Apparently, my heart WAS broken

A myocardial infarction feels exactly like books describe.

Gripping, squeezing pain like some unseen hand is wringing every drop of blood out of your heart before slamming it around inside your chest for a while; a sickening dull ache down the right arm and a sharper, icy pain across your lower jaw like having a few frozen needles stuck in your gums; nausea, cold sweats.

It's a good fucking time.

I know because last Wednesday morning, about 1 a.m., I had one. Mine was mild-moderate, and I'm not a baby about pain, but I NEVER want to feel a severe heart attack.

And, when he stuck the heart catheter in, my new cardiologist found out I'd had one previously. Both in the front of my heart, both closed off arteries.

I actually slept through most of this one, too, because as I realized what was happening and was trying to decide whether to drive myself to the hospital, call 911 or wake up my roommate, I simply fell back asleep. Went to work the next morning, just a little bit of leftover pain, and saw my family doctor after lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm on my way to the emergency room, four hours later I'm on complete bed-rest in the ICU.

Modern medical miracles. Late Thursday afternoon, after some injections, a knitting-needle-diameter incision, a couple of guide wires inserted in the femoral artery, a balloon here, a stint or two there and six hours of laying flat on my back, my heart is circulating mostly as it should be -- a little depressed, but, hey, who isn't? -- except for the congenital outflow valve defect that will have to be repaired someday. But that's off in the distance, after the doctors have figured out how to do it without cracking my chest open because, really, no thanks.

I'm home, four days later, watching "Jurassic Park" and sorting out my new medications, getting ready to go have my first of two short walks for the day.

I feel fine, if a little tired. I'm bruised all over, especially my arms and hands from where I had IVs and blood draws, because I'm on blood thinners now -- I look like a junkie. Not supposed to lift, push or pull anything until my doctor gives me the all-clear and I start cardiac-rehab on Tuesday (likely I'll be the youngest person there).

All of a sudden I'm more aware than ever before of little pains and how deeply I'm breathing and whether my heart is beating normally. I'm aware of how I have to carefully stand so as not to put too much pressure on the femoral-incision site (because you don't want THAT to start bleeding). I'm aware that by not getting help right away, I probably made things harder for myself, and that heart attacks on the left side of the heart are worse than on the right, and that mine was on the left and that the emergency room doctor was unsure how I'd survived. I'm aware that with all my risk factors, I probably shouldn't have, but I'm also aware that my body and I are a lot stronger than I give myself credit for sometimes.

I want to say I have had some kind of epiphany, and maybe it's just my antidepressants that stop me from getting too excited about anything, but right now it just feels like one more thing to add on to the heap of drama of the past three years. Glad to still be here? Yeah. Happy I didn't have to have bypass surgery? Hell yeah. Happy I got to sleep through the first three days of quitting smoking? Umm, yes.

The only thing I can guess is that my purpose is not done yet. I guess now I have to find out what it is.