Note 1: I don’t look like a marathon runner. That’s okay though…because I’m not a marathon runner by any stretch of the imagination and even in my most fit state, I didn’t have a runners physique. I’m not a Ferrari…I’m more of an old farm pick-up. I think this is half the problem I’m getting ready to discuss.
Note 2: I have a really good friend who is probably one of the most dedicated Physician’s Assistants on the planet. He told me one time that the biggest mistake most health care providers make is not hearing their patients. They listen to what you’re telling them but they don’t exactly “hear” you all the time. He followed that by saying “Nobody knows your body better than you…you live in it all day, every day”.
Now, that may seem like an odd way to start a post, but I’m sitting here in front of this computer wearing heart monitor that I have to keep strapped to me for the next 24 hours. Don’t worry…I’m fine. I just can’t convince my Doctor that I’m fine. I’ve resigned myself to suffering through this just to prove a point to my healthcare providers.
Anyone whose known me for any amount of time has seen me lose my temper to some degree or watched me work under a stressful circumstance. The really lucky ones have had the pure joy of witnessing me lose my temper in the midst of a stressful situation, and in the process they learned a few new words and colorful phrases. I don’t just always have energy…I’m normally bouncing around like Tigger looking for something to do. But, no matter how excited you see my exterior form, everything on the inside is working just as calm and smooth as one could imagine.
From what I’m told, a normal resting heart rate is between 60 and 90 beats per minute. Mine normally ranges between 41 and 44. I’ve been like that all my life. My blood pressure is always in that 120/80 range and my heart rate hovers around 42. It doesn’t matter if I drink a pot of coffee and smoke a pack of Camels before I walk into the waiting room…120/80 and 42ish.
SO…six months ago, as I crept up on the age of 50 the VA wanted to get baseline tests on my cardiovascular system. EKG, Electrocardiogram, and stress test. Nothing too daunting…just a little time consuming…so I thought, anyway. The Electrocardiogram and stress test had to be scheduled, but they couldn’t schedule those until they had an EKG in the files for me. So they sent me down to the hall to have an EKG done.
As I was sitting in the room while the nurse or tech (or whatever the hell her title is) was wiring me up one of the other staff members kept walking into the room and bringing her friend up to date on some sort of office drama that was unfolding at the time. I didn’t pay it much attention, she got me wired up and five minutes later I was on my way out of the building. This is where the fun begins.
Thirty minutes into my forty minute ride home my phone starts ringing…I look at it and the call is from the VA, so naturally I answer it. It’s the P.A. who ordered my tests, a little frantic, asking me where I am. I told him I was 10 minutes from the house and he tells me to turn around, come back to the VA and check myself into the emergency room. Then another voice (the cardiologist) comes on the line and tells me to park my truck and tell them where I am and they’ll send an ambulance to get me. I asked “why?” and they reply in stereo “You’re having a heart attack”. Naturally, at that exact moment I crossed the top of Star Mountain and lost cell signal. I was laughing to myself…they were sitting back at the VA thinking I’d just vapor locked and drove my truck into oncoming traffic. After coming home and having a short conversation with the wife I ended up driving back to the VA to get checked out.
NOW…people can say what they want about the VA, but I’m going to tell you this…there’s not a NASCAR pit crew at Talladega that functions as quickly or smoothly as the ER guys in Huntington when they think you’re on death’s doorstep. Within seconds of uttering my name I was stripped down, wired up, and had an IV drip going. It was damned impressive. If I ever do have a heart attack that’s where I want to go.
But to shorten this story a bit, after five hours of laying around strapped to half the machines in the ER and having my blood pressure taken while sitting, laying and standing every 30 minutes, the apologies started rolling in. Apparently, the tech (nurse?) who gave me my EKG hooked some of the wires up wrong while gossiping with her friend…and apparently that gave the false read for my EKG which led everyone to believe I was in the middle of a cardiac episode of epic proportions. All of which is okay because the pit crew in the ER took no less than a dozen different EKG’s while I was laying around in there and they all came up clean. Anyone who has ever crossed up the plug wires on a car will understand.
