My 4th anniversary of survival: a very special day on my calendar

I have no recollection of what was going on at this very moment four years ago, primarily because I was unconscious, undergoing a quadruple bypass procedure during which I had 3 episodes of cardiac arrest.

The day before, I was in peak physical condition. I took Tae Kwon Do lessons 4 days a week, was muscular, had great endurance and felt like a million bucks. It was during one of those Tae Kwon Do sessions when suddenly I felt all the strength drain from my body. I could barely lift my arm. I tried to walk it off, thinking it was a temporary episode and even went back to continue the workout. Unfortunately, I was weaker than before.

The possibility that I might be having a heart attack didn’t even cross my mind, even though I had a pacemaker implanted in my chest as a result of having been diagnosed with cardiomyopathy four years earlier after having passed out on an excercise machine. But just in case, I had my girlfriend (now my wife) Jeanne, drive me down to Lahey Clinic’s emergency room just to get checked out.

My experience in their emergency room was a nightmare to say the least. I must have waited six hours before I got the attention of a cardiologist, in the meantime having to endure the same set of questions over and again from various nurses and interns. One intern kept poking my belly for some odd reason which I have never figured out. But the bottom line is, I kept getting worse and no one would do anything to help me until I started kicking in to a full blown heart attack right then and there.

I felt the life slipping out of me on more than one occasion, but for some reason felt no fear while that was happening.

When my cardiologist finally arrived (8 hours after I left a message with his snippy secretary), he had me wheeled in for a heart catheterization, and it was during that procedure he saw that I was in far worse shape than he originally thought. He thought at first that I could hold over for the morning, and then have a bypass procedure, but after another one of my scary episodes, he decided to get me in for a quadruple bypass pronto.

I was told later by my cardiologist and the cardiothoracic surgeon who operated on me that half of my heart was badly burned — rendering it leathery and inflexible (which explained the cardiomyopathy we could never determine the cause of) — and that a good portion of my lungs were burned as well.

Where did those burns come from?

Flash back to 1973-4. I was being treated at the age of 18 for testicular cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. Rather than chemotherapy, they used some brand spankin new technology known as a linear accelerator which, in fighting off the cancer (basically through burning it away) burned not only my skin quite severely, but also — unbeknownst to me — the left side of my heart and lungs as well. [Today, the technology is used with laser precision, but back then, they didn’t know, and used it in much more of a shotgun approach]

So the good news is that back in 1974 I joined the ranks of “1st Generation Cancer Survivors” (most people died of cancer back then) but I learned the bad news on October 27th, 2002 when I learned the hard way about the long term effects of the treatments they used to save my life.

When my doctors saw my lungs and heart, they did some research into the matter and found that I was one of a few cases that were popping up nationwide of those who survived cancer, only to experience life threatening heart conditions years down the road.

Just to clarify with you, had I been given the information back in 1973 that in 2002 I would experience life threatening heart attacks, I would most definitely chose to go ahead with the linear accelerator. The alternative was a gravestone dated 1974. And I have no doubt that the doctors of that time had no idea of what the long term implications would be.

But anyway, that is why I have none of the classic indicators for heart disease: no family history, no high blood pressure, low cholesterol count, I don’t smoke and my diet is fairly healthy.

The aftermath of the heart attacks was hellish, to say the least. For a couple of weeks, they debated whether I should have a heart transplant, but doubted I would survive the procedure. I was totally drugged up on morphine and experienced a non-stop series of the most bizarre dreams you can imagine. Every day was an endless parade of needles and procedures. I endured it all with good spirits, but secretly wondered why all this had happened to me.

Even after I was discharged from the hospital, life was still pretty difficult. I had about 64 lbs of bloating from all the fluids they pumped in to me. My lungs kept filling up with fluid and I had to go into the hospital on a weekly basis to get them drained (usually 1.5-2 liters of fluid at a time).

