A Serious Heart Attack As a Observer's Perspective

The sounds of the early morning can be heard outside. I've been up for hours and already feel exhausted before the day starts. I'm crying and pounding my fist on the bed, I find myself bent over screaming, you're going to die, please listen to me, please. Words of anguish reached the ears of none but God. Before we knew it, the stopwatch started and we were in the race of his life.

 

A few minutes later he emerged from the shower and said, I think you should take me to the hospital. At that moment, my old self kicked into high gear. I had imagined this moment 100 times over the last few months and my instincts knew exactly what to do, my internal 911 protocol started going through the motions.

 

When the dispatcher asked what kind of emergency it was, I calmly started to get dressed and systematically go through the necessary steps - I can hear myself announcing the emergency and assessing his condition. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see, hear and feel that they are scared and angry that I am calling for help. “No, marry me, don't call them. I turn off all emotional connections to the situation and continue with my internal protocol. I unlock and open our front door. I put the dog behind the closed door. I put his wallet and cell phone in my purse. I now hand him four baby aspirins and tell him to chew them as directed by the dispatcher and try not to look him in the eye or notice the terror radiating from his being. I have to stay in the space of disconnection; I have to stay disconnected.

 

Within minutes, two Maxilla Gorilla sheriffs enter our house. Their presence is unsettling and terrifying. This picture is becoming too real and the seriousness of the situation is starting to escalate. The sheriffs draw in him and ask what's happening. His anxiety and aversion to the inevitable grew; for a nanosecond, I ask myself if I made the right move and called for help. He had all the symptoms but not the overwhelming pain. Maybe it's nothing. No, I think you need to stay disconnected and continue the protocol.

 

Then the paramedics arrive two extremely young musclemen with gear burst into our sanctuary and get to work. From an observer position, I answer questions, DOB, medication list, the onset of symptoms, known allergies, medical factors, etc. He is still struggling and does not want help as they connect the EKG leads, so I leave the room. I have to stay disconnected. I continue with my internal protocol.

 

I'll handle the necessary phone calls, his work, the daughter-in-law to tell her I won't be there babysitting the granddaughter, and then the dreaded phone call to his oldest daughter. I want to burst; I want to cry but I stay disconnected and state the facts. Four minutes later I return to the room. One of the young bucks says, Your EKG is normal, so it's not a heart attack, but if your blood pressure is very high, we should still take you." I want to scream at that man, DON'T TELL HIM THAT. This is significant; this is a respiratory failure!

 

Then came an unwelcome guest with a crushing entrance. The preverbal elephant has made its presence known and the scene takes on a new sense of urgency. They are preparing it for transport. I can't look at him, I say I love you under my breath and grab my purse. They instructed me to take the car and not go too close. When they load him into the ambulance, I go out the back door.

 

I'm calling a second time from the car with his oldest daughter. This time to inform her that we are heading to the hospital and things are not looking good. Somewhere in the last 15 minutes, I called my daughter and my best friend, both of whom called me back because I'm sitting there waiting while they prepare him in the ambulance. I'm starting to crack, trying to maintain a state of disconnection.  Will he succeed? The stopwatch ticks faster.

 

When I get to the emergency room, I walk up to the counter, it's early in the morning and there's no one there except me and the young man behind the desk. I state that the husband was taken there by an ambulance. A young man picks up the phone and says the following. “Hi, yes, the cardiac arrest wife is here, okay, I'll call the chaplain. The room is tilting, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. Did he say cardiac arrest? Chaplain? Kendo mi v halve Zane cricket. He says he will take me to the family room where I can rest. My inner screaming voice booms, RELAX, RELAX; what the hell do you mean Relax? The disconnected self turns to her and says where my husband is and what is his condition? She casually states that she didn't check on him before she came to get me and that she will check on his condition now and be back in a few minutes. I could have hit the wall but I stayed calm. I have to stay strong and composed; it will be a long run.