However, my heart rate became an issue at that point. I dozed off while lying in the ER that evening and it would seem that when I sleep for a bit my heart rate falls into the upper 30’s, which from the way everyone reacted would appear to be a bad thing. It got worse after my stress test. Those poor ladies hooked me up to a bunch of leads, put me on a treadmill and told me they needed to get my heart rate up above 155. They didn’t find it funny when I chuckled and told them “good luck”. I tried to explain what would happen. It was their turn to chuckle at that point and then exactly what I told would happen…well…happened. Once they got me at a full sprint on a decent incline my heart rate hit the mid 130’s and then I hit my stride and it dropped back into the 120’s and stayed there for the next ten minutes before they’d let me quit. I may look and act like an old farm truck, but under the hood, there’s that Ferrari engine. They look at me and see a busted up old Ford with a jacked-up frame and a LOT of miles on it…and they’re not understanding how that truck runs as smoothly as it does.
So…everyone I talk to at the VA is concerned about my ticker and it doesn’t seem to matter how I try to explain it to them. I do not fit within the parameters of normal and therefore I must be poked and prodded, prescribed a half dozen different pharmaceuticals (that I refuse to take)…and eventually end up with a little monitor with a bunch of wires strapped to my ass for 24 hours. I really can’t wait to see what’s next!
Don’t get me wrong…I’m not bitchin’. I’m just running off at the mouth a little. Aside from the “Great Heart Attack Snafu of 2019”, the VA has really been spot-on with my medical, dental and vision care. They get a pretty bad rap in the press. But from what I hear from friends and family, I don’t think anyone really feels like they’re getting decent healthcare in the civilian sector either.
Here’s the way I see it though…
Ya know…the human body is a lot like a car. You’ve got the engine, the cooling system, the frame and joints. Both require fuel and oxygen to run; Some run more efficiently than others; Age and mileage takes a toll on both, and both expel some toxic shit as a byproduct of their combustion systems.
Let’s say you take your car into the shop because every time you hit the brakes you hear a squealing sound from your front wheels. Every mechanic in the world knows there’s a 99.975% chance that you need new brake pads. Every brake pad in production for EVERY car on the road has a gauge called a “squeaker” on it and when the pad wears down to the level that it needs replaced you’ll hear it and your mechanic will hear it. All combustion engines are a little different, but in a lot of ways they’re all the same, and even a mediocre mechanic can diagnose a problem and odds are he’s going to be pretty close with his proposed solution. It’s’ much the same with all the rest of the components of an automobile, and for those of you who have no idea what goes on under the hood and dash of your car, there’s a lot of finely tuned and highly complex functions going on just to get you from point A to point B every day.
Diagnostics for the human body aren’t that simple though. Most of the people on the planet have a resting heart rate above 60 beats per minute, but mine averages 42. I’ve known guys with outrageous cholesterol numbers who could run four minute miles and people with great cholesterol numbers who couldn’t run 50 yards if they were being chased by a bear. Everyone has a different threshold to pain…what you find debilitating, I may find merely uncomfortable. But we have the advantage of communications. We can tell doctors what we’re feeling or what’s not working properly. Rarely do we do that though. Humility, pride, embarrassment….for whatever reason, we refuse to tell Doc exactly what the hell’s going wrong with us…until that “check engine” light starts glowing and we end up in an ambulance.
HEY….we don’t really have a check engine light….you can’t hook us up to a code reader and get a complete diagnostic reading of our engine….and the only “squeaker” you’re equipped with is your mouth…use it. If you get the feeling that your mechanic is listening to you but not hearing you, find a different mechanic.
Oh…and if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’ll never have an auto mechanic tell you to put a pill in your gas tank twice a day every day. If something’s broken it needs fixed…not deadened or chemically manipulated so the broken part doesn’t slow you down. If your mechanic is trying to fix you with a pill all they’re doing is covering up the damage…and when you don’t feel the results of the damage, all you’re doing is MORE damage. Most of the time, the problem they’re trying to fix with a pill can be fixed with a change in the fuel/air mix. If the problem is somewhere in the chassis, maybe you need your ball joints greased or replaced; or it may be nothing more than a matter of a simple adjustment.
The first step to better healthcare is pretty simple…go see the doctor and actually tell them what’s wrong with you. I know it sounds funny, but try taking care of your body the way you take care of your car. Go see your mechanic, people….and make them HEAR to your “squeaker”.