It has been a very long time since I’ve posted on this blog. I’m not sure if I have a reason. Time just went by. It’s not that I haven’t considered memories or topics that are blog worthy… I just haven’t sat down to do it. That being said, a lot has happened since my last post in February, 2022.

Most people are already aware, via Deb and my Facebook and/or Instagram posts, that I had a heart attack in May, 2023. It was quite an experience and I’ve told the “story” many times already (as most of you who know me can already imagine). I’ve been encouraged by several people, including my family doctor and, most recently, my cardiologist, Dr. Chris Franco, to let people know about my close call and subsequent “journey” this past year.

At my latest meeting with Dr. Franco, after telling me that my recent echocardiogram and blood work showed encouragingly positive results, he suggested that I formally tell my story. He said that new patients could benefit from hearing about my journey and, most importantly, the story might encourage people not to ignore chest discomfort, constriction and/or pain.

So, at the risk of boring those who’ve heard it before, here goes.

On Tuesday, May 2 I went for my usual morning walk. Since my last health scare (click here to read that one), walking has been the only exercise that feels good. I tried to walk quickly and, for several months I’d been walking 10 km most days. In fact, the morning of my “episode” the fitness app on my iphone had recorded 9.19 km and 11,000 steps. I hurried a bit more than usual that morning because I was to meet Deb and our friends Richard and Cathy for lunch in downtown Chemainus. I hadn’t left myself quite enough time so my pace was faster than usual. I felt fine during lunch, in fact, Richard and I planned to ride our bikes to Crofton afterwards. Deb and I went home and, because we had picked up a parcel that we wanted to open, she came in the house with me rather than just drop me off and go shopping. That was my first lucky break. After opening the parcel I got dressed in my fancy bike shorts. As I was coming back downstairs I started to feel a tightness in the middle of my chest. I had a Tums and a glass of water. I mentioned to Deb that the idea of a bike ride didn’t sound as good as it once had. I phoned Rich to cancel and was about to lie down on the couch when Deb asked what my heart rate was according to my Apple Watch. It was 125 and I hadn’t been walking for over an hour. We decided that Deb would drive me to the Care Clinic in Chemainus (thank goodness she didn’t go for groceries as she had previously planned). In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have taken the time to change out of my bike shorts, and trade my slip-on crocs for tie-up shoes, because by the time we’d made the 4 minute drive to the clinic the pain was becoming unbearable and I was slipping in and out of consciousness. Apparently, I slumped to the ground as I got out of the truck and required the help of passersby to get to the doors of the clinic. I don’t remember many details… but Deb does. (There was some confusion but, to be fair, knowing what we know now, we should have called the ambulance from home and skipped the Primary Care Center altogether. They are not open all the time and are not full fledged emergency rooms. Good to know.

Deb was able to make clear that I still have the remnants of a cavernous malformation at the base of my brain. So, because of the possibility of creating another such “brain bleed” the doctor was not able to give me a shot of the “clot buster” drug. This meant the myocardial infarction (heart attack) continued at full speed. I remember the ambulance arriving and hearing the doctor say “lights and siren, boys”. A nurse, who was just about to go off-shift, volunteered to ride with me. She held my hand the whole way and cleaned me up when I was sick to my stomach more than once.  The ride seemed to last forever but I know they made good time. I’ve told people that I’ve never passed a kidney stone or delivered a baby so I won’t try to compare the pain, but I know I wouldn’t have wanted my chest to hurt anymore than it did that day.

Once at the Royal Jubilee Hospital in Victoria I was immediately transported to the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit) and an angioplasty was performed. I was awake during the procedure which was done through my wrist using the carotid artery. Two stents were inserted. I was told that one stent was placed where there’d been a 70% blockage and the other at a spot that was 100% blocked. (I am still confused about how I was able to walk almost ten kilometres that morning with a 100% blockage?)

Once the stents were in place the pain subsided significantly but not altogether. There were so many doctors and nurses in and out of my room during those first hours that their faces and names are a blur. However, later that evening when the danger seemed to be over I remember meeting Dr. Franco for the first time. He told me the details about the both blockages and stents. He then told me that because my heart attack had been full on for so long that considerable damage had been done to my heart. My left ventricle, in particular, had taken quite a beating and a good portion of the tissue was dead. I learned the term “ejection fraction” that night. Apparently, a healthy heart sends 60% of the blood that’s in it out to your body with each beat. Because of the damage to my heart, my “ejection fraction” was only 30% (which basically means that I now get only about half of the oxygenated blood I used to get with each beat of my heart). 

