Heart Attack! (Day 1)

DAY 1

January 27, 2009
Tuesday

The day started out pretty good for my husband, Ed.  The weather was mild, and the sky was sunny and clear.  He felt fine; it was just another day at work.  He had been a painting contractor for 25 years and knew all the ins and outs of the business. His usual workday included dropping our adult son, Alex, off at one job site while he attended to another.  But today, he decided they would work together.  He had some doors he would be spraying in a newly built home, and Alex would work downstairs in another room.

            Spraying was not usually the best part of the job.  It required creating a working space enclosed within large sheets of plastic to prevent overspray coming into contact with anything else.  It also required special coveralls and a respirator, and performing maintenance on the sprayer.  This day, Ed was having trouble getting the sprayer to work properly.  Frustrated, he went downstairs to check on Alex, and helped himself to a handful of mixed nuts.  Seeing that Alex’s work was going along just fine, he headed back upstairs and got the sprayer working.  He put on his respirator and proceeded to spray both sides of 11 doors, neatly arranged for maximum paint coverage.  It was at this time, that he began to feel that he swallowed something too large—something that had perhaps stuck halfway down.

            Thinking that it was heartburn, he went ahead and put his sprayer away for the day, while Alex came upstairs to work in another room.  “I think I have really bad heartburn,” he told Alex, “so I’m going to sit this one out.”  He sat on the edge of a bath tub for a minute, but seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable, instead.  He got up and tried to walk it off, and happened to see the home owner, Indy Corson. 

            “My chest is hurting.” He told Indy. 

Being on the local Search & Rescue team for Bridger Bowl Ski Resort, Indy knew a thing or two about First Aid.  “Where does it hurt?” he asked.  “Does your arm or shoulder hurt?  Does your jaw hurt?”

            “No,” Ed replied to everything.  “My arm doesn’t hurt,” Ed told him, “and my chest doesn’t really hurt.”  In fact, his chest didn’t hurt so much anymore, but seemed to be squeezing, getting tighter and tighter.  He sat down again, and rested for a few minutes.  As he stood, he realized there was no change in the tightness whether he was standing or sitting—it was time to get this checked out.  He walked over to Alex and said, “Put down everything right now.  You’re taking me to the clinic.”  The cost of the Emergency Room was not an option, and out of the question.

            Wasting no time, Alex put down his equipment and said, “Let’s go.” 

They immediately left the Corson’s home and were in the truck on the way to the clinic.  Ed figured they were about 10 minutes away from the hospital, and decided to call me.  He remembered telling me that his fingers were tingling, as if both his hands were falling asleep.  He remembered feeling so much discomfort that he handed the phone to Alex.  He felt as though his chest was caving in on itself.  “Maybe we should go to the hospital” he told Alex.

Same day

3:00 p.m.

I was typing away at my laptop, working on transcribing information to be submitted onto the Ehlenberger Family History website, when my 17-year-old daughter, Marie, walked into the room with the downstairs phone.  “It’s Daddy,” she said, but when she handed the phone to me, it was Alex.

            “He says he’s having really bad heartburn,” Alex said. 

It was about ten minutes past three p.m.  “You should probably take him to the hospital.” I said.  But apparently Ed objected and Alex handed the phone to him.  He could barely talk. 

“I’m going to the clinic,” he said.  “The hospital is too expensive.” 

            “No,” I said.  “They are not equipped with the proper equipment to see you.  When Stephanie fainted at work they wouldn’t even see her because she had a heart condition.  And besides...”  I was about to say time would be wasted if it was something worse, but Ed said “My fingers are tingling.” 

            “Give the phone back to Alex, please.” I said. 

“Yeah?” said Alex. 

“Take your father to the Emergency Room and let me know what is going on.”  “OK” he said.  “Be sure you call me.” I said.   In my head, I was thinking about the schedule for the day and who would need rides at what time—I was thinking that the kids probably shouldn’t go to dance classes, something they did almost every day.

***************************************************

            Again, Alex did not hesitate, and turned left on Main Street toward the hospital.  They were in the right lane, since they would have to make a right turn farther up the road to get to the hospital, but Ed suggested they pass the people on the right, which was unusual for him because he was usually such a slow and careful driver.  Needless to say, he does not remember much talking along the way.  He remembers feeling a little hunched over during this time, though Alex remembers him reclining.

            They turned right on Highland Boulevard without slowing down at the light, and went up the hill to the hospital, looking for the proper entrance drive to the Emergency Room.  There are several access roads which go to various parts of the hospital, and Alex mistakenly turned into one of the back access roads and Ed told him to go to the next road.  By the time he saw the Emergency Room sign up ahead, everything took on a surreal quality—he felt coherent, but not quite solid.  Everything seemed foggy, and unreal.

