Stent Man

“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”— Marcus Aurelius

I thought I would be home in a couple of hours.

I was certain the doctor would tell me there’s nothing wrong, that the cardiac catheterization procedure I had to endure on Thursday would show that I was in tiptop shape, and I could go forth and live a happy life.

It didn’t exactly work out that out.

I was stretched out on a table in NYU Langone, my right hand strapped down, while a surgeon inserted a miniature camera into my wrist and through my arteries to get a live picture of my heart, which appeared on a widescreen TV in the operating room like a hockey game in a sports bar.

The surgeon had advised me prior to the procedure that if he found any serious blockage, he’d have to put in a stent, but I knew that was ridiculous. I work out regularly, I watch what I eat. I’m in the clear.

And then he poked his head out before behind a protective screen.

“When you work out, do you get really tired?”

“No.”

“Do you have trouble breathing?”

“No, I don’t.”

He disappeared behind the screen and a few moments later he was standing next to me, saying that there was “significant blockage” of my arteries, and that he would indeed be putting in a stent.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was this possible? I know I’m not young—67 years old in May—but I like to think of myself as an energetic senior citizen. But suddenly I was feeling like a sickly old man.

My sister very kindly came down to keep me company through this day-long ordeal, which saw us stuck in the hospital until 6 pm.

The scary thing is that I had come so close to scrubbing this procedure.

What, me, worry?

My blood pressure was good, I had passed the stress test with flying colors; my cardiologist liked the results of my recent echocardiogram--why drop all this money on some test that will tell me the same thing?

But my doctor thought I should go through with it, and, since I trust the guy implicitly, I agreed.

Thank God I did.

I spoke with him on Friday, and he assured me I can live a normal life, but I’m not feeling that right now.

He was more upbeat, reminding me that the problem had been caught in time, and I’m trying to focus on that very important fact, but it’s been difficult.

I’m out of the gym for at least a week and I want to review my routine with my doctor before I return. I canceled plans to go out on Saturday night because I was tired and depressed, and I wound up watching TV myself. Sounds familiar…

I’m on blood thinners now and that’ll be for at least a year and maybe for life. Of course, I knew there would come a time when I would be taking some kind of meds, but I had hoped that it would be much further down the road.

And there’s the inconvenient reality that my hostility and anxiety played a role in all of this—how much I don’t know, but all my impatience, furious overreactions and ruminating about the past is no one’s idea of good medicine.

My doctor said there are several factors involved here, but he did agree that anger is one of them.

I’ve taken to examining my thoughts and reactions lately and asking myself a simple question: is this good for my heart or bad for my heart? If the answer is yes, fine, but if the answer is no, then cease and desist.

It’s officially spring, today is Palm Sunday, and Easter is a week away. This is normally a very happy time of the year for me, but all I can muster is some cautious optimism.

I’m due to meet my cardiologist on Thursday.

Let’s hope I get some good news.