The stent was installed on Tuesday. What it replaced was my appetite. On Wednesday and Thursday I ate very little, just a little cereal. But by Friday I was hungry. So Friday afternoon DB asked me what I wanted and I said ‘Subway’. One of their healthier subs. My step son Dr D (he’s not really a doc, but as smart as any I’ve ever met), had offered to get me something so he went to get it. Well in between the ‘get me a sub’ and ‘here it is, enjoy’ the twisted finger of fate stepped in. First a new Doc and then a nurse who cheerfully informed me that they were going to be looking into both ends of my body with strange and wonderful devices. And that, sorry, you can’t have any food starting NOW and nothing to drink after midnight. Some stupid reason about food and drink tending to cloud and obscure the lens of what’s going to be up one end of me and down the other. The procedure was scheduled for between 1-3PM on Saturday. I told DB I thought it would be later just because it would mean I would have to wait longer to eat and drink. Turns out I was right. 5PM. But after. After the Doc came in said ‘Hey, your insides look great’ (actually what he said was ‘what a waste of time, there was nothing inside of you worth looking at’). I could eat. Dr D said he wanted the honor of getting me my first meal. So off to ‘Subway’ and this time for real. And here it is. My first real meal since Tuesday.
It was the best of days; it was the worst of days. Tuesday, January 7th. I had a heart attack. My big boy artery was 100% blocked. I didn’t know that when I went to work that morning. Feeling no pain and on to my job (back then I had a small construction business, my how things change) to remove and replace a section of a concrete driveway. Later in the afternoon my truck was breaking down and, as it turns out, so was I. As she frequently does my wife DB came to my rescue. She drove to where the truck and I where stranded, assisted me in trying and failing to fix the piece of junk, and then took me home. I told her a was feeling a little nauseous and after she dropped me off I spent the next hour admiring the toilet. When DB got home at 5 I was laying on the bathroom floor, pretty much exhausted. She asked if anything else hurt I told her my chest was though not alot. She immediately decided I was having a heart attack. She got me up and into the car after some real serious and loud language. And then it was off to the hospital and into the ER. DB told the people there what she believed was wrong and they took no time in wiring me up, stripping me down, inserting things in places I normally don’t expect them to be and rendering me unconscious. The next day I was awake and wearing the latest in hospital fashion (which was – I’ll show you my backside if you’ll show me yours or even if you won’t). I wouldn’t find out for many days what a real obnoxious, pain in everyone’s ass patient I was. But that’s for another day.