Mike felt some chest pressure running a few weeks ago and then while mowing the lawn. He decided to get it checked by a doctor. Monday he saw a family physician who ordered some blood work--Tuesday morning Mike was on his way home from an AirMed shift when the doctor called him and told him one of the tests indicated his heart had some damage to it. The results were slightly elevated. He needed to see a cardiologist and he needed to see one that day. Naturally, this was very worrisome to my husband, whose livelihood depends on his physical fitness. AND his first thought was, "How am I going to tell my nail biting wife?" (My words, not his.) Mike had to stop at the University of Utah hospital for some AirMed business on his way home. As he was walking from the parking garage to the hospital, he felt the intense chest pressure again, stronger than he had ever felt and he just did not feel right. He immediately went to the ER. It just so happens the University of Utah hospital has one of the best cardiac units around. What followed was about eight hours of waiting--waiting for some answers and waiting some more for more answers.
Mike made the dreaded phone call to his nail biting wife who reacted just the way he knew she would react--she fell apart. It just so happened, my visiting teachers were here at the house for a visit (HOORAY FOR VISITING TEACHING!) and witnessed my blubbering mess of a person as I listened to everything Mike recounted to me over the phone. They took care of Emily and I headed to the hospital. En route, I kept crying. When I thought I was done, I cried some more. I called my mom so she could get the kids from school. She reassured me, "He's going to be alright. Be strong, Kathryn. He needs you to be strong right now." The problem with me is, I fall apart first, then I can be strong. So that doesn't really work well in a crisis situation! I repeated to myself, "I can be strong. I can be strong. I can be strong."
When I arrived at the hospital and saw my 190 lb. six foot muscular husband sitting up, clad in a hospital gown, two IV's and sticker thingys all over his chest, I buried my face in his neck, kissed him, kissed his forehead, and began to weep. He was still alive, he was up and talking. He was still here. The cardiologist, left the room to give us a moment. In that little hospital room, I felt like we were almost not part of this mortal world as we held one other and whispered, "I love you...." and cried.
Once we were composed, more doctors came in and explained the angiogram procedure. And then we waited. For seven hours. Mike tried to doze, I crawled in bed next to him, careful to avoid the IV. I had to feel him to reassure me.
In the late afternoon, Caleb called, crying, "Mom, is Dad alright?" Grandma had done a very good job explaining that Daddy was in the hospital. They were running tests on his heart. She knew that Caleb would take it the hardest and she was right.
At 4, Mike flipped on the news. I tried to listen. I couldn't so I looked up cardiac terminology on the iPad.
At 6 PM, the cath lab peeps came to take Mike. I held him one more time, kissed him and stepped back with my arms folded. But I had to kiss him again, just to make sure he knew how much I loved him.
Once his large body was out of the room, I stood in the middle of that stark, white hospital room feeling very small. Feeling very lost. Feeling very confused. Feeling very shocked. I had to do something for the hour that they told me it would take to finish. I had to leave that room. I realized I was hungry so I headed to the cafeteria. At least there there would be bustling life. Thirty minutes later, I returned to the room, and right as I heard the door latch click, I heard, "Mrs. Keesel?" (Why does no one know how to pronounce our name?) I turned slowly around gripping my purse. Why was the doctor in my room so soon? What did they find? "Mrs. Keesel, your husband's heart looks pretty good. We found some plaque buildup but there was no need to put in stents--we did not find any blockage." I felt like a balloon that had popped. His heart looked good! Within a few minutes, they were wheeling him back in and I could see the relief on Mike's face. His heart looked good! I grabbed his hand and smiled.
We were told a cardiac team would visit with us to explain the next steps, but soon we were told they had left for the night.
Mike had to stay the night in the hospital. The next morning, a doctor told us they don't know for sure what was going on with Mike's heart, but they offered an explanation that fit all the test results: He may have had a clot form from some of the plaque, and that clot loosened and blocked blood flow to an area of the heart. His body may have broken the clot down on its own. This is called an NSTEMI heart attack. However, this is their best guess. The plan is to treat him like he has had a NSTEMI heart attack. He gets all the heart attack medication and he has to see a cardiologist regularly. He has to take a week off work but was told to resume his normal activity after that.
Wednesday night having the whole family together for family prayers, Mike asked me to say the prayer. As I prayed, "We are thankful Daddy can be here with us and that he is doing well," Mike reached over and held my hand. I got the kids to bed. Then I went in to our room and Mike and I had prayers together. Perhaps from the relief that he was home and was probably going to be alright, I began to cry. We knelt on the floor, holding each other in silence as the tears coursed down my cheeks.
Wednesday night having the whole family together for family prayers, Mike asked me to say the prayer. As I prayed, "We are thankful Daddy can be here with us and that he is doing well," Mike reached over and held my hand. I got the kids to bed. Then I went in to our room and Mike and I had prayers together. Perhaps from the relief that he was home and was probably going to be alright, I began to cry. We knelt on the floor, holding each other in silence as the tears coursed down my cheeks.
When I knew Mike was asleep, I went out into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I stood in my kitchen and looked around, thoughts such as, "This is the kitchen Mike and I designed together. This is the wall paint we picked out," came coursing in painful bursts. And then I felt huge sobs catching in my throat as I realized how none of this material stuff matters if I can't share it with him. Nothing matters! I quickly walked out to the garage and crawled into the front seat of the van and let it all out. I cried for the fear I felt on the way to the hospital and when they wheeled him out of the room. I cried for the relief I felt when it was over, I cried in gratitude for all the wonderful memories we have made together and will still get to make together.
