It all began with the snowfall on the last day of autumn, December 20th. It started in the afternoon, on Saturday, and snowed through the night. Blizzard conditions. When Mark opened the door on Sunday morning, right at the threshold was a pile of snow that reached just below my knees.
Because of the snow, we missed the annual holiday party Saturday night at my brother and sister in-laws’. We didn’t want to chance driving on the “treacherous roadways” according to the weather report. Instead, Mark made a fire and fell asleep lying next to the fireplace with his arm around the dog, while I surfed the net on my laptop looking at the new collections of mother of the bride dresses. I now had to change my color of the dress because I had just transformed my hair color to the reddish tones. I went on a very cool website that has a “dressing room” for you to save the dresses you like after you register. Now all I have to do when I want to find a dress I was interested in on that website is sign in and go into my “dressing room”. Of course they all look beautiful because beautiful, tall thin woman are wearing them. And they’re all standing in a position that I have never stood in, with one of their hips tilted up and one leg in front at an angle that looks extremely uncomfortable, not to mention how far their shoulders are pulled back. They also have the most amazing perfect arms and armpits. These are mother of the bride dresses. It’s very unrealistic because most mothers of the brides I know do not have arms like that nor can they stand in these positions. It’s very disheartening when you go to the store and find those dresses and try them on; it doesn’t even resemble what you see on the website. When I do go to try on dresses next time I am going to figure out how to stand in those positions, though.
Sunday was devoted to shoveling snow. Mark had this “brilliant” idea that we should park the cars on the street during the snowfall, not the driveway, so he could use the snow blower to clear the driveway and then move the cars onto it. Needless to say this brilliant idea turned into the biggest mistake, which we all paid for. Or quite possibly, this could have been a dumb idea turned lucky because its consequences led me find out that I had a little heart problem.
Snow enveloped our two cars on the street. And then the snowplows came by and added to that. There was a blanket of snow on our long driveway. I decided to help Mark by shoveling the snow around the cars. I had this enormous burst of energy and stylish, yet practical new rain/snow boots with removable fleece liners. I even thought the shoveling might be the exercise that could get my arms in shape. I was superwoman out there; determined. Also, my annoyance at Mark and myself for listening to his bright idea of not parking the cars on the driveway fueled my energy. I dug out both cars, daring any more snowplows to return and deter me. I was quite proud of myself. I even felt fine. Fine. I forgot I’m 53. I’d like to forget I’m 53. My body remembers I’m 53; mind thinks I’m 23. It’s an issue of mind over matter. My grandma Fanny, who was 89 years old when she died, used to say, in her European accent, “Even though your body gets old, your mind still feels the same as when you were 18.” I’ll never forget that. My body and my mind are two separate entities, sometimes; two separate forces existing together. I stayed up too late that night, full of false energy.
I woke up Monday morning after less than five hours of sleep. It was going to be a long day but one I was really looking forward to. I was doing a new workshop that I had planned for and was very excited about and then at 4:00 pm; I was having a little reunion/holiday party with some former colleagues. One of them was Rebeca, who had moved to San Francisco. I hadn’t seen her in over a year. I even bought a cute little black dress for this occasion, one, which covered my arms and my new rain/snow boots complimented nicely. I was stylishly dressed for the cold weather, ready to tackle any pile of snow that stood in my way on the tiny streets of the Wall Street area. Another thing Grandma Fanny used to say, in Yiddish, was “We make plans and G-d laughs.” My Grandma Fanny, she was a genius.
I got on the 6:33 train headed to Penn Station. I should say that the train was headed to Penn Station; whereas, I was headed someplace entirely different. I was reading my book while the man across from me was snoring. I have told the rest of this part of my story countless number of times to just about everyone. I am thoroughly sick of telling this part; but here goes (in literary form). All of a sudden, out of nowhere, as I was reading, a strange sensation came over me. It was as if I had that familiar pins and needles feeling after cutting off the circulation to one of my limbs, only it was in my head. I looked up; my vision was blurred and everything started going out of focus, then my left eye went totally black. My confusion as to what was happening to me turned into panic. Was I passing out and why? Was this a brain aneurysm? A stroke? A heart attack? I forced myself not to pass out. As I did this I had an enormous pain in the back of my head, then palpitations, then nausea. I tried to calm myself by breathing deeply. I started to feel slightly better, only terrified. The man sitting across from me still snored deeply. I noticed a young police officer standing by the train door. I took a deep breath. I’m okay, I told myself. I’m going to go into work. I considered that if I did continue going to work, that would mean that I would have to go to Penn Station and chance possibly having another episode like this or worse, passing out entirely. Fainting at Penn Station would not be a good thing, to say the least. I could just picture myself at the hectic terminal and commuters hurriedly rushing to catch their trains, leaping over or worse, stepping on my unconscious body. It was a chance I didn’t want to take. I needed to see if I had some way to let someone know I was in distress. I decided to send a text message. I knew Lindsay was still at home getting ready for work. I “texted" her- I almost blacked out on the train just now, then- I don’t want to scare you but I don’t feel too well. Her response- Huh? My response- I had a very weird feeling in my chest. My cell phone rang; it was Lindsay. