In the coronary care unit, I had four IV lines going, oxygen tubes in my nose, wires attached to my chest, a blood-pressure cuff on my arm, and monitors flashing and beeping away. I worried that it would terrify the kids. As it turned out, they and Doris handled the view like champs.
It wasn't until later in that first evening - when I faced the responsibility of signing papers giving my wife legal authority to make life-or-death decisions for me if I couldn't - that I actually contemplated not surviving. It took me until the next day to be able to discuss it with Doris.
I'm not afraid of dying, but I don't want to be leaving just yet. My children still need me for at least a few more years, and I believe my wife would like to have me around a little while longer. And there are things I want to do, such as write a few more of these columns and do some traveling.
There were a few times during my hospital stay that I was overwhelmed a bit by the unknown future and the uncertain present. Those were the times I wanted to cry, but I discovered to my surprise how deeply ingrained is ``the code'' we men have against that. I struggled against tearing up in front of my family, my minister, the nurses or even alone in my room.
We ``sensitive men'' are supposed to be past that, you know. But somehow, the first welling of a tear seemed to be succumbing to fear or despair - emotions I just wasn't willing to feel,or admit, anyway.
I did worry about how much my heart was damaged. Would I be ``handicapped''?
My job, of course, doesn't require any heavy-duty physical activity, and I'm not the type to get stressed out at work. I wasn't worried about not being able to do my job. Still, I didn't want to be told I couldn't mow the lawn - even though Doris does that most of the time, anyway - or tend the garden or work on the car or carry the garbage cans to the curb.
Fortunately, the heart damage was minimal, and I don't face those kinds of limits. I'm walking every day and should be back to full steam soon.
The challenges I do face are in some ways tougher for me than the ones I feared. Get more aerobic exercise. Lose weight. Lower my cholesterol levels.
The deal is that I'm largely in charge of the future. That may be the most important lesson of this episode.
One of the hazards of writing history, though, is attempting it too soon after the events occur. That may be true of this experience as well. I'm not sure I've learned all the lessons it can teach. Those may take months or years to appreciate fully.
As everyone who goes through such an experience does, I've thought a lot about how much my family means. I've discovered that many people I considered good friends are even better friends than I knew. And I've made some new friends, especially among that dedicated hospital crew who were so professional and, just as important, so loving.
Many of you who I don't know at all, in fact, have expressed your love and prayerful good wishes in so many thoughtful ways that I can't thank you enough.
I've tried to live by two simple biblical precepts most of my adult life - to love my neighbor and to love God. Though I fail at them in some way every day, I think the attempt does pay off. I know it has this last month.
by CNB