            Once they were near the Emergency Room entrance, Ed told Alex to park the truck and he would walk in on his own accord.  It had been nearly 20 minutes from the onset of symptoms.  He walked about 20 steps, sat down at the triage desk and looked the nurse in the eyes.  “Hi,” he said.  “I’m Ed Johnston and I think I’m having a heart attack.” 

The nurse immediately sprang into action and rushed him into a treatment room.  “Take off all your clothes and put them in the corner,” she told him, and helped him into a hospital gown.

            Within seconds, helping hands were all over him, pushing him down on to the table.  “Shave him now,” he remembers someone saying. By the time Alex came in from parking the truck, the doctors were reading the graphs hooked up to him.  Still in a desperate haze, he saw Alex sitting on a chair in the room with him.  He focused his eyes on Alex, and while everything else in the room became dark, he concentrated on Alex’s face.  He watched as his seemingly detached arm reach out toward Alex, and heard his own voice say “That’s my son.”  This moment froze in time.  All he wanted to do was touch Alex—a connection to familiarity and reality.  He felt as though he were reaching with all his might, but he could not touch. 

One of the doctors said “Edward, it appears you’re having a heart attack.”  Though he does not remember, a nurse later told him “You told your son to call your wife.”  He also does not remember quietly telling them that he was allergic to aspirin and that he had a right bundle branch block.  About this time, Alex saw the heart monitors go crazy and saw a pulse rate of 208 beats per minute and climbing.  Ed heard muffled voices and felt hands working on him, but they faded into darkness.  Everything seemed to fade except for Alex, and soon, even Alex’s face disappeared as he lost consciousness.  When the defibrillator was activated, Alex began to back out of the room. 

***************************************************

            I started to close out of the program I was writing, and thought to myself—I better get to the hospital.  I closed my laptop without a second thought and started to get my coat and boots when Alex called again.  “He’s having a heart attack,” he said, as if he was fighting tears and trying to sound brave.  “I’m on my way.” I said and called Marie from downstairs.

            “Your dad’s having a heart attack” I said. “—I don’t know anything more, I’m on my way to the hospital and I’ll call you.”  She nodded and I saw the immediate buzz of the announcement downstairs among the kids.

            Before I could get to Main Street, I called Alex again to find out what was going on.  He could barely talk.  “It looks pretty bad,” he choked, “They’ve had to shock him...”   Now my heart was really racing.  Could this really be happening?  I didn’t question it-- I just waited at the red light while my own heart palpitated in its place.  Finally the light turned green and I turned onto Main Street— and as I did, I could see every light all the way down Main Street turn red, one by one—I ended up getting every single red light there was—all the way to the hospital.  About halfway down Main Street I called Marie and asked her to call Pet Smart, where my oldest daughter, Stephanie was working.  I wanted her to know what was going on and to see if she could come home and be with the four younger girls. 

            I ran into the emergency room barely breathing, and saw Alex sitting down with a doctor talking to him.  His eyes were red and watery, his left elbow was leaning on the arm rest and he had a tissue in his hand near his face.  They said something to each other—something about who I was.  I moved Alex’s coat from a chair and sat down and waited to find out what was going on.

Same day

3:30 p.m.

I wanted to shout “Is he alive??” but the doctor instead began methodically going over everything that had happened.  I was only picking up bits and pieces of it because all I could think of was “Is he alive??”  The manner in which doctor was speaking, and the grim and ashen look on his face told me to fear the worst.  He almost seemed to be avoiding having to tell me telling me the worst kind of bad news.  Alex seemed quite traumatized and I was beginning to suspect the worst—but at the same time, I couldn’t accept that. 

            The doctor was telling me something about not being able to get a pulse because he was in arrest…..which caused his heart to lose the electrical impulses needed…..went into fibrillation….had to shock him……number of times…..unable to get it going…..several minutes….shock……taking him to the ICU.  That’s about all I heard.  Within seconds of telling me this, a nurse came in with a couple of bags and said “These are his belongings.  Would you like to take these?”  She must have read the shock in my face and my hands wildly gesturing her to stop, because she quickly said “Or I can put them in the ICU with him.” To which I nodded consent.

            My feeling was that you were only given the belongings when the person wasn’t expected to walk out with them.  In my mind, he was going to need those clothes when he came home; how dare she give them to me as if he wouldn’t be coming home?!  I think it was around this time that I had called Marie to let her know that he was okay, and to have her look up the Monson’s phone number.  I pulled out a paper from my pocket and tried to write down the phone number but I couldn’t write.  My hand was too weak—I couldn’t get it to move properly.  I lightly scribbled down the number.

