Well, it has been a strange autumn. Firstborn was home from the Brooklyn for Thanksgiving, which is always a treat. Great food, better company.
We usually paddle over the Christmas break, but it was nice out, and last year we got skunked by unseasonably cold weather. I had the Island Falls WIlderness 16 in the garage, so it was either that or two solos, and we weren’t sure about water levels. So it was a go. The Sugar River is close and easily shuttleable.
This canoe was designed for shallow New England rivers with its flat bottom and high floatability (if that’s a word) so other than its weight, she’s a great choice for shallow. Add her shellac bottom and you have a perfect choice. Shellac is sacrificial: you take off a chunk, you add more.
The water was a bit low, but it was manageable and a beautiful day to be on the water. When we got home it was getting close to dinner, so I left it on the truck.
The canoe was still on the truck the Wednesday after Thanksgiving. That’s when I received a little kick in the pants from the Universe.
It was 7:05 am, and I was 30 minutes into a stationary bike workout when I felt a little off. I stopped my workout and told Steph I didn’t feel well, but it was probably just stress. I took a brief shower and the pain was worse, so I told her “let’s go to the ER, I don’t think this is going away.”
By the time I got to the ER (Stephanie running a red light and driving like a Formula One driver) it was very painful. I was wheeled to admissions as the tech hooked up some leads and got the EKG going, and after three seconds he said “Go, you’re having a heart attack right now!”
I was then that everything went fast. At least six or seven EMTs, nurses, a cardiologist and a few other techs took to poking, prodding, shaving, sticking, shoving pills under my tongue, and applying electrodes all over my body (including the big ones in case things stop working. I remember the ECG tech saying “got it – LED” and things went even faster. I was unaware of what happened after that. The contrast dye was injected at 7:46, and the stent was in by 8:04. I woke up on the way to the recovery room as if nothing happened.
What I didn’t know until Google was that an LAD is a particularly nasty blockage. Your left anterior descending artery supplies your left ventricle with most of its blood supply.
Oh yeah. 100% blockage in the LAD is often called the widowmaker, an appellation created by a particularly insensitive cardiologist. Survival rate is not high, about 12% if it happens outside the hospital, and 20% if it happens inside the hospital.
Well, I guess someone has to be the one in five, he says flippantly.
The cardiologist, the nurse practitioner, RNs and cardiology techs were unanimous in their opinion: I am lucky to be alive, due to a rapid response time, good health (I was working out when it happened), relatively good diet (cheese is going to be curtailed in the future), having a good BMI, and a few other assorted lifestyle choices (no smoking or drinking).
The surreality of it is pretty weird. I felt great within a few hours of the procedure and could have walked home. That was not going to happen. Because the medical staff are way smarter than me.
Well, here we are almost a month later, and I feel fine. I am exercising under the direction of a cardiology rehab nurse and doing everything as perfect as I can. There is no permanent damage, and I should be able to do pretty much whatever I choose to do after six months or so.
The next day Steph and a talk. Well, it was more than a talk. It was a discussion. What I didn’t know as I was being wheeled into the cath lab for my stent, a nurse stopped and said “Do you want to kiss your husband?” Steph said of course, and kissed me on the top of my head.
It was after that when we both realized that the nurse did that…because they weren’t sure I was going to make it out of the cath lab with my heart still beating. That’s when it hit me.
Now, I am not having the “Are you prepared to meet God?” mindset. I have no fear of achieving room temperature, and I’m good with my relationship with Deity. There’s nothing I’m doing in my life that I would stop doing out of fear.
What I did have as thought while I was on the table in the ER is that this is bloody inconvenient for my wife. I can’t imagine how much more inconvenient it would have been if I had joined the choir celestial. That’s the thing: when you’re dead, it’s not a problem for you. It’s the ones you leave behind to clean up the mess that concerns most people.
We own a business, and are part owners in another one. We own commercial properties. I am active in all of these. I would not be active in all of these if the LAD had its way.
Anyway…I’m alive. I’m relieved. I can continue to do the things I am doing to get better. I can make changes. I already did make changes.
First: work. I am not a workaholic, but I do enjoy it. Steph and Firstborn say it’s more about boundaries: I do not have to be available (i.e., on my phone) 20/7 to staff, customers, or anyone else. I made the lame excuse that “Well, if I answer that phone now, that’s one less call I have to take the next day.” True, but a red herring. So I’m setting the phone down and letting things go a little.
Second: vacation. It’s a little known fact that owners have the worst bosses in the world. There’s a strong pull between taking time off and leaving your baby, even if you have a dozen very competent babysitters. Owners don’t know this, but we’re really not that important. You can tell because you can have a heart attack and you get texts like “We got this, it’s all good” and “Don’t worry, we’re on it.“
So in 2023, I’m taking a week off a month. I worked hard, it’s about time I enjoyed some of the fruits of my labor.
N.B.: The texts say “We,” not “I.” The team is on it.
Third: stress. I generally think I handle stress well. I certainly have had enough building a new building. But I certainly don’t do as much self-care as I need. Meditation, prayer, yoga, etc., are things I enjoy, and are good for my mind. My acupuncturist Dan said “You are like water and fire. On the surface you are calm as glass, but inside you are fire.”
I need more water, less fire.
Luckily, my infarction was a shot across the bow and not a broadside. I still have work to do here, and more importantly, I have more play to do here.
Respectively submitted,
Canoelover