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I answered. I tried to talk very low. I didn’t want anyone else on the train to know what was going on. Believe me, though, no one knew nor cared. This is the Long Island Railroad, not exactly the “love train”. You’re lucky if someone lifts his or her bag off a seat to let you sit down. I told Lindsay I would get off at Jamaica Station and take the next train back home so we could go to the emergency room. She looked up the schedule and the next train was an hour wait. Not good. I called Karen, the woman in charge of the group I was due to present the workshop to. I had to let her know that I probably wasn’t going to make it- make it literally meaning “present the workshop”, but actually, in the back of my mind was “am I going to make it?” I explained what was happening and she asked me who was on the train to help me. I told her about the police officer, who was no more than 6 feet away. She said, “Go over to him and ask for help.” “I really don’t want to do that, Karen.” I replied, “I don’t want to make a scene.” “Jeannie,” Karen said in the calmest voice I ever heard, “just walk over to him and tell him you don’t feel well and you need an ambulance.” “Okay”, I relented. “Call me back, ” she said. I hesitantly walked over to the cop and whispered, “I’m not feeling well. I think I need an ambulance. I almost blacked out.” He looked stunned. That wasn’t a good sign. He was very young. I felt as if I should be telling him what to do. He did take me off the train at Jamaica Station. He called for the ambulance. It was taking a very long time for them to come, it seemed. At first, I was standing on the platform with the cop and my rolling bag; then the cop got the novel idea that maybe I should sit down in the waiting room and he could take my name. Yes, he was really new at this. He decided to go look for the ambulance and left me alone. I called Lindsay to give her the update. She was very anxious to get to me the fastest way possible. Then Karen called. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Waiting for the ambulance,” I told her. “Okay, try not to let them take you to Jamaica Hospital. Tell them you want to go to LIJ,” she insisted. “I’ll try.”
Finally, the EMTs came. They surrounded me. It seemed like there were sixty of them. I started to worry that I might be seeing double now. There was a young girl medic who appeared to be the “lead”. She put me on oxygen, immediately, asked if I was allergic to aspirin and then gave me two baby aspirin to chew on. I realized then that I should always be carrying baby aspirin in case of a heart attack. They asked me what happened and then all kinds of other questions and kept calling me “ma’am”. I hate that. I am not “ma’am.” When they asked me my age and I told them, I said, “You’re supposed to be surprised at how old I am.” They didn’t get it; of course, because they were all in their twenties. I felt so middle-aged at that point. I asked them not to take me to Jamaica Hospital. Naturally, they said that I had to go to Jamaica Hospital. It was so frenetic and I was so worried about my bags. I kept asking one of the sixty medics if they had my bags and they assured me that they did. They put me in a stretcher, sitting up, and proceeded to wheel me through Jamaica Station, yelling at all the oblivious people to kindly get out of the way. I was mortified. I never minded being the center of attention, but not in this way. I felt as it I was floating, almost, the way they zoomed me through the platform and onto the elevator, with other people who were trying not to stare while they were staring. Thank goodness the ambulance ride was short and I arrived quickly at Jamaica Hospital.
They took me directly to the Cardiac Care unit. Because it was just days before Christmas, everything looked festive and comforting. I explained what happened to me five more times to five more people. Everyone was so impersonal; until, finally, a wonderful nurse, Nina, introduced herself and told me to put a hospital gown on. Dr. Patel came by next and started the investigation into my mysterious episode. And then the endless poking, prodding and pinching began. I was hooked up to all kinds of monitors that made monotonous, cadenced beeping sounds. The blood pressure machine took my pressure automatically. I called it the invisible nurse. My pressure was a little high. Mark showed up, followed by Lindsay, Scott and Kim. I introduced them all to Nina. Lindsay held up her engagement ring and told her that there are 258 days to their wedding, so they better make me well. Nina asked, “Are they having a cooper?” “A what?” I asked. “Cooper- you know for the ceremony; aren’t you Jewish?” “Yes. Yes. Of Course.” She was saying “Chuppa”- I thought her accent was Spanish; she turned out to be a European Jew.
Dr. Patel informed me that he needed to admit me for observation. He said that even though I shoveled the snow the day before, this could have been the cause because I overexerted myself; in other words, 53 year-old women shouldn’t shovel snow. I’m so glad that Mark was there to witness this. I have never been admitted to a hospital, except for birthing my children. This was an experience I always had from the other end- being the child witnessing my dad being admitted to the hospital or the parent, witnessing Lindsay being admitted to the hospital. I have never been the one sitting on that stretcher with the worried eyes of my family hovering over me. I have always been on the other side of the worried eyes.
