the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

but i needed to be certain.

First, thanks to my many friends who told me to, in Kathryn's words, "Get thee to an ER-ery!"

Yesterday, I posted about a weird "spell" that I had soon after a good workout (but oddly delayed, so I wonder how much the exercise had to do with it). At the time, all I could think that was my doc told me when I had a couple of similar spells a year ago that it sounded like an anxiety attack. Thus, yesterday's commentary focused on the fact that my antidepressants don't seem to be working.

Honestly, it didn't occur to me that I should have called an ambulance.

Several friends responded to my post on Facebook that I needed to go get checked out now. Of course, being me, I didn't just hop in my truck and drive to the nearest hospital. No. First, I had a shot of tequila and took a narcotic and...not really.

My interest in the unexamined possibilities of my spell did provoke me, at this point, to go to the Google doctor. You know the one: WebMD and Mayo Clinic and eHealth etc. I believe doctoring is a bit like finances: you might want to hire a CPA, but check his work. What I found, almost immediately, is that what I experienced yesterday fit almost all of the earmarks of a heart attack. To wit:

Chest discomfort or pain that is crushing or squeezing, feels like a heavy weight on the chest, or is occurring with any of the following symptoms:

• Sweating.
• Shortness of breath.
• Nausea or vomiting.
• Pain, pressure, or a strange feeling in the back, neck, jaw, upper belly, or one or both shoulders or arms. The left shoulder and arm are more commonly affected.
• Lightheadedness or sudden weakness.
• A fast, slow, or irregular heartbeat.

I don't remember a crushing or squeezing feeling so much as an "I cannot breathe at all" feeling. I don't know if they're the same thing, but I wasn't taking any chances. No nausea at all, either. All of the rest, though, applied--in spades.

So I called the Tricare appointment line. The receptionist went through all the regular rigamarole regarding my identity and insurance, then asked what seemed to be the problem today. I said, "I...um...[feel stupid, but] I think I might have had a heart attack yesterday."

She said, "We can't book that. You need to go to the ER."

I said, "But it was yesterday. I feel fine today. I just need it checked out." I was hoping for an appointment today at Urgent Care.

Her: Nooooo. It was yesterday? You need to go to the ER.

Me: OK. Um. Thank you.

Maybe it's just me.... but do you feel silly going to the ER when you feel fine? I read a book many years ago--I think it was P.S. Your Cat is Dead--where a man comes home and finds a dead body in his living room. He determines it's stone dead, then calls the police administration line to report it. They ask him why he didn't dial 911. He says, "It looks to me like the emergency is over."

So I went to St. Francis Medical Center, a new facility a mere 10 miles from the house. I asked to check in. The receptionist gave me some stuff to fill out. After I'd zipped through it (five minutes?), I gave it to the nurse who was sitting in for the receptionist. He glanced at it and said, "Heart attack?! You?"

I said, "Yeah...I know."

He said, "Come on back." Within three minutes they had me in a gown and hooked up taking an EKG.

I have taken an EKG before, actually. I had to take one to go into officer training. There was some abnormality they noted at the time, but waived it. I don't know what the abnormality was.

Today's EKG was perfect. So they wheeled me off to X-ray and shot me in the chest a couple of times. I was then escorted to my own room, where they sent in a blood-sucker who not only took samples, but dribbled my blood all over my arm, gown, and sheets. She then left in a plastic catheter,* in the event they needed to put me on IV** at any point. Someone came in to get data from me--name, phone, stuff like that (which I'd already put on the initial forms, of course--then a PA came in to explain what they were doing with my blood, ask me for urine :roll:, hook me up to a blood pressure/heartrate/etc machine, and flirt with me.

* Which was odd. I mean...why didn't she just walk out the way she came in?

** Not "four"

Oh wait. It was me flirting with him. Anyway.

They took more X-rays to rule out the dreaded "nipple shadow," then left me with my thoughts. (OK. They left me with my thoughts at various times in there, but generally, it seemed like a flurry of activity.)

Around 2pm, the doctor himself arrove. He asked me what had happened....

Everyone asked me what had happened, actually. I repeated the same lines so many times that I felt like I was teaching kindergarten. I also found myself dropping some information and adding other stuff I hadn't thought of before, which may or may not be embellished, because after a while, you don't know anymore. So why do medical personnel do this? By the time the doctor came in, I was bored with my own story and, in exhaustion and defeat, gave him the condensed version.

He listened to my back, pressed under my ribs, and asked general questions. Then he left. A PA came back in after a while and said all my blood tests had come out fine, too.

I still don't know what the urine was for. Maybe someone needed it to pass his drug test.

The only thing strange about me today* was my blood pressure. When I checked in, it was 149/82. By the time they checked me into my room, it was 169/88. |-|

* Physically

When this happens--for routine medical appointments, for sick calls--I am invariably told that it's probably just because I'm sick/because I'm in the hospital/because I'm nervous/whatever. It's a bit odd that doctors constantly blow off my silent killer, don't you think?

Anyhow. My BP sank back to normal, more or less (with a fairly low systolic count and a fairly high diastolic count), while my pulse went steadily up to 70 and down to 54 and back up again. I know, because I laid there with a tube in my arm (for the "just in case" IV hookup) and little sticky things all over my chest and ribs, each with a wire hooked up to it. Now I know what a carburetor feels like.

(Meanwhile, I saw a report on CNN about a guy who created a "green" gym, with treadmills and such that pumped electricity back into the gym. I want one of those!)

The doc explained, before he left, that they'd found nothing and I was free to go. In an emergency room, this is good news, because what they're looking for are the things that are a threat to your life now--like heart attacks, strokes, punctured lung, and something about a bifurcated aorta or somesuch.

So the good news is that they don't know what causes my spells, and the bad news is...they don't know what causes my spells. I'm already scheduled to see my new Primary Care Manager at the Academy on Wednesday next, so my "follow-up" appointment is taken care of.

Hopefully, my new PCM will run some tests...or something.

d