Two years ago, I was a relatively fit active 62-year-old engaged in regular cross-fit sessions with a personal trainer. I was making progress on my goal to lose weight and increase my fitness level. During one of my sessions I had a coughing fit strong enough and long enough to cause the session to be ended. Several days later I had my first heart attack. A couple of days later I had another heart attack (in my doctor’s office) followed by heart surgery.
Two stents were permanently placed in my heart and I was diagnosed as having ‘unstable plaque’, the kind that sort of bonds with your artery walls and makes them weaker wherever they bond. My artery literally exploded inward, causing two blood clots to form and then travel down to block the entry point into my heart. Several weeks later, my new cardiologist ran additional tests and diagnosed me with Exercise-induced Hypertension. I learned that my love of hiking, biking, training, kayaking and all that love of outdoors stuff could literally kill me. I learned that in order to continue with the things I loved to do, I had to also learn to moderate, to slow down.
That hit me hard. As an active person, I didn’t want to slow down. I started training again through the hospital cardiac rehab unit. It had a little scale which was supposed to remind you of your exertion level so your workout didn’t tax your newly injured heart. Trouble was my exertion level was so far under my blood pressure level once I started cycling or walking fast on the treadmill, I had no way of knowing I was entering the danger zone. I started wearing a BP cuff and taking my BP at random intervals in order to see if I could tease out when my BP had risen to dangerous levels. Initially, my doc and I decided a systolic BP of no more than 190 was the danger zone. Later, after several months of recovery, we moved that up to 200. For months my BP cuff was my best friend whenever I hiked or trained at the gym.
Even though I have tried my best to keep fit, I felt my heart was a time bomb and that every time I accidentally exceeded that 200 BP mark, I was chipping away at the time I have left in this lifetime. Even though the decision was not particularly planned, I eased back on my work and went into self-imposed ‘semi-retirement’. And played. Oh, how I played. I have traveled widely, spent 8 days backpacking in the Sierras, ridden a camel across the dunes of the Sahara in Morocco, climbed down into a dormant volcano on Maui and have continued to participate in the annual charity bike race in my home town.
I’ve been doing that for two years. ‘Living life to the fullest’ all the while honestly expecting an early exit from this wonderful life.
I can do stuff, even travel to remote places, but I concentrate ‘on the insurance’ so I can get home.
I’ve learned some things in the past two years that I don’t think I would have learned (or would have had to learn) without those heart attacks. A little before the one year anniversary of my heart surgery, I climbed Machu Picchu Mountain in Peru. By then, I had learned my ‘safe pace’, resting a lot on the way up, paying attention to my breathing, even asking people whether my face was super pink. I got to the top where my son was waiting to congratulate me. A victory to be sure. About a month later, I climbed Donahue Pass in the Yosemite and shared a pack of Oreos at the top with all the others who had made it to this famous Pass. A little more victory over my heart condition. I learned I can do a whole lot of things if I plan accordingly and take my time, resting often to let my blood pressure go back down before exerting myself some more. It’s my ‘insurance’ that I can get back to my car on my own.
I love to travel and one of my friends, who works in the funeral industry, knowing I love to travel to remote places across the globe suggested I take out a policy which would retrieve my body from anywhere in the world, with the insurance company being responsible for all paperwork hoops and costs of retrieval. I seriously thought about this, even though I am perfectly fine with the idea of being buried or burned or whatever in the traditions of the country in which I might die. I called my son to tell him even though the policy was very reasonable (about $500 one-time fee), I was okay with the idea of being ‘buried’ in a foreign country. His response? “Get the insurance Mom.” Not a plea, an instruction. I realized funerals are not about the dead but those who are left and I bought the insurance.
I also never, never, never leave the United States without traveler’s insurance from a reputable, rated company that offers medical evacuation to a facility that can handle whatever problem I might be having. There aren’t really a lot of cardiologists in the Sahara Desert or Antarctica where I plan to go next. There are websites that rate the insurance carriers and even the policies available. If you like to travel, you don’t have to give it up but you need to put the cost of travel insurance into your travel budget.
I always carry my medication in little plastic packs you can get at your drugstore. I take my meds mostly twice a day and so I might have 20 to 30 little packages to carry but this way I can count the packages and make sure I have remembered to take my all-important artery opening medication both morning and night. I also take photos of my med labels for customs (never had to use this though) or more importantly a health facility in another country. Finally, I take a few extra days’ supply in another bag just in case my bag with the main supply should be lost or stolen.
All of these measures are my ‘insurance’ that I can take care of myself while being really far away from home and doctors.
Recovery is more than physical
About a month ago, I decided to take a self-imposed ‘retreat’ in the mountains and spend three days by myself in thought, assessing my progress and what I wanted to do with the next two years of my life. I realized that even though I feel ‘recovered’ from my two heart attacks and surgery, I had not yet recovered from that sense of impending doom and death. I asked myself “Do I want to continue to live this way or do I want to do something else?”
This is perhaps the most important question I have had to answer since that fateful July day back in 2015. I’m ok with the idea of no longer living, although I am afraid of the pain associated with dying. But am I ok with actually living in this doom existence? After three days of contemplation and a nice long 7-mile hike up a mountain to see a beautiful, gushing spring, I decided to hell with doom. I want to live like there are many tomorrows in my future. #spendingmysonsinheritance really was funny at the time but a little fatalistic under my circumstances.
So I have gone back to planning on having to have enough retirement saved up to live into my 70s at least. I’ve decided to accept income opportunities even if they mean I might not be able to keep up with travel schedule I love so much. OK, maybe this plan will go into effect next year as I have all these reservations for 2017 travel already made you see. But the point is I am moving forward on LIVING instead of reconciling myself with DYING. And maybe, just maybe, recovery is just beginning.
#excerciseinducedhypertension #heartattackrecovery #livingwithheartcondition
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