Shifting Gears: Celeste 2.0
You cannot lay down on the bridge for some stranger to find you, I told myself. My aim shifted from walking up to The Mountain Club, to then getting myself to the HR department at Loon, just on the other side of the bridge.
Fifteen minutes ago I left my house on my bicycle like I do every weekday to commute to work at the health club. Just as I was getting to the 2-mile mark my chest was weird, my throat not right. No longer could I ride, but my internal guide was telling me to get off and walk.
My arms were getting weird, but thankfully my legs felt fine and could carry me to the building. The pain in my torso felt so foreign, though I had experienced it to some degree on Monday but it had subsided, it’s not now.
I’m across the bridge, almost to the building, I am going to make it, I thought. Pushing my bike up to the building, weaving through some of the parked cars, a guy commented to me as he was getting into his car “hard core” referring to biking in the winter. “Yeah” was all I could give him.
In through the door, I slid down into a folding chair just inside the entrance. A chipper staff person asked how they could help.
I don’t recall my exact words but let on I needed help, medical help. Sweating like I was in a sauna I started to strip off my outer layers, dumping my back pack onto the ground.
I texted the clients I was to meet that day “canceling for today”, then texted one of my brothers and a sister-in-law so people would know where I am and what was happening.
People buzzed around me to help.
Craig on ski patrol was called down to help. They called 911 and the ambulance. I thought I had the new variant of COVID, since that and the flu was all over the news as hitting people and hitting hard.
The pain and discomfort was not subsiding, my sternum, my chest, my jaw all weird. The sweating-clammy skin all so foreign. My eyes closed, the best I could do was fold over in the chair and hope this sensation would go away.
It was not.
I was given an aspirin.
I said maybe I had COVID. That was ruled out.
I was given oxygen. That did not alleviate the sensation but likely helped my body.
The ambulance arrived.
Acting quickly the ambulance attendees connected me to monitors. The chatter among the medical staff paused.
Silence.
The next words spoken “we are taking you to Concord hospital”
“Concord” I slightly complained “why not Plymouth or Littleton” I asked.
“No, you need to go to Concord” was stated. “you’re having a heart attack”.
Immediately visions of my torso being cut open, ribs muscle being violated. Shit. Okay this is what is happening.
The world went upside down finding it hard to believe I was having a heart attack when being healthy was such a defining characteristic of who I am. It was a bit unbelievable and confusing how this could happen. Be happening.
A second ambulance came to help with the “transport” to Concord.
In the ambulance, another layer of clothes came off to get to my skin, facing backward, sitting up, eyes closed. Patches for the defibrillator were attached. The patches were cold but that felt good on my sweaty body.
My sister-in-law Michelle called my cell just as we were crossing the bridge for our hour long travel to Concord. One of the ambulance attendees obligingly took the call upon my request to fill her in.
Michelle then informed other family members of how my morning was unfolding for me.
At one point early in the journey I was told i was to be given fentanyl, which I denied wanting as addiction crossed my mind. It was explained this was not like street stuff, that it was necessary for the dying tissues. Okay, that seemed like a great reason to take it. I accepted it, and the reality of why I had a need for it.
Occasionally I open my eyes to peak out the back window of the ambulance. Lincoln slowly disappearing in a funnel. Onto the highway headed south. I continued to look out as we went to keep a sense of where we were on the highway.
Eventually the window was covered in road dirt. My eyes closed I began to run through all the people and things I had to be grateful for. It seemed the best use of my time in a terribly, physically uncomfortable situation.
Then I was in this lovely dream with light, like I was outside. I was in this aware state that I was dreaming, the best I can do to explain is “lovely.”
It was a pleasant place. I could feel I was about to wake up but didn’t want to, as I wanted to see how this dream would play out. I kinda wanted to stay in this nice dream.
I woke up flat on my back, the two fingers of my left hand at my sternum. Slightly confused as to how or even when I got there as I don’t recall the change in position nor the moving of my hand.
I think the ambulance attendees had also switched sides. When did all this happen and how did I miss it all?
One attendee spoke first informing me that I “was going to hurt for awhile”. What? More seconds of confusion.
Now I notice that the ambulance lights and sirens are going… It wasn’t earlier.
It’s slowly coming to me what has happened.
They had to perform CPR, for 3 minutes.
I died. That was when I was dreaming?
I must’ve closed my eyes again as it seemed like only seconds until we arrived at the Concord Hospital emergency room entrance. Feeling the rush of cold air as we passed from ambulance to the building. Little did I know then that it would be 1 week and a day before I would go outside again.
There seemed to be a crew of 10 people waiting for me, perhaps not that many but the place was crowded. They were ready and waiting.
Onto a table, pants yanked down to my knees, sports bra cut off, a gown went over me, someone shaved my groin in the event they would need to send the catheter through an artery there.
I cared very little about what was happening, I just wanted them to do what needed to be done. Complete surrender and trust.
