Before I start: Don't worry, we're all basically okay here.
About 6:15 Monday morning,![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cattitude woke me with "I think I'm having a heart attack." I realize this isn't the absolute worst possible news, but it's the worst way I've ever been awakened, and I don't recommend it.
Fortunately, we've been well-drilled (by PSAs, not actual practice) in what to do here. I grabbed the aspirin bottle, handed him 2 and a cup of water and said "chew these," and called 911. I told the operator what was going on, she took my address and conferenced me in with the paramedics, and they got here in something between 5 and 10 minutes. Questions about level and kind of pain, nitroglycerin, and an ambulance ride to the conveniently nearby hospital. [This is the same place I went last year for my gall bladder.] By the time we were in the ER, Cattitude was already feeling noticeably better. They hooked up an oxygen feed anyhow, double-checked the amount of aspirin I'd given him, and took a medical history. Within the first hour, the doctors had said they thought it probably wasn't a heart attack and angina was most likely.
The next 24 hours were a mix of worry and boredom. Once Cattitude was settled into a room, I went home to grab his glasses, which he'd somehow left without; a couple of books; a change of clothing for later; and the travel Scrabble set. (As I said, it's convenient that the hospital is so close to our apartment.) Shortly after I got back, they thought about what he'd told them and offered him a nicotine patch, which he accepted. Even if this weren't a situation where every doctor had said "You have to quit smoking" and he had repeatedly agreed and in some cases asked for advice or assistance, nobody is allowed to smoke in the hospital. He is now in day 4 of quitting smoking, with the aid of nicotine patches and a ballpoint pen to chew on (which he asked me for in the hospital).
The hospital kept him overnight because they needed three blood samples, at 8 hour intervals, to be sure it wasn't a heart attack. Hospitals do intake at any hour, but don't usually send people home at night. He spent most of that time hooked up to telemetry, which is part of the "verify it wasn't a heart attack or other serious heart problem" protocol.
I took Monday and Tuesday off from work, to keep him company, provide moral support, and such. They were not, at first, thrilled at him saying he was going to walk home when discharged—I think they were assuming we lived a lot further from the hospital than we do, and it was a hot day after a string of significantly cooler ones. We told them that he'd walk down to the lobby, and if that was at all difficult we'd call a cab. It wasn't, we didn't, and after a day and a half cooped up, the walking did him good.
We know it wasn't a heart attack. It probably wasn't angina. It also wasn't a couple of other unpleasant possibilities, such as pulmonary embolism. However, he did have those squeezing pains and shortness of breath. So, it's at "call a GP and make a follow-up appointment for a stress test and to discuss what else you need to do." (They made him an appointment, but it's annoyingly far into the future.) He is taking one 81-milligram aspirin tablet a day, and has switched from whole milk to 2%, and is replacing some of the milk he drank with flavored seltzer (at half a gallon a day, that's a significant difference in fat intake). Those are expected and intended to continue indefinitely.
About 6:15 Monday morning,
cattitude woke me with "I think I'm having a heart attack." I realize this isn't the absolute worst possible news, but it's the worst way I've ever been awakened, and I don't recommend it.Fortunately, we've been well-drilled (by PSAs, not actual practice) in what to do here. I grabbed the aspirin bottle, handed him 2 and a cup of water and said "chew these," and called 911. I told the operator what was going on, she took my address and conferenced me in with the paramedics, and they got here in something between 5 and 10 minutes. Questions about level and kind of pain, nitroglycerin, and an ambulance ride to the conveniently nearby hospital. [This is the same place I went last year for my gall bladder.] By the time we were in the ER, Cattitude was already feeling noticeably better. They hooked up an oxygen feed anyhow, double-checked the amount of aspirin I'd given him, and took a medical history. Within the first hour, the doctors had said they thought it probably wasn't a heart attack and angina was most likely.
The next 24 hours were a mix of worry and boredom. Once Cattitude was settled into a room, I went home to grab his glasses, which he'd somehow left without; a couple of books; a change of clothing for later; and the travel Scrabble set. (As I said, it's convenient that the hospital is so close to our apartment.) Shortly after I got back, they thought about what he'd told them and offered him a nicotine patch, which he accepted. Even if this weren't a situation where every doctor had said "You have to quit smoking" and he had repeatedly agreed and in some cases asked for advice or assistance, nobody is allowed to smoke in the hospital. He is now in day 4 of quitting smoking, with the aid of nicotine patches and a ballpoint pen to chew on (which he asked me for in the hospital).
The hospital kept him overnight because they needed three blood samples, at 8 hour intervals, to be sure it wasn't a heart attack. Hospitals do intake at any hour, but don't usually send people home at night. He spent most of that time hooked up to telemetry, which is part of the "verify it wasn't a heart attack or other serious heart problem" protocol.
I took Monday and Tuesday off from work, to keep him company, provide moral support, and such. They were not, at first, thrilled at him saying he was going to walk home when discharged—I think they were assuming we lived a lot further from the hospital than we do, and it was a hot day after a string of significantly cooler ones. We told them that he'd walk down to the lobby, and if that was at all difficult we'd call a cab. It wasn't, we didn't, and after a day and a half cooped up, the walking did him good.
We know it wasn't a heart attack. It probably wasn't angina. It also wasn't a couple of other unpleasant possibilities, such as pulmonary embolism. However, he did have those squeezing pains and shortness of breath. So, it's at "call a GP and make a follow-up appointment for a stress test and to discuss what else you need to do." (They made him an appointment, but it's annoyingly far into the future.) He is taking one 81-milligram aspirin tablet a day, and has switched from whole milk to 2%, and is replacing some of the milk he drank with flavored seltzer (at half a gallon a day, that's a significant difference in fat intake). Those are expected and intended to continue indefinitely.
Tags:
From:
no subject
Hooray about quitting smoking! I needed the heavy cluebat of my mother's cancer death to do it, but it is possible to do. If cattitude is craving oral stimulation, I found crystallized ginger has the right combination of WOW! and flavor to bridge the nic fits.
From:
no subject
I've seen the diagnosis of "esophageal spasm" be the one for men who think they've had heart attacks. You or Cattitude might ask about it.
I'm glad he's okay.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Fortunately, heart disease is one medical issue about which there is lots of actual knowledge, which has been accumulated in the last few decades even.
From:
no subject
He's not allergic to anything, is he?
From:
no subject