Still Alive and Kicking

My husband is 43, I'm 42 (will be 43 in a few months). This is us:



Yes, I had a heart attack almost two years ago--about three months after the picture above was taken, in fact.

Yes, counting multivitamins, I'm on about 8 pills/day.

Yes, I wear a medical ID bracelet now.

Yes, I try to be in bed by 11:30pm most nights, especially worknights.

Yes, if I'm in a phase of being serious about my workouts, I hit the gym most nights after work, which does put a crimp in the ol' social life.

Because I'm not home and presentable until around 8:30pm, and I haven't even had supper yet.

I also don't want to go out to places that allow smoking, because my hair is tailbone-length, and washing smoke out of all that hair, then waiting for it to dry, takes a long time (using a dryer on it would fry it).

So that limits what I'm even interested in doing on a weeknight--no bands playing in smoky clubs, for example. On a weekend, it's easier for me to deal with getting all the smoke out of my hair and clothes. During the week, I just don't have time for that mess. Plus, I don't smoke, and I don't like breathing smoke. If there's a good enough reason, I'll put up with it, but really? I plain don't like it.

When I do go out, I don't drink more than two beers, at most. I can't remember the last time I was well and truly drunk, complete with hangover. Eventually I figured out that the cost-benefit wasn't working for me: the few hours of being buzzed weren't worth spending the entire next day feeling like someone was pulling out every single hair on my head, individually.

On the other hand, I'm *also* not gumming the 4pm K&W early-bird special, then hopping into my long granny flannel nightgown, taking my teeth out, pulling up my Depends, and going to bed by 7pm.

So what do I do on my weeknights after work and gym?

Sometimes I go out to events at bookstores: author appearances, book signings, that sort of thing.

I host a monthly book club meeting.

Once every two months, I host a women's heart disease support group.

My husband and I go out to dinner with friends.

We have board games nights.

A lot of times when I get home from work and the gym, after my shower, if I'm not going back out again, I'll get into whatever I plan to sleep in: usually lounge pants and a comfy shirt.

While I may be in my jammies by 8:45pm, by no means does that mean I'm going to bed at 8:45pm.

What it means is that I've gotten comfortable in my own home, and I'm relaxing after work and working out.

I have heart disease--but I'm still above ground. And I plan to stay that way.

I'm done with rehab!!

Or as my co-worker Hank said when I got to work this morning and showed off my stylin' new red shirt, "I survived cardiac rehab and all I got was this lousy T-shirt." [Let the Star Trek red shirt jokes commence ;)]

Actually, it's a pretty cool shirt, and rehab has been, for the most part, a really good experience for me. There were a couple of bumps in the road, but when I look back at where I was 12 weeks ago, more psychologically than physically even, it's been a tremendous benefit, and it's a tragedy--a health emergency I'd almost say--that a lot of women never have cardiac rehab mentioned to them.

Last thing I read said that just over half, 56 percent, of patients who need cardiac rehab actually get referred, and women get referred at a much lower rate than men.

That's been borne out by my experience--for most of my time in rehab I've been the only woman in my class. For part of the time there was an older woman, then she left and I was alone again. Then a couple of weeks ago another woman, maybe in her mid-50s, joined. But we're still far outnumbered by the men. Heart disease is the #1 killer of women in the US, but cardiac rehab is still very much a man's game.

When I started rehab, my total cholesterol was 225: HDL of 54 and LDL of 149, triglycerides at 109. Now my total cholesterol is 172: HDL 57, LDL 94, and triglycerides at 105. I've been on Zocor (well, the generic) since my heart attack, so I can't claim all the credit.

Blood pressure has stayed about the same, in the 110/70 range, though when they checked it right after I'd come off the beta blocker, it was 102/64.

When I first started, I was so scared and anxious that I stopped my initial treadmill stress test after only 5 minutes, so the upper end of my target heart rate range was 87. Plus also beta blocker. Now, with no beta blocker, my THRR is 126 for the upper end. :)

I did 8 biceps curls in 30 seconds at the start of rehab; now I can do 15.

But more than anything else, I know that I can go swim for a half hour and not collapse. I can run on the treadmill with no fear. I can go for a bike ride just a like a normal person. There are a lot of things I can do like a normal person now, and that's the point of getting up at five-freakin-thirty in the morning three days a week for twelve weeks.

Don't think because I won't be at rehab anymore that I'm going to turn into a slacker, though. I've signed up for the Triangle Heart Walk on Sept. 27th, and I'm looking over the super-sprint triathlon options.

