That crushing feeling in my chest seemed to go deeper as I was wheeled past all those people in the hospital waiting room who had been waiting for hours to fix their hang nails, etc. There appeared to be some resentment, but no one offered to trade places with me on the gurney. There aren’t many volunteers to have a heart attack.

The pressure on the chest kept getting stronger and I seemed to be going deeper into somewhere I couldn’t identify and at the same time, didn’t really care. My wife caught up with me in the emergency room, and the look on her face said this was no laughing matter, even though I was still basking in all the attention. Our pastor showed up too and cut to the chase by asking if I was ready to meet my maker. I hadn’t thought about it before, but yeah I guess I was. That was when the fear started to creep in, and the realization that this might be it occurred to me. Right then I stopped, told myself to quit thinking about it, if the Good Lord wanted me I was ready, and stop trying to mess up my mind with fear.

It was like a log jam looks like when it is breaking up, but that new clot buster drug was doing its’ job, and boy did I feel better all of a sudden. The pain and pressure were gone and I felt good enough to go home, in fact, I suggested just that but instead they put me in a helicopter and flew me into Washington Hospital Center.

This was my first helicopter ride, so chock up another first time experience. It was a small helicopter, only enough room for my stretcher and a lady attendant who hovered over me with a concerned look on her face; that was her job, I guess. I had commuted into Washington, D.C. daily from Annapolis, for about 10 years, and I decided I had to get one of these things to make the trip from now on; this was too easy.

At the hospital, they took me apart and put me back together, and I was back to work in about nine weeks after learning to walk again. I had gotten spoiled with all the great food, loving care, gifts, friends who had come to visit whom I hadn’t seen for years, and all kinds of good stuff usually devoted to birthdays; and Christmas.

It hasn’t been all positive though I can’t remember anything, so was unable do my job any more and went on medical disability putting a serious crimp in our lifestyle. My wife had to return to work full time, and if I get a part-time job and earn too much in any one month, I lose my benefits completely. The phony disability insurance company forced us into bankruptcy, so with no credit I can’t help my college age daughter much with her schooling. Then there is our 16 year old, who has a bright future if we can only get him through college in a couple years.

We try and look at the bright side though, besides all the other good stuff I received after the heart attack; I started taking art lessons and invented a new art form: Styroscupting. Most professional artists just smile, or even laugh out loud, but I don’t care they’ve never invented anything. I’ve also started writing again, which I did for 30 years, but was unable to do so after the heart attack because the brain was rewired preventing me from putting sentences together correctly. I still have trouble typing my thoughts into the computer, but it’s improving.

Somewhat less than half the people, who survive open heart surgery, aren’t the same person mentally and physically from before the surgery. They think it has to do with the anesthetic used, or perhaps the fact the heart must be stopped for a short time when the by-passes are performed, but the last I heard the medical community still weren’t certain. This can put major strains on the family and result in serious depression for the survivor. You hear about people who are unable to make the adjustment and allow the depression to defeat them. Understanding and patience are necessary, because with the right treatment, medication and family support, everyone can survive.