High standards must be maintained.
As the oldest of three girls, I have always felt responsible for setting a good example. That’s why I agreed to take a CAC (Coronary Artery Calcium) scan to discover a potentially life-ending blockage. Besides, I was positive I was in the clear. I’d had EKGs and a stress test two years ago with no problems. I never smoked, and I rarely drink. (Soon to be rectified!) But my sisters decided to get tested, and I did, too.
To my horror, my scan did show a blockage, a problem so severe it has its own nickname, the widowmaker. It’s that lethal. Could it be fixed with a shunt or an angiogram? There was no way to know without a cardiac catheterization, a procedure harder to spell than to endure.
I went into Jupiter Medical at five thirty in the morning and woke up a little before noon to the news my heart was a ticking time bomb. Very quickly, I agreed to OHS (Open Heart Surgery). Many logistical hurdles remained, but one thing was clear. I did not want to climb out of my hospital bed, relinquish my IVs and endure another round of pokes, spend a fretful night at home, and return sometime later for the operation.
That felt entirely too stressful—and yeah, what if I decided to do a runner? With access to a change of underwear, it could happen.
Luckily, Dr. Patel had room on his schedule.
I don’t know how I slept that night, but I did.
By morning, indecision had given way to logistics: fresh hospital gown, monitors, tubes—and no turning back.
A merry band of hospital workers assembled around me. “One, two, three!”
They lifted me onto a sleek Stryker stretcher, sportscar model, tucked the edges of my gown around me for modesty’s sake, secured my multiple tubes and wires, and off we went.
My “driver” took off at a brisk clip. Ceiling panels flashed overhead as we hurried through the corridors.
It reminded me of Disney’s Space Mountain, although—mercifully—without the screaming.
Inside the operating room, figures in aqua scrubs, N95 masks, and matching hair coverings surrounded me.
“Can you tell us your name? Your birthday? Why you’re here?”
Easy enough. I’d been practicing my name for years, and my birthday was only five days away.
But that third question offered a real chance to shine.
“Is this about the overdue library book? I promise I’ll pay the fine.”
No reaction.
“Has the investment seminar already started?”
Still nothing.
“Could I have an extra packet of ketchup with my fries?”
Dr. Patel arrived. His kind eyes and calm demeanor instantly reassured me.
And that, as they say, was all she wrote.
***
A baby elephant was settled comfortably on my chest when I woke up. I wasn’t in pain, but the pressure was daunting. It was hard going.
“She’s breathing on her own,” someone said.
From somewhere far away, I heard David’s voice.
“You’re going to be fine.”
Not especially reassuring coming from an amateur—but nice to hear all the same.
David was right.
The operation had gone well.
Dr. Patel had grafted part of a vein in my leg to my heart, creating a new route for blood to flow around the blockage. That, my friends, is the “bypass” in bypass surgery.
Or as we insiders call it: a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, or CABG, pronounced “cabbage.”
At first, I thought everyone was pushing for more cruciferous vegetables.
“Did she have cabbage?” A tech would ask a PA.
“Is this the cabbage patient?” (And yes, the nurses and staff have nicknames for patients, usually referencing us by procedures. For example, “The heart in #0303.”)
Dr. Patel explained my position had been more precarious than we’d known. I have left-dominant coronary circulation, meaning the left side of my coronary system supplies more blood to my heart than it does in most people. Usually people are right-dominant. This leftist tendency (lol) combined with blockage in the Left Anterior Descending (LAD) artery meant that by the time an ambulance arrived, the odds were already stacked against me— proximal LAD blockages don't leave much room for negotiation.
Turns out my heart was—and is—a sneaky little booger, a perfect match for someone who makes her living planting red herrings and using misdirection in her books. Because there were more secrets to be revealed…slowly.
But that’s another story.
Here is what I want you to remember:
I did not present like a stereotypical heart patient. I had had EKGs and stress tests. My cholesterol was within acceptable ranges.
I was mobile and active.
I did not have crushing chest pains. Nor was I struck down with sudden sweating, pain in my arm, or nausea.
I was bopping around, traveling the world, driving, laughing, and living independently. Later, my cardiologist, Dr. Gardner, would tell me he felt bad having to explain I might need heart surgery. Especially coming out of the blue, as we’d never met before. However, that was his job—and my future was at stake.
In retrospect, I did have warning signs: fatigue, shortness of breath, poor stamina. But I easily attributed them to other situations. And of course, there was my family history.
Are you on the fence about getting the CAC scan?
Hop down, honey. Land on the side where you’ll have a chance to survive.
Lots of love,
j
PS—By the way, it is taking me forever to write these days. I’ll share a few reasons in future installments.
PPS—None of this nonsense I write should be substituted for advice from your doctor or heart-care professional. Remember: I write fiction. While I’ve done my best to be accurate, I don’t know nuttin’ about medical stuff. There are bound to be mistakes. You’ve been warned.
Glad you had the test and found out in time! Best wishes for your recovery. You need to stay healthy for your grands and the rest of your family! ❤️
Wishing you a speedy recovery from your surgery.