            I had no strength, I was barely breathing, and I was trembling all over.  It didn’t seem to be real—the sounds, the lights, everything around me seemed dulled— the only reality was my little circle which included Alex, the doctor, and me.  The doctor said he would take us to the ICU waiting room, and we got up to follow him.  I could not find my strength.  My knees were trembling and I felt weak and sick.  I grabbed for Alex’s arm thinking he might need some support as well, but he seemed to pull away—as if he was furious at me for some reason.

            I tried to hold Alex’s arm as we walked through the hallway, but he didn’t seem to want anything to do with me and made no attempt to say or do anything.  My thought was that he was in a state of shock, like me.  Oddly, our trip to the ICU waiting room ended at the main lobby waiting room, where there was a crowd of others and a television blaring.  I remember thinking this can’t be the ICU waiting room—but perhaps they weren’t ready for us.  Later, I was to learn this was because Ed wasn’t in the ICU, yet—he would have been going to the Cath Lab.

            At this point I was thinking we really needed to let someone know—things needed to be set in motion.  Wendy Monson was the only person I could think of, someone whom we had stayed in touch with fairly regularly.  We had known the Monsons ever since we first moved into the area 13 years ago, and she knew all the kids, and she just seemed like the right person to call.  I walked around the corner of the hallway to get out of the mainstream of people and the noise of the television.  I dialed her number not knowing whether anybody would be home or not.  Alex stood near me.

            I spoke to Wendy, and explained to her what had happened, but couldn’t get very far because I couldn’t control the tears.   I told her I didn’t know who else to call.  At that time, I saw a gentleman come up to Alex and I, and he spoke to Alex a little while I was on the phone—I saw them shake hands.  Wendy was telling me that her father had had a heart attack here and survived and is doing great, that this was a really good hospital for that.  She assured me that she would take care of things and make sure the girls were okay at home. 

            When my phone conversation ended, the gentleman standing with us introduced himself (Ken? Kent?) as the hospital Chaplain.  I said to myself, ‘this is the guy they send out when they are not expecting good news.’  He asked if we would like to go to a quieter area, and he led us to the other side, closer to the emergency room again—where the vending machines are.  He asked if we would like water—I wanted some but couldn’t see any, so I said no.  Mostly we sat in quiet.

            At some point I spoke to both Marie and Shelby again—Shelby was wondering if she should go to the house and be with the girls or come to the hospital.  I asked her to come to the hospital—it seemed like the right place for her to be.   She arrived within 20 minutes or so.

            There was a big clock on the wall to the right of where I was sitting (I was facing the vending machines).  It seemed to be going very slowly.  I know I looked at the clock a few different times, but did not internalize the time.  There was idle chat…. mostly silence….. I saw Wendy Monson come up and we hugged and the tears started flowing again.  I was so grateful to have her to lean on.  I knew that if anybody understood, she did.  We waited, talked, worried.  Wendy offered a prayer. 

            I kept thinking of the “last time I saw him”—this morning, before he went to work.  He was standing, leaning against the silverware drawer, and I was cooking some eggs for breakfast.  We were talking about whether Alex was ready to move to Seattle or not later this summer—without a place to live, a job, or even a car.  Was he really aware of just how expensive a move like that was going to be? And so on.  I had given him an egg to eat before he left.

Same day

5:00 pm

It must have been another 45 minutes or so before the Chaplain left and came back to tell us that Ed was stabilized and they were working on him to get a stent in to open up the artery.  The Chaplain offered the information that he had been shocked 11 times.  This is when it really hit.  11 times??  He had died 11 times?? (We were later informed that it was actually 12 times.)

            Thoughts that quickly raced through my mind included: it was so bad he should really be dead—how can someone survive 11 times?  Did he not want to come back?  Though these thoughts were fleeting, that is when the reality hit me the hardest.  This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened, but here it was.

            From the time I got to the hospital, it must have been about two hours, an hour-and-a-half before they finally got Ed to the point of stabilization.  Dr. Dane Sobek came joined us and told us that Ed had experienced the worst kind of heart attack, the left coronary descending artery had been 100% blocked—the worst possible place to be blocked, and that they got it cleared and a balloon and stent had been inserted.  He told us that they were going to keep him paralyzed for at least 24 hours, and that he would be in a near-hypothermic state to keep the heart doing as little work as possible.  He was on several medications.  We could see him, talk to him, touch him, but he would not respond.  He said that, by all means, we should talk to him because we never know if people can hear us or not—we would have no indications due to his induced paralysis. 

            Before Dr. Sobek left us, another doctor, the Ear, Nose & Throat specialist asked Dr. Sobek a couple of questions, and told him what he had done with Ed.  I noticed that they talked briefly about the femoral puncture and I wondered why an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor would be treating the femoral puncture since that artery was located in the groin.  I knew that the femoral artery would be the preferred place to insert the balloon and stent.

