So, on Tuesday after the Juno Awards, I was on a conference call I’d been trying to set up for weeks. It was a bit tense, and I felt a tightening in my chest. Then, I got an incredibly piercing pain in my jaw. I started getting pain across the top of my shoulders. And I thought to myself, “Jim, you’re having a heart attack.”
So, I politely signed off the call. I grabbed my keys and wallet, put on my coat, got in the van, and drove to the emergency department. About two minutes in, I thought, “This may not be the best decision,” but I was halfway there and thought I might as well finish the drive. I got to the hospital and parked. I hiked up the hill to the emergency department. I went in and spent some time looking for a mask. Then, like a good Canadian, I stood in line and waited for my turn.
It came in short order. I slid my health card across the counter like it was some high-stakes bet. Rakishly leaning on one elbow, I said, “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“Really?” They said, stand over there, and I will get you into triage”.
The triage nurse called me in, but she only asked two questions and then whisked me to a bed. Things were wheeled. Things were shaved, things were applied, and wires were connected. The nurse looked at a screen and the paper rolling out of the EEG. They yelled something, and the room filled up.
A different nurse was giving me an aspirin and Plavex. She asked what my pain level was on scale of 1-10.
I said I was about an 8.
She asks are you okay with Morphine, and I say, hell yes!
I asked, kind of nonchalantly what was going on
She says, “You are, indeed, having a heart attack.”
I ask, “Is it serious?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot “ It’s a freaking heart attack.”
Suddenly there there were EMTs, and they rolled in a stretcher. Perth doesn’t have cardiac unit, so they have to take to the Heart Institute in Ottawa. They load me in, and we’re off—45 minutes with sirens and everything. The EMTs kept up a running conversation, and I could hear them talking to the Heart Institute.
“When we get there, we’re going to move you directly to an operating room and move you onto the table. They’ll be set up for X-rays and a probable angiogram”.
Maybe it’s the morphine, or maybe it’s a folk singer’s inherent ability to accept whatever has been dealt them, but I was very calm, very clinical. I texted my buddy Joel to let him know if this went sideways he knew which journals to burn and where they were. I texted my brother to let him know what was happening, and if it went sideways, the insurance to cover my burial was in the grey folder in the top drawer of the filing cabinet and the number for my lawyer in Smiths Falls.
I texted Tomas to let him know what was happening and that I would keep him informed.
We arrived at the Heart Institute, and it unfolded as the EMTs foretold.
I was lying on the table, a bit of a morphine top-up ( Thanks, awfully), and the doctor started explaining what they were going to do. I’d had an angiogram and angioplasty ten years ago, so I kinda cut him short and said, “I’ve had the procedure before. Feel free to just cut to the chase”.
Which he did.
The upshot is, 2 and a half hours after, “Hey, I think I’m having a heart attack”, I was lying in the hospital room resting comfortably with a new stent in my heart. It was impressive.
So… because I was on top of it and in quickly, there was very little damage to the muscle. They wanted two more stents in, which I had at the beginning of May, and I am feeling better than 100%. The recovery will be more or less total, and I have diet and lifestyle to address, but I have actually started making those changes before the attack. I can return to exercise, but I’ll miss the fries.
The Perth Great War Memorial Hospital Emergency room staff are amazing as are the team at the Ottawa Heart Institute. We’re blessed to have them. I’m also grateful to Tommy Douglas for fighting for universal health care because the cost of this to me was $0