URBANNA — Why would my doctor be calling me at 9 o’clock in the morning and asking me how I was feeling? I was so confused I was unable to respond.
Dr. Cubbage explained the heart monitor attached to me yesterday at Riverside Hospital had recorded that my heart had stopped several times in the night. My fork clattered to my plate.
“You must head right to Riverside Hospital cardiology emergency, he said. “I have called to say you are on your way.”
“Oh,” I squeaked. A mouse had taken over my throat. “But I’m busy today! I don’t have time to go to the hospital!”
“You must go, Mary. If you don’t, there could be dire consequences.” My brain repeated that phrase a few times before I understood. He was telling me that if I did not take immediate action, I could die today.
But I had things to do today! A trip to the hospital wasn’t convenient! I didn’t feel sick! Wouldn’t I feel sick if I were about to pop off? Yet my heart had stopped twice in the night? I had better do what Dr. Cubbage advised.
My husband, Chip, drove me to Riverside Hospital. It was a quiet trip as I considered the D word. What if I actually did die today?
I thought of my grieving family at Christ Church gravesite as my body was laid to rest. But what would I wear? Who would make Chip’s breakfast in the morning, feed Dandy and the feral cats? I imagined my coffin being lowered into the ground and covered in sod. Horreurs!
Riverside Cardiology was waiting for me and I was immediately sent to a room where nurses surrounded me like bees to honey. I felt the first prick in my arm as the IV was set up and realized I was trapped for however long it would be to solve my problem.
Chip sat next to me as an EKG recorded my fickle heart. Why in the world would my heart stop? With all my worries, now I have to worry about my heart stopping? What if it didn’t start up again? Fear zapped through my body like lightning in a night sky. My hands became clammy and cold and I was unable to move.
Everyone was pleasant and efficient. Their demeanor cheered me as one machine after another was rolled into my room to administer tests. The doctor on call greeted me and explained my EKG indicated continuing heart stoppages. What? What? The longest pause was a little more than nine seconds.
What kind of heart would pull that kind of stunt? I wondered what would happen if my tricky little heart decided to stop and not start? I remembered Dr. Cubbage’s allusion to “dire consequences.”
A lady came in with a chart to explain what was happening to my heart. When we get old our wiring sometimes needs repair. She likened my situation to an aging house needing some update with electric wiring. She showed me a diagram of a heart and the valve that sent a message to open and pump blood to another valve below to circulate blood throughout the body.
I’m the sort of person who can’t stand the sight of blood and such discussion made me feel faint. But I got the general idea. My “wiring” was failing.
Dr. Abou Ziki, newly hired surgeon out of Yale Medical College, came to explain my need for a pacemaker, which is a battery device that is installed in one’s chest near the heart with wires attached to the valves. If the heart stops beating the pacemaker sends a charge to keep it going.
But there was another problem. There was a mass spotted from a sonogram of my heart. The surgeon wasn’t sure what it was. It could be one of three things: calcium, tissue or tumor.
Dr. Ziki told me something had to be done today to stop the heart stoppages. Pacemaker, open heart surgery or, if I would prefer, a temporary pacer could be put in place that would keep me alive until Monday when I could have an MRI that might better define the mass.
The pacer was a temporary cure. I did not think it wise to delay what would probably end up an inevitable pacemaker. Chip agreed. Dr. Ziki gave us the time we needed while we worked through our decision.
At this point I really wished I could disconnect from my IV and go running back to Urbanna to hide under my bed with Dandy and put the entire matter behind me.
But there was no escape from making a decision. It was getting late on a Friday night. The surgery team was ready to place the pacemaker if that was what I chose to do.
I whispered OK, kissed Chip goodbye and was wheeled off to surgery.
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