Can I get a hallelujah? :)

Talking to Rehab

OK, so as I've mentioned here and here, there've been a couple of times where I've felt like a square peg being pounded into a round hole at cardiac rehab. Their usual patient is older, male, and has had a bypass. I'm young(ish), female, and had angioplasty and stents. No prior risk factors. I know how to eat right, how to exercise, all that jazz, and I'm pre-menopausal.

After cardiac survivors' support group on Wednesday, I spoke with the head of the rehab program. Longtime friends and readers know how much I loathe direct confrontation, but this is my health on the line here. So I told the lady that there had been a situation earlier in the week where I felt like I hadn't been heard, like I wasn't being listened to, that it seemed like the rehab group leaders were treating me like "Generic Cardiac Patient X," instead of seeing me for what I am: a woman under 50 years old who had a heart attack caused by a freak occurrence (arterial dissection), not coronary artery disease, or high blood pressure.

She actually seemed to hear what I had to say, and genuinely seemed appreciative of the feedback. She said, "What can we do?" I told her that I needed some reassurance that the nurses were actually seeing ME when they looked at me, and that they recognize that I'm not a 70-year-old male with hypertension and a triple bypass. I needed to know that they realize that I'm a woman who still has menstrual cycles, and that they won't refer me to the nutritionist the next time I gain 3 pounds of water weight in the days right before my period. She seemed to understand, and she asked if there were any staff members in particular that I felt more comfortable with--I named two.

It felt good to speak my mind in a constructive way. It's my hope that by speaking up, I'm making things easier for other young women who may come through the program.

I had a meltdown today

I had a meltdown in cardiac rehab this morning. I feel like a big ol' crybaby. And part of me wants to just BE that two-year-old, and have a typical terrible two-year-old's temper tantrum. I want my old life back!

What happened was that I started having some pain in my left arm. When I had my heart attack at the end of March, I also had left arm pain, so as I'm sure you can all imagine, I was freaking out a little.

The nurses did a paddle check--minds out of the gutters, you pervs; it's not as fun as it sounds. ;) They hooked me up to the defibrillator and printed out a little EKG strip and said everything looked normal, but they could tell I was stressed so they had me sit down and drink some water.

At which point I started crying, because I'm tired of being the person who freaks out about a tiny bit of arm pain. I'm tired of worrying about every small twinge and ache. I DON'T WANNA ANYMORE. I want my old life back.

They also checked my blood pressure, which was a little elevated (for me--118/80), so they gave me a nitro pill under my tongue and called the in-house cardiologist over. She reassured me that the arm pain by itself, with no other symptoms like shortness of breath, was highly unlikely to be indicative of a problem. And also that the location of the pain meant that it most likely wasn't my heart.

And lastly, since the nitro wasn't helping, they said that was the most indicative of all that I wasn't having any heart trouble.

It'll be two months tomorrow. The heart attack and SCAD are a big black line that divides my life into "before" and "after," and I'm tired of living in the "after." I want to go back to the "before."

Obviously I know this isn't possible, and I think that's why I was crying this morning. It's all the anger and grief finally coming out. I haven't really had a complete and total meltdown about what happened to me yet, and I think I'm finally starting to. :/

It didn't particularly help that there's a lot of stress at work today--several important things that we sent to a major conference that's going on right now in New York City have been lost, one of our authors didn't get his plane ticket reserved, and another one's reservation got messed up.

None of which were my screw-ups (thank GAWD), but I was running around trying to fix at least some of them this afternoon, and I'm feeling very fragile right now. In fact, I need to go take a minute and blow my nose.

I'm seeing my therapist again next week. I really like her. I'm on an antidepressant already, one that I've been on for years. Maybe I need a little more help for the next little while. Anyway, thank you all for being here. As I've said before, I know my blog has somewhat turned into the "all heart all the time" blog of late.

A Good Day

It was a good weekend, really, but yesterday was an especially good day, for several reasons. One, good friends Izzy and Dan (minus Christine who was having neck trouble, alas), and the Sanford Pottery Festival. Funnel cake and kettle corn for lunch, woo! Also lots of cool pottery things which I gamely resisted buying--even so, I still came home with a very small bowl, a Christmas tree ornament shaped like a black kitty, a crescent moon magnet, a small outhouse for my dad, and some citrus-scented body powder. Yes, that's restrained, shut up. ;)

Two, for the most part, it was a normal day. I hung out with friends, doing fun things. Then came home, washed my hair, and chilled out in front of the TV, hung out with Paul when he came in from his tennis match. We did dishes. He made pizza. And it was fine. It was normal. It was good.