            A female paramedic (EMT/police uniform) also came in to tell us that once they got the clot cleared the blood just went gushing through with great force, and his heart immediately began beating like it should—just as if the floodgates had been opened.  Everything went better after that.  I wondered what her purpose was—did she happen to be in the Emergency Room when he arrested?  Did she offer an extra hand in a time of need?  Whoever she was, she was with him during this time, and I was just grateful for her part in keeping him alive.

Same day

6:00 p.m. 

By the time we were able to go up to the ICU it was well past dark, though it must have only been about 6:30 p.m.  The hallway to the ICU seemed awfully long and dark.  When we got to his room, there was a great deal of blood around his head and on his face.  They had prepared us for this because he had evidently bitten his tongue in several places when he seized.  The bleeding was still going on due to the powerful blood thinners, and they hadn’t had time to do much with it, yet.  They did have an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor examine him to find the bleeding and take care of it.  His mouth was packed with gauze, as well as the throat, to prevent further aspiration of the blood into his lungs.

            The only thing covering is body was a small towel over his groin to keep him decent.  There were tubes and cuffs and wires and patches all over his body.  Monitors and lights indicated his every condition.  The nurse was strapping down his wrists so he would not pull at tubes or anything like that, should he suddenly awake—it would not happen on paralysis medication, but it was a precaution.  Though I saw him there, I couldn’t take in the reality of it.  I wanted to touch him, to make sure he was real, but the room was small, it was cramped with equipment, and in his fragile condition, I was afraid to do much of anything. 

I walked around his bed and stroked his arm, all in a state of shock.  When someone is put into such a situation, there is no choice but to accept the reality.  For me, all I wanted was for him to be okay.  Yet, at that moment, I was the only link between Ed and the rest of the world— and the kids and the rest of the world.  As his “next of kin” and the only remaining parent to care for the children, I had no choice but to accept it for what it was, and take each minute one second at a time.  I had to remind myself to breathe.

            The four of us (Alex, Shelby, Wendy, and me) did not stay very long; the nurse was still inputting his information into a computer and setting everything up.  We went to the ICU waiting room— the actual one this time— just a couple of doors down.  It was small, dimly lit, and very quiet.  We waited there until Dave Johnston and Wendy's husband, Eric, came.  It seemed like a long time before they arrived.  Up to this time I know I talked to Marie a couple of times but don’t remember when or why, other than to let them know of their dad’s condition, what we were doing and things like that.  I know that just before we got to the ICU, I was talking to Marie and she mentioned that someone had come over and the dog nipped at her.

We talked with Dave Johnston and Eric Monson for a while before we went in again to see him—the nurse was supposed to be doing things and getting things cleaned up prior to Ed’s blessing.   Wendy jokingly suggested I take a sleeping pill tonight, to which I told her I can’t take those over-the-counter sleep-aids because I end up with a massive case of Restless Leg Syndrome. 

In the meantime, the nurse didn’t know we were waiting to see Ed, so quite a bit of time went by before we finally went back in.  When we did, we stayed a few more minutes, and said our goodbyes.

  

Same day

9:00 p.m.

By the time I got home, it was about 9:30—about six hours from when I arrived at the hospital.   Once home, I again had no choice but to deal with it.  The kids had saved food out from dinner and encouraged me to eat—I wanted to, but it did nothing for me—there was taste, but there was no pleasure in the taste.  There was no hunger for the nourishment.  Besides, I had phone calls I had to make.

I knew it would not be fair to Ed or his family if I did not contact them right away, so the first person I called was his older sister Isabel (Liz).  I knew she was two hours ahead of me and was crossing my fingers that she would answer the phone—which she did.  Once I began talking, however, I had to re-live the past six hours again and I could not do it with a steady voice or without crying.  After Liz, I called my parents (my dad answered, but my mother got on an extension)—I asked each to phone other family members for me and let them know.

10:00 p.m.

Around 10:00 – 10:15, I talked to Alex as we tried to figure out what to do next with regard to the business, work, and calling people.  He was most concerned about the possibility of losing a large job we had just been given the okay to do—we really needed that down-payment to keep it going, and he needed to pay his rent. 

He was having some trouble deciphering his dad’s notebook – most everything was still in Ed’s head, and we needed it on paper to keep it going.  I also retrieved what phone numbers I could so that Alex could take over as smoothly as possible.  Other phone numbers were apparently stored in Ed’s phone, which must have been ringing off the hook in the closet of his ICU room.  I determined to get that phone first thing in the morning so that he wouldn’t hear it ringing and start stressing about the work he was missing.  Also, we needed to get phone numbers out of it, although Alex said it wouldn’t be easy because his dad often just said “Yeah, that looks like the right number” and would call it, hoping it was the right person he was trying to reach. 

To be Continued...