It happened to me last Wednesday. 

Now, let me preface this by telling you that I like to think of myself as robustly heathy. 
Granted no one my age is completely free of some noticeable deterioration but 
generally speaking I remain flexible, reasonably strong and functioning well physically in 
all the important zones (hell, I’m still a newly-wed).
 
So…Wednesday morning, alone at home, I get into my yoga togs, throw my mat down 
on the floor and begin my routine (which varies a lot depending on how energetic or 
lethargic I feel). ’Not bad energy’, I think, so I push a bit…work up a sweat… go a little 
deeeeper. 
An hour later I’ve packed it up and am heading for the shower when I feel a tightening in 
my chest and a swirling nausea in my gut and a sudden draining of energy, like it’s 
flowing out of my feet. Whew, I think, I gotta eat. So I do and that calms things down 
enough that I forget about it and decide to take care of a few chores around the yard. 
It’s spring after all, but the weather has been so wet that not much of the cleanup has 
been done. Now our place has a lot of exterior stairs. The house is on a fairly steep 
hillside that tumbles right into Okanagan lake so doing a couple hundred stair steps in 
the course of a cleanup day is unavoidable. 

Now I admit that I don’t hustle about like I once did but on that day the first trip up to the 
garage leaves me winded…the second and I have to sit down. I flop into a muskoka 
chair to catch my breath. It’s about then that I feel the tightening begin again…and the 
nausea and, of course, the complete lack of energy…even of the will to get up. Huff… 
puff…pant. Shit…I sit in the silence of the late morning with all of my attention focused 
on my chest…my breath…I haven’t felt this before…a large stone seems to have placed 
itself in the middle of my body. It seems to be getting worse…I break out in a cold sweat 
and… 

SHIT!… I THINK I’M HAVING A HEART ATTACK. 

I’m supposed to go to Kelowna later in the day for a band rehearsal which I don’t want 
to miss BUT…this is getting scary. 
Maybe if I go lie down it’ll pass. I crawl into bed. I lie there exhausted thinking that Lori 
may find me lying in this position…dead as a doornail…when she gets back. No… I’m 
ok…but shit, something’s going on in my chest…what if I’m not ok…I’ve heard many 
tales of heathy males dropping in the middle of their morning jog…massive heart 
attacks…aneurisms…a thousand and one ways to die in the West. Arghh!…
 
Just about then Lori comes in and, seeing me in bed, knows something is seriously 
amiss…I will lounge on the couch if I’m lazy or feeling low but I never go to bed in the 
daytime (not without an invitation anyway). 

About ten minutes later she’s racing me towards the Vernon hospital, which is a relief in 
an odd kind of way because suddenly my fear of dying from heart failure must take second 
place to my fear of being killed in a car crash. (Seriously, she’s a good driver…I just 
never knew she could take a corner like that). 

Now, if you’ve ever checked in to a hospital emergency you know the wait times can be 
extreme…(I once waited at Toronto General with my six year old son with his broken leg 
for two and a half hours before seeing anyone). Well, should you find yourself heading 
for The EMERG …let me recommend displaying symptoms of heart failure. Within sixty 
seconds of sitting down in the waiting area a male nurse was strapping a blood 
pressure band on my arm and plying me with questions. “Why did you decide to come 
to the hospital?” he asks. I mumble something about never having felt this way before. 
“Yeah, but what made you come in?” he repeats. “I made him come,” Lori pipes up. “Ah, 
says he, “That’s what I was waiting for…that’s what they all say.” 
The blood nurse shows up next and expertly extracts a vile and I’m hustled into the 
EKG room. All the while the 'rock' remains securely imbedded in my chest.

Sticky little suction cups are applied to various spots on my chest to which a 
dozen or so wires are clamped….a little action by the tech in charge and… “Well, that 
looks pretty normal” she says. “Normal?”  “Yes, it doesn’t look like you’re in 
immediate danger.” Oh…good…I guess. Except now I feel like an asshole for terrifying 
my wife and causing all these very busy people to be even busier. “Shall I go then?” I 
ask. “Oh no, we’ll have a bed for you in a half hour or so. We’ll want to monitor you… 
maybe overnight.” Oh shit…not overnight…the only time I’ve spent a night in hospital 
was when my son broke his leg and I stayed with him. I don’t want to spend the night! 
But on the other hand, the rock is still in my chest and I need to know what’s going on… 
and more to the point, Lori is not leaving until she knows what’s going on. 

So I’m bedded, wired up, x-rayed, more blood, and I even catch the last stress test of 
the day. Things are going well they say...heart looks normal.
By now I’m feeling pretty good…and damn hungry... but I’m told they’ll need to 
keep me at least a couple more hours for one last blood test…just to see if anything has 
changed. I insist that Lori go get some food because she’s looking a little pale 
and I want her to get out of the worlds most uncomfortable chair in which she’s been 
squirming for the last two hours. 

Finally the last blood is taken, I receive one last visit from the doctor who releases me 
but tells me I should come back tomorrow for a CT scan because, even though my 
heart seems to be in rather good shape, something else…say my liver or pancreas or 
gall bladder may be causing my grief. 

The next day I go in for the scan…another new experience for me. It’s not bad…doesn’t 
take long and consists (for those of you unfamiliar with such things) of being placed on 
a table located in the hole of a giant steel donut. An IV is placed in a prominent vein 
and what feels like hot acid is injected through it. A siri-like feminine voice tells me to 
take a deep breath and hold it while the table shuttles me back and forth through the 
donut hole. Two minutes and it’s done and the hot flash induced by the injection 
subsides. 

I proceed to the waiting room for results. 

GOOD NEWS!! All of my vital organs still work and have no lumps, bumps, contusions 
or blockages. I have simply been the victim of a poorly chosen breakfast and a fearful 
imagination. 

Wow! It’s amazing how full of vim and vigor I feel…twenty years younger in the course 
of a few sentences.
 
Now I suppose that the above scenario plays out daily in hospitals everywhere and 
everyday people like me walk away feeling ever-so-much better because we feel safe 
again in our own bodies. 

For me it’s especially reassuring because I’m runnin’ down a dream here…and it’s going 
to take all of my skills and energy to keep the ball rolling. 

Heath is a most precious possession…I still have it. 

Fear, on the other hand, is a painful and destructive mental state…and it’s showing itself 
in such abundance in the world these days that avoiding contamination takes conscious 
effort and a good amount of self awareness. The best remedy, I think, should you 
become infected, is to take action. If you’re afraid for your heath…go to the ER…do it… 
I’m glad I did. 

I am not one who spends much time with doctors or medications…never really became 
a believer. And I did, after all, create my own symptoms. Nonetheless I want to express 
gratitude to the very competent and friendly staff at the Vernon Jubilee Hospital. I 
actually had a good experience there. 

‘Nuff said….back to band stuff next week.