Remembrance of things past

One Friday in January 1996, as I was returning to work after grabbing a quick lunch out (hamburger, French fries, Dr. Pepper) with a couple of colleagues, I felt kind of punky (translation: not up to par) and thought I might be coming down witn an upper respiratory infection. Ascending the five or six steps between the lower-than-street-level parking lot at my place of employment to reach the entrance to the building, I experienced some tightness in my chest and some achiness between my shoulder blades, and thought, "I think I'm coming down with an upper respiratory infection." It was January, after all, so that wasn't all that unusual.

Mrs. RWP and I had made plans to visit our daughter and son-in-law over the weekend as it was our daughter's birthday, so we set off on the 3½-hour drive early Saturday mornng, taking along a gift that hadn't yet been wrapped. About 30 minutes from our destination, as we neared Birminghan, Mrs. RWP asked me to stop at Leeds so that we could buy some wrapping paper and ribbon at the shopping center there. (Note to readers, wherever you are: This Birmingham and Leeds are in Alabama, not in England.) I exited I-20 like a dutiful husband

As we were walking around the supermarket, I once again felt that I must be coming down with an upper respiratory infection. In addition to the tightness and achiness, I began to sweat profusely. I felt clammy and my head began spinning (not literally, you're not reading The Exorcist here). I asked my wife to drive the rest of the way to our daughter's place as I felt unable to concentrate on driving.

When we arrived at the apartment complex where our daughter and her husband lived, everyone insisted that I lie down in the bedroom. After taking a short nap, I felt much better, but my wife (an RN), my son-in-law (an EMT), and his brother (an RN who happened to live in the next building) all checked my temperature, my pulse, and the brother even listened to my chest through a stethoscope. Everything seemed normal and I felt much better. The rest of the stay passed uneventfully and I did all the driving on the way back home on Sunday evening.

Ellie wanted me to go to our doctor on Monday morning but I insisted that I felt fine and went to the office. Ascending those steps that morning, I felt the tightness and achiness again, and at lunchtime it happened again. Other than those couple of moments, I felt fine all day, and thought I might be coming down with an upper respiratory infection.

In the middle of the night, I made it out of bed and got to the bathroom just in time to throw up violently. Mrs. RWP said, "You're not going to work in the morning, you're going to the doctor."

So Tuesday morning found us in our doctor's office.

"Why have you come in to see me today?" he asked.

"I think I'm coming down with an upper respiratory infection," I said, and I told him the reasons why I thought so.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Fifty-four," I said. "I'll be 55 in a couple of months."

"Do you think it might be your heart?" he asked, which surprised me.

"No," I said, "there's no history of heart problems on either side of my family."

"Well," he said, "Given your age I would be remiss if we didn't do an EKG."

And that was that. In very short order I found myself being shaved in various places and having jelly applied and being hooked up by wires to a strange looking device with which I was not previously acquainted. The technician looked perplexed at what she saw on the strip and decided to run a second one. After the second one she still looked confused, and she wondered aloud if the equipment might not be operating properly, and summoned the doctor into the room. He looked at the two strips, then ran a third EKG himself. He looked at it and left the room.

I didn't know it, but he had gone to the waiting room to ask my wife to come to his office, then he returned and asked me to come to his office too. What he said next was the last thing I expected to hear.

"Mr. Brague," the doctor said, "you have either had or are having a heart attack."

I ended up spending five days in a hospital. Tomorrow, January 31st, when I meet with my cardiologist for yet another semi-annual follow-up appointment, it will be the 52nd time in 26 years that we have met together.

In 2017, I did have to have five stents inserted into my coronary arteries, but those details can wait until another day.

In closing, here's my advice, and it's pretty simple: Listen to your body. Listen to your wife. Listen to your doctor.