Other good things from the weekend:

Friday = First of May; see this funny but NOT WORK-SAFE VIDEO:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-77ElyvRxI

Saturday = gaming group. First time playing our rpg since the end of March; it felt great to get back to the characters and dice again.

Three, cleared out the pantry of some stuff I can't really eat anymore and gave it to someone who can, so that was good.

I'm not sure if I'm explaining it well. It was just good to have a normal weekend.

One month ago today

One month ago today, Paul and I were sitting in the emergency room at UNC Hospitals, wondering what the hell just happened. It would be almost 12 hours more before we would find out for sure that I'd had a heart attack, and it'll be a month tomorrow that they did the cardiac catheterization and found the tear and the SCAD and put the stents in.

Not surprisingly, I'm having a few anxiety twinges this morning. I've already done a meditation/relaxation CD and had my morning devotional and prayer time.

At some point, I'm sure the heart attack won't loom so large; it'll no longer be one of the first things I think about upon waking and one of the last things I think about before going to sleep.

I'll eventually get back to a point where I'll take for granted that I'll wake up the next morning.

There are new challenges now. A low-sodium diet for one. Remembering to take a lot of pills is another. Working on improving my stress management skills so that people and situations don't get the best of me. Finding my new limits while trying not to feel limited, if that makes sense. Making time to see friends and family.

Still trying to make sense of it all. SCADs are so rare and so random, I haven't really started too far down the path of "Why me???" because there's no good answer, physically OR spiritually.

Physically, it's "idiopathic," which is medical jargon for "we have *no* fucking clue." Which brings us back to why me, then? Dunno. Bad luck.

Spiritually, I have to ask: Did the hand of God come down and rip my right coronary artery apart to punish me? Dude, the worst thing I ever did was some petty shoplifting when I was, like 12. There are serial killers on the loose. Which brings us back around to why me? If God/dess had no hand in it, then it was truly random, bad luck.

There are lessons here, yes. This has been a big, spiritual and physical shake-up. I'm eating healthier. And while my triathlon training has been sidetracked, I'm slowly getting back into an exercise plan.

And I'm trying to remember to say "Thank you" and "I love you" to people in my life. That includes all of you (still) reading this. Regardless of when or how we met, or whether we know each other in real life or just online, thank you for being here.

What's baby and what's bathwater?

As you might expect after a life-changing event, I'm contemplating some changes in my life, a rearrangement of priorities, a sorting of the wheat from the chaff.

This is going to be a slow process. I'm not going to make any rash decisions about which hobbies to toss or which activities to curtail.

I'll probably keep Facebook but end up killing all the assorted apps attached to it; I mean, do I really care about Superpoking all of my friends--really?

Do I care about what the crackpot fundaloonies are saying? Probably, but I don't have the hit-points to respond, and I need to work on reducing areas of stress in my life.

My top priority for the next three months is obviously going to be cardiac rehab.

As for the rest, the trick is to make sure I don't throw the baby out with the bathwater, as they say.

Do I like fanzines enough to keep producing one? I'm not sure. Do I enjoy the local sf club enough to keep on being the social coordinator? Probably, but we'll see. As for gaming, I have some thoughts there but want to talk it over with the gaming group first.

Then there's the fact that if he doesn't find a job, my best friend in the whole world may well end up moving back to Asheville in four months, and I want to spend a lot of quality time with him before he leaves town (possibly for good, because my fear is that if he leaves the Triangle this time, he won't make it back again).

So. Lots to think about.

Gah, the Internet is both blessing and curse

Last night I spent a lot of time researching the particular make and model of the stents I have. Turns out that the ones they installed--the Xience V--are pretty much the top of the line. There are no studies going out past three years, but for those three years, these stents perform better than any of the others on the market. So that's all reassuring.

Moving on to research topic #2, I discovered that 70% of spontaneous coronary artery dissections are only discovered on autopsy. That wigged me out. I had to get off the computer at that point and go collect lots of hugs and kisses from Paul before I could stop being freaked out enough to go to bed.

In other news, it has been suggested that nail polish remover might suffice to get all the @^$%#$ tape residue off, from all the heart monitor sensors, various ekgs, assorted iv lines that were taped down on my arms and neck, etc. Perhaps I will go try that now.

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