It was decided that because of the damage to my left ventricle I should stay an extra day in hospital to be “monitored”. So, instead of checking out on Thursday morning, I would go home Friday morning. It turns out that decision saved my ass.

On Thursday morning I said good-bye to the CCU staff before being wheeled down a seemingly endless corridor to the ward. Deb and I admired my new room (couch and all) for a few minutes before I had a much needed shower and put on a fresh pair of pyjamas. I got comfortable on my new bed and then called Cy to tell him that things were all in order and that I’d be going home the next day. He was driving from Fort St. John to Edmonton and was somewhere around Valleyview when we spoke. I said good-bye and then started to listen to Deb read texts from people who knew I’d had the heart attack. Moments in to that I had the first cardiac arrest. I don’t remember much of the next few hours so some of what comes next has been told to me by Deb, Makari, Brit and Adam who, sadly, were witness to some “Code Blue” stuff that you usually only see on television. Paddles, “clear!”, and energetic CPR.

Deb says that as she was reading she heard me gag. She looked over to see my eyes roll back. I’m guessing it wasn’t all that attractive. She jumped to the door to call for help but the telemetry system hanging around my neck had already alerted the staff and the first Code Blue was under way.

After, what I’ve been told, was 65 seconds, I woke with eyes wide open to see doctors and nurses surrounding my bed. My most vivid memory is of a tall nurse leaning over me on my left side. I saw that his name tag said “Lee” and found out later that he’d administered the CPR that brought me back. I don’t remember any  pain at the time, in fact, although I saw no light, tunnel or angels, there were seconds (or milliseconds?) of peacefulness. Just as I began to get reoriented I became nauseous. I said so and then my heart stopped again. Code Blue #2. Deb remembers that I was awake for about 10 minutes between them. That’s about nine and a half more minutes than I remember. My next memory is of being wheeled at high speeds back down that same endless corridor. Shock pads were on both sides of my chest and I remember feeling like the shocks were lifting me off the gurney one side at a time.

The next few hours in CCU are nothing more than a blur for me. I’ve been told my heart stopped (arrested) four more times.  Eventually, by early evening, I was stabilized and awake enough to start remembering and understanding things. When I saw my son, Cy, walk into my CCU room it hit me that things might be a bit serious. My daughter, Makari, had called him just as he was getting to Edmonton. He then drove directly to the airport and flew to Victoria on the first flight he could get. 

At some point Dr. Chris Franco, the lead cardiologist, came in to explain that his team had determined that I should have an “ICD” installed the next morning. “ICD” is short for a combination pacemaker and “implantable cardioverter-defibrillator”. I was told that mine would be the Cadillac model called the “CRT-D” (Cardiac resynchronization therapy with a defibrillator) and that I should refer to it as my “ICD” and not a pacemaker. As pretentious as that may sound, that’s what I now do. 

The device would be installed early the next morning. Dr. Franco then explained that just in case my heart needed to be kick-started again before that, an “emergency defibrillator” would be installed right away. So, with my eyes rolled as far to the right as they’d go, I tried to watch as a they inserted what was basically a large drinking straw through a small hole in my neck a couple of inches below my right ear. A couple of stitches kept it from sliding all the way into my chest cavity. Once the straw was in place a wire was inserted that went directly into my heart. It was to dangle there and would be used only if my heart decided to take another break. 

Dr. Martin van Zyl, the electrophysiologist, came in later that evening to let me know that he and his team would be installing my device in the morning and he explained the basic procedure. He would make a “pocket” under my skin in front of the muscle just below my left collar  bone. Three wires, one of which is the defibrillator, would be slid down into specific areas of my heart. These wires would then be attached to the device, which is about the the size of a small tape measure, before being inserted into the newly created pocket. Then, using a few stitches, the pocket would be closed up. 

Dr. van Zyl, was confident and upbeat. I’m not saying he was young but I’m pretty sure I taught his grandpa in Grade 6. Before leaving he told me to get a good night’s sleep. I smiled and told him that it was more important that he sleep well. He laughed.