In through an artery on my right arm. Incredible that a device would weave it’s way from my right wrist to my right ventricle.
Later, when in my room the ARPN Krista would show me the video of the procedure, like an x-ray but in video form. Very cool.
With my eyes closed on this table with a team of people, I was convinced I was standing in a room with a wood floor. Yet when I opened my eyes I was supine on this table, a murmuring of voices, a big white monitor hovering over my body with a long crane like arm covered in plastic off to the right, just beyond the monitor over my torso I could make out a black flat screen TV. I was able to understand what this was. The TV to show the doctor what they were doing in my chest, the monitor like an x-ray, a local anesthesia allowed me to be there to take it all in.
Later people would comment that I must’ve been afraid. I was not, never was I afraid or worried. I just wanted to feel better, the pain to go away, to get the help I needed.
Along with all that was unfolding there was always someone I knew or who knew me there. The staff in HR at Loon, Amy on the ambulance is a neighbor, the ambulance driver works at the post office, the anesthesiologist in the catheter lab knows my niece, and once I was out of the catheter lab heading up to a room my niece Lauren and sister-in-law Marcelle were there.
Dr. Magnus, the cardiologist who performed the procedure to unblock the artery, spoke to me briefly after he was done. I was told there was a tear in the artery and he was able to open it. Phew! Yet my artery was to big for a stent, they didn’t have one large enough for me.
Such a unicorn.
In my room feeling better, but my stomach was upside down. My face felt exhausted-who knew. My chest from the CPR compressions was growing sore. I had IV’s connected to my left arm and a vacuum like bandage on my right arm.
My first day
in the hospital
I was alive but uncomfortable, wanting to curl into the fetal position.
By late afternoon I had gone through a lot: heart attack, dying, drugs, vomiting. No food or liquids appealed to me. Lauren and Marcelle were fantastic to sit with me, to encourage me. I am not good at feeling sick (as you can imagine), I wanted the old me feeling back. And yet there were the unknowns of what “me” would be moving forward? What was possible to return to “me” again.
At times I felt so uncomfortable and tired that maybe it would have been better to not have come back from the CPR, it was a lovely moment. But at these moments it was best to think of them as temporary, passing, “what if” moments. When feeling bad, it can be difficult to see the other side.
My first night was a challenge between the ache in my angry stomach, the tension in my face, the IV in my arm, the pain in my chest, the lights of all the equipment in the room, and the constant checking of vitals and blood draws that happened throughout the night.
One of the IV’s in my arm diffused and leaked. I met everyone on the floor that night as each person came to attempt to get a new IV site with no luck.
I went without the saline IV but received the IV with medication.
By morning I was even more exhausted and not more rested, along with a vicious headache from being dehydrated.
Food and liquid was not appealing but, I was feeling better. Friends came to visit bringing me food, books, and some personal items from home. It took me all day to eat a bowl of mixed fruit. My stomach gradually settled. The headache from the dehydration came and went.
So many messages were coming through from the outside world! Each message was so uplifting. The amazement of living in a small community with people who care. Lots of love came my way and I was so grateful for hearing from many. It really helped speed my recovery.
Plus the staff on the floor who were caring for me were very kind, positive, and happy to answer my questions.
I could get up and move around-no dizziness, just me and my rolling IV friend. The simple task of brushing my teeth was a highlight on the journey back to feeling normal and well again.
It didn’t take long until I was doing a lap around the hallway- a speedy 2 minutes per lap. It was small but I was feeling better.
By Saturday I was ready to order food, but rather disappointed to be on the Mediterranean diet; no salt and low fat. Sigh. So I asked Lauren to bring me a bag of very salty chips and twas amazing. That and some LMNT to help me hydrate. So good! Salt!
By afternoon, I was taken off the Mediterranean diet since my heart attack was not due to lifestyle issues and the build up of plaque. I had lots of broccoli, some protein, and all finished with a big brownie. It felt good to want to eat and drink again after two days! Progress!
One of the coolest things about being in the hospital was having a chance to see part of the first catheterization. It is like looking at an x-ray but in video form. I got to see my heart beating, the arteries, the dye being sent through the arteries, and then finally the blockage. A spontaneous tear in the artery that caused the blockage which lead to the heart attack, which then lead to the cardiac arrest. SCAD - Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection.
As I recouped in the hospital, I knew this was going to be the best thing that happened to me. Sometimes the worst thing becomes the best thing, yet we may not see it in the moment. We can get pushed onto a path, a better path. However, it is up to us to see the gift and to interpret it to our benefit. Life can happen for us. I am alive, this is a blessing.
As the days unfolded with friends and family visiting, lots of messages on social media, and vials of blood being drawn less and less. My concern was losing muscle after sitting for 4 days. Being older, no movement, and little appetite for food left me more vulnerable for muscle loss. And not knowing what I would be able to do once I did get home. Would I be able to do to keep the muscle I have. Fortunately I do have good muscle tone so some loss would not be detrimental, but minimizing loss was crossing my mind.