While I waited for a room, my friends from work, Dorothea and Stephanie came by to visit. Dorothea gave me my Christmas gift; Stephanie gave me a book to read. It was nice to get the attention; although, I would have much rather been at work and then going to the reunion party. I had arrived at the hospital at about 7:30 am; I got to my room at 3:30 pm. Welcome to the wonderful world of hospitals. The cheerful orderly who wheeled me to my room was very impressed with my boots. Thankfully, my roommate was very nice; her name was Alberta- breast cancer survivor, diabetes, under active thyroid, asthma and congestive heart failure. That’s the way you meet people in the hospital- you exchange diagnoses and ailments before anything else. Alberta was there for six days already. She showed me where the closet was and explained how to get the phone and TV to work. She was good company. I knew this because I could hear some of the other patients down the hall who were the screamers and complainers. Thank goodness for Alberta. I called my mom to let her know what was going on and to reassure her everything was going to be fine. She told me that at 7am that morning, she had a very uneasy feeling and a sudden urge to call me, but she didn’t because she knows I don’t like to talk on the phone while I’m on the train. My mom is a little psychic. I always knew that. I told her, “Daddy put that cop on the train.” That was, I figured "a sign" that he was watching over me. I got myself as comfortable as possible into what would be my bed for the next two nights, and as I was lying down I noticed the view out the window. In the near distance, I could see the Long Island Railroad gliding up and down its tracks.
My hospital stay lasted three whole days. It seemed like an eternity. I had to wear a halter monitor round the clock and any time one of the connectors came undone, a nurse or aide or someone came in to reconnect me. This happened four or five times in the middle of the night. One thing for sure, even though you are in a bed 99% of the time in a hospital, it does not mean you can sleep. I had an x-ray, CAT scan, echocardiogram and continuous blood tests. Another thing that you learn from being in a hospital is that everyone sees you naked; I don’t even know why they bother with the gown that exposes your whole backside anyway. We should just stay naked the whole time while we’re in the hospital because the gown just gets in the way when they perform all those tests. That hospital gown is a nuisance; I can’t believe that with all the new updated state of the art equipment, they can’t come up with a more comfortable, convenient garment for the patients to wear. I had two resident doctors- Layla and Dr. Malaky and one attending (their boss), Dr. Alwani. Lindsay, Kim and I asked Layla what the ranking was according to our reference to Grey’s Anatomy; Layla was Lexi, Dr. Malaky was Meredith and Dr. Alwani was Derek (trust me, he was not McDreamy, though).
After all the test results came back, they determined that I had mitral valve prolapse in the moderate stage with regurgitation- in simple terms- a leaky valve. This could have caused my syncope- in simple terms- fainting spell. Dr. Alwani could not release me until I saw the cardiologist. He said I could go but I had to sign a form that it was against the doctor’s advice. I called my malpractice attorney sister-in-law and she said that means, in simple terms, “Don’t leave.” All I had to do was wait for the cardiologist to talk to me and so I waited and waited and waited. Mark waited and waited and waited with me. He was more impatient than I was, maybe because he wasn’t the patient to begin with. During that time, Alberta happily went home after eight long days at the hospital. The sun set peacefully outside my window as the Long Island Railroad went up and down its tracks. They told me that the cardiologist would be there to see me between 10 and 3. It’s like when you wait for a repairmen at your home- they give you a time frame and it’s almost always never at the lesser end, and in many cases, it’s beyond that time frame. In my case, it was not until 5pm that Dr. Jane, the cardiologist finally came; coincidentally, right after Lindsay called the hospital twice to scream at the poor souls who answered her belligerent phone calls. After Dr. Jane explained my condition, I asked if I would make it to September 6, 2010 (the day after the wedding). He looked at me with a weird expression after my question. Mark said, “Don’t mind her; my daughter’s getting married on September 5th. My wife has a strange sense of humor.” I was released (odd that it’s the same term they use when they let you out of prison) at 5:35pm. Luckily, this was in the knick of time because my new roommate arrived, who was a screamer. The orderly said goodbye and commented again on how much he liked my boots.
I am at home, now. I have to be on metoprolol and baby aspirin for the rest of my life and follow up with a cardiologist on a regular basis so I can be monitored. I also have to learn to pronounce metroprolol (baby aspirin, I have down pat.) My wonderful brother brought my mom to visit me at home. The best medicine of all was a hug from her. I think we both felt that way. Almost everyone who calls me tells me they also have mitral valve prolapse. It’s a common condition that runs in my family, as well. Lindsay has it, too. I have an appointment with my new cardiologist on Monday. Lindsay and Kim are taking me and then I think we’ll go look for a dress for me for the wedding- might as well, I’ll be on the Miracle Mile, where we began looking for wedding dresses. I will practice my poses that they do on the website.
Uncle Milty called me this morning, to make sure I was okay. He asked, rhetorically, "Did my nephew put you in the hospital?" I told him the whole story. Uncle Milty is on metroprolol, too, although, he hasn’t learned to pronounce it yet. We talked about the wedding and how he can’t wait to be there. He told me to have his nephew, Mark, who was sleeping at the time, to call him back so he can tell him what to do with his shovel.
We are all going to our dear friends, Cathy and Steve’s today, a tradition we keep every Christmas. Cathy is a physician’s assistant and pharmacist. If I have another episode like on Monday morning, I’ll be in a good place. Although, I would hate to disrupt Cathy’s cooking for her to resuscitate me, god forbid.
It’s Christmas morning; bless us all.
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