I learned I now had a chronic condition known as congestive heart failure
, which makes me prone to breathing difficulties and pneumonia, and most likely will end up with my getting a heart transplant or dying — whichever comes first. As a result, I developed a deep compassion for those with chronic illnesses, as they move in to your life uninvited and stay forever.

The first few years after my heart attacks I was in and out of the hospital with various related ailments. If it wasn’t one damn thing, it was the next. In the winter of 2004-5 I was hospitalized 5 times with pneumonia — about a week every time — and that was no fun at all. My life was defined by appointments with one “ologist” after the next, each one sure they found yet another problem with their particular lens through which they viewed the human body… which led to one test or procedure after another… No fun at all.

Probably the toughest part, the part that I had no idea I would encounter, was the deep, dark depression I have lived with on and off over the past four years. I would deny its existence while trying to live a “normal life”, meanwhile alienating friends, family members and colleagues, all while running more than one business into the ground and making myself increasingly difficult to be around by those who loved me the most.

Finally, my wife confronted me with the evidence of what was going on in my life: my behavior, my excessive sleep patterns, my dark moods, my temperament, various outbursts, etc. and insisted that I see someone to get help. Well, thank God for her courage in the matter, because I found a great psychiatrist who has been able to restore me (for the most part) to my old self, though it did take some time, some false starts with the wrong medications and a few more dark episodes before I got there. Today I am, for the most part, in good spirits and a fairly friendly guy to be around. I’ve made amends with those I could, and for the others, hopefully I’ll be able to some day.

Another confrontation that really helped me came from a nurse at Lahey Clinic. She took care of me last September when I was hospitalized for a suspicious growth on my gall bladder (it turned out to be benign, but they had to remove it to find out for sure). When she wheeled me out to the front of the hospital to wait for my wife as she pulled the car around to pick me up, she parked my wheelchair and then stood directly in front of me.

“Andy”, she began, “while you were here, I took the time to read through your 9 inch thick medical records file. I have seen a lot of people in here come and go, but your case stands out. You may have had a tough go of it, but your heart is back within normal range and there is nothing wrong with you that doesn’t ail thousands of other people as well. What struck me is that you haven’t managed to stay out of the hospital for 45 days since your heart attacks three years ago! It’s one thing after the next!

“I look at you and see what appears to be a healthy young man. You’re only 50 years old. You’ve got a lovely wife. You’ve got six great kids at home who adore you. You’re smart. You’re handsome. You have a great sense of humor. You have everything going for you. But you can’t manage to stay out of the hospital!”

Then she leaned forward and got in my face.

“I don’t ever want to see you in this hospital again. I want you to focus on your health, your good blessings, and stay away from all these doctors! If I see you in here again, I’m going to make it a very unpleasant visit, so believe me, STAY OUT!”

The truth of what she was saying really hit hard. I knew what she was saying was absolutely true. I COULD stay out of the hospital. I COULD stay out of the doctor’s offices. I COULD avoid all those tests. I COULD lead as normal a life as possible.

And I determined that day that I was going to keep my ass OUT of the hospital. That very moment I decided, “NO MORE!”.

I thanked that wonderful nurse, got into the car and went home.

Since that day 13 months ago, I ended up in the hospital just once, in January, with a weird staph infection that was actually quite serious. Fortunately, it was in Santa Barbara, California, so I didn’t have to endure that lovable nurse’s ire.

I see the doctors less now and am far healthier. I haven’t had more than one test over the past six months. I rarely shadow the doors of Lahey Clinic anymore.

Instead, I focus on just trying to live as healthy a life as possible, and I’m loving it.

I thank God for my wife and for that wonderful nurse who in their loving, courageous confrontations, were able to steer me down the right path.

That would make for a happy ending right there, but I know that life goes on, and that I’m due for a few ups and downs, both emotionally and physically. Nevertheless, I’m focused on my mantra of staying OUT of the hospital and living a happy normal life.

Thanks to all who have been a part of my healing process.