After the doctor left, Deb and the kids came into my room. Although some memories of that time are a bit blurry, I do remember telling them that I wasn’t really afraid and that I felt pretty good about the doctors’ plans. I remember telling them that if things went south my idea of heaven would be that they smiled whenever they thought of me… just like I do when I think of Mom or Dad. I told them a traditional heaven in the clouds would probably be crowded and tiresome after awhile. I don’t remember exactly how it came up but we did talk about them each getting a “Live, Love, Larry” tattoo. (The idea has since been downgraded to t-shirts instead.) 🙂

My heart operated without any help that night but falling asleep was a bit tricky. In fact, my nurse, Andrea, spent much of the early morning hours sitting with me in the dark talking about kids, careers, and camping on Vancouver Island.

At about 6:30 am a smiley orderly came to prep my chest. Yeehah. A few minutes, some warm water, a couple of disposable bic razors, and the left side of my chest was as bald as it had been when I was a pre-teen. Just before 8:00 am, members of the electrophysiology team, including Dr. van Zyl, came to wheel me to the operating room. I remember telling them that I’d turned 65 only a few months before and I was hoping things would go well because I’d only had a couple of free BC Ferry rides so far. I also mentioned my only allergy was to pain so I hoped they wouldn’t be stingy with the anesthetic. 

I was awake for the procedure, which lasted about an hour and a half. I had the perfect amount of fentanyl so I didn’t feel a thing and was in a bit of a holiday mood. Although a screen over my face blocked my view, I could hear everything that went on. The team of six or seven people worked like a well oiled machine while Top-40 music played in the background. They spoke to one another like a group of really good friends working on a car engine (in this case, a vintage car engine). Dr. van Zyl was the boss but not bossy.

Listening to this group of professionals at work was the first step towards developing some confidence in this new contraption that will now live in my chest for the rest of my days. 

After the “installation” was complete, I was wheeled back to CCU where I was to spend the next two nights. Again, the care was amazing and constant. I was hooked to lots of bells, whistles and lights, and I received a number of needles and echocardiograms. The only pain I had was from my badly bruised ribs. When I mentioned the pain I was told that if my ribs weren’t a little bit sore I probably wouldn’t be around to complain about it. Made sense.

My mind was too busy during those first hours to have any real feelings of fear or sadness but a couple of things did happen to put things into perspective. 

The first was when I took my first walk. My nurse, Andrea, told me that I’d been ok’d to get out of bed and try a slow walk. It was the middle of the night and I couldn’t get to sleep anyway so I thought it might be a good idea. She helped me off the bed and I held her arm. I grabbed my IV stand with my other hand and then we headed down the hallway. We were moving slowly as we rounded a corner and approached the nurse’s station. A shift change was taking place so there were five or six nurses huddled there. When one of them saw us she started to clap slowly. Then they all did. The nurse who’d been sitting actually stood up. It made me smile and tear-up all at once. 

The second shot of reality came when Dr. Franco made his rounds the next day. When he asked how I was feeling I told him that I felt ok but didn’t feel like running any races. His response was, “That makes sense. You died three times yesterday and your heart is really sick.” I was beginning to see what the starting point of my recovery would be.

I was moved back to the ward and spent the remainder of my 11 day hospital stay there. I had regular medications, needles and scans while also hosting several much appreciated visitors. 

I especially need to mention that my sister and brother-in-law, Carol and Mike, flew in from Calgary to be with me. (That’s the second time they’ve done that… I love them and I owe them!)

The amazing care and attention continued in a humbling way even after I got home. Two words describe my caregivers… brilliant and kind.

(Some day I might share the details of the home-care, physio rehab, and on-line support in another blog post.)

As I write this it is dawning on me that considerable time has passed and that I’m getting used to the daily medications and having this rock-like thing in my chest. I’ve also come to realize that although there are multiple downsides to having a heart attack, there have been some interesting upsides. I’ve lost 20 lbs that I didn’t need to carry around any more, I haven’t had any alcohol since the “event”, and I feel that I’ve had longer and more meaningful conversations with Deb and our kids in these past months.

Although my recovery has gone well, I’ll admit to days of fatigue, overthinking, melancholy, and some downright feeling sorry for myself. That being said, I’m happy to say that I’m back to walking 10,000 “steps” most days (special thanks to Willie for the inspiration), playing guitar (thanks to the other Willie for that inspiration), and getting back to living.

PS. When I write my book, the title will be: “My Stories Are Always Long”

And by the way…