By Monday I was hoping I could go home, but was informed that I could not. The challenge my medical team was facing was what to do with me. Not just that there is nothing to be done with SCAD, the body would have to heal itself, there was nothing to warn me as prevention for a future event with the odds at 30% recurrence. Even though I prefer to dial in on 70% it won’t happen again. The best the cardiologist could do to feel comfortable with releasing me was implanting a defibrillator into my chest.
Yipes!
Some x-rays were taken, ultrasounds, CT scan, and another catheterization to look at the artery again. The artery is indeed healing on it’s own- more blood drawn. It was decided I was ready for the implant. Wednesday would be my day.
No food or water beginning at midnight Wednesday. That day I set my personal best walking the hallway for 30 minutes-it became meditative as I looped over and over.
I was alright with this until about 2:30 when it dawned on me that there was a chance this would not happen today.
About 3pm I asked a few of the nurses who gathered in my room. They too were doubtful this procedure would happen today. Fine with me, I just wanted to know so I could start to eat and drink. I wanted to know if this didn’t happen today that I could mentally prepare to do this all over again Thursday.
What I soon learned is that all the procedures for Wednesday got pushed back due to an emergency. Fine with me, I was the emergency last week. My emergency a week ago was likely the cause of shifts in all procedure scheduled on the day I arrived.
Fair is fair.
By 4pm it was confirmed my procedure was moved to Thursday. Yahoo! I can eat and drink now. I ate what I could in the window of time I had on Wednesday to get ready for Thursday.
Thursday came, I was continuing to feel better. Approximately 11:30am the doctor who would be performing the procedure came by to talk with me, to answer questions, and to give me an idea of what to do after. The key was to move my left arm and not baby it. The implant would be below my collarbone on the left side, and I wouldn’t be able to raise my arm above my head until everything adhered so I didn’t pull the wires out. Reality hit that I would have this thing inside my body and wires attached to my heart. Bionic. No showering for a week, and no swimming for about 7 weeks. Helpful to have an end in sight to help get past this.
The conversation was informative, and it was going to happen soon so I could leave this place.
I got excited I would be next.
More blood was drawn (really is there any left?) and vitals were checked over and over in the next 4 hours. About 3:45pm they came for me, a bed to roll me down. Of course I asked if I could just walk down. A clear “no” and a laugh, so onto the bed I went to be rolled down to this very cold, sterile, metal room. Everyone was kind, chatty, and the music was playing. The doctor showed me what the implant woud look like. It reminded me of a sleek bottle of perfume, bigger than I had imagined. But okay.
Highlights of the procedure: they strapped my hands down, loosely but had I known this prior I likely would have been panicking for two days. Then they covered my face with a cloth, just briefly they explained. Okay so now I have hands strapped, cloth over the face… breathe, remain calm.
Sure enough the cloth came off. BUT now a plastic bag is being drawn over my head! Help! Tilting my head back there was a big hoop keeping the plastic expanded. If I kept looking back I was going to be okay, I could see the opening! Breathe, remain calm. Air!
Someone asked “Are you okay?” I think I chirped something that was not too convincing. A voice responded “we can give you something.”
Things seemed to move fast, I was awake throughout which I preffered. All I felt was someone pushing on my torso.
Done in less than an hour.
But now this giant thing was attached to my body. A new normal for me.
I was back in my room by 5pm and ready to eat! Once I got the okay, I ordered meal number one and enjoyed my LMNT hydration drink. Ahhh. The little things are big things.
While talking with a friend on the phone around 6pm I felt something rolling down my torso. Pausing the conversation for a second to peak down my robe. The trickle was blood.
“Gotta go, I am bleeding” I said to Deb. Who then panicked, but I was okay. Telling her I would call her back I hung up to call the nurse.
The nurse came, took some action, though all was okay in the grand scheme of things. However she did tell me to not move, treat it like a broken arm. Sigh. I had been enjoying the freedom, but okay.
Next up is an x-ray at 6am on Friday to check the implant is in a good place.
When the doctor who performed the procedure came to check on me the first thing he noticed was I was babying my arm. “You’re doing the exact thing I said not to do, don’t baby your arm.” LOL, I told him of the leak and the slight concern from the nurse, I was just doing what I was told.
“Not to worry,” he said. That’s what I wanted to hear! Move it so you don’t get frozen shoulder. My thoughts exactly.
Closer to going home!
All is good. I am ready to go! Getting my marching orders, I leave at 1pm with some friends to drive me home.
I was 1 week and 1 day into my bonus existence. 1 week and 1 day since I had been outside. 1 week and 1 day since I left my home with no idea that I would die that day, yet come back to write these words for you to read.
I left that day having been forced to shift gears. First it was a down shift but now I am ready to shift again, maybe into overdrive.
I am ready to take action, to see what happens.
