You aren't necessarily what you eat

Without getting on a soapbox, I feel compelled to tell you about my recent heart attack and how it could easily happen to YOU.

I was far from your typical heart attack candidate. I was 59 years old; my blood pressure was below normal (110/70), and my cholesterol levels were also normal (under 200 total). I exercised regularly. In fact, I used to be a certified personal fitness trainer.

The chink in my armor was my Type 1 Diabetes. I’ve been insulin-dependent since age 11. It is one of the major reasons why I take care of myself by eating right, exercising, and tracking my blood sugar readings. I even started wearing a Continuous Glucose Monitor about 4 and a half months before the heart attack. You can see why I was in shock and denial about it.

It all started about a year earlier, why my boyfriend noticed I had trouble keeping up with him as we walked. I would get winded easily and need to sit down for a moment to rest. I attributed it to just being a bit out of shape, as I’d taken on a somewhat sedentary job in the past year.

I planned a trip to Florida to see my 91 year old father, a man I love very dearly. I booked a flight and packed my bags, taking a week off from work. It worked out beautifully because my boyfriend was also traveling that same week.

The day before my flight, I went upstairs to give my rent check to my landlady. Suddenly I felt overcome with nausea and broke out in sweats. I excused myself and went back downstairs to my apartment. I laid on the bed and rested a bit. I felt a little burning in my chest right between my breasts, so I took two Rolaids and thought back to what I’d eaten.

The following morning my alarm went off bright and early, I drove my car to my friend’s home and waited for my Uber. Excited to see my Dad, I got in the car and off we went to JFK Airport. I always leave plenty of time, so I was in no rush to drag my roller-suitcase through the terminal.

My flight was uneventful and we landed safely. As I only had a carry-on I got right off the plane and started walking towards the exit. As I pulled my luggage behind me, I was suddenly overcome again with nausea and shortness of breath. I stopped off to the side of an inclined ramp and started breathing deeply. Suddenly I thought I was going to vomit so I dashed into a nearby restroom dragging my bag behind me. Kneeling on the bathroom floor over the toilet, I couldn’t seem to throw up. I was hoping it would make me feel better to “get it out of my system” and thought back once again to what I MUST’VE eaten.

Exiting the bathroom, I called my Dad who was picking me up along with his friend. I walked outside to look for them, but I just HAD to sit down. They couldn’t show up fast enough! The idea of a heart attack never crossed my mind. I thought I’d eaten some bad food.

We connected and drove back to his home without any further problems, though I did want to be near a bathroom just in case. We went out to dinner that evening at a nearby casual restaurant. I ordered a salad because I wasn’t very hungry. I’d had very little sleep the night before due to my excitement and a very early flight. I barely made it through the meal before I asked my Dad if we could head back home.

The next day was Thursday and we went to go see his new apartment. He planned on moving in about a month. We had a delicious lunch on the premises, courtesy of the property’s management. I loved his new place!

Friday, we went to see the circus, a local old-fashioned performance. It was so much fun! I didn’t even think about my health. That night we had a delicious home cooked meal of grilled chicken and salad.

Saturday, we decided to go to a flea market that I always look forward to. I needed a few things as well. We shopped a bit, but every aisle or so I needed to sit down. I couldn’t figure it out. Was I THAT out of shape? I also felt a strong burning in the center of my chest. I thought it was heartburn so I took a few Tums. We had a quick lunch and I continued not to feel well. My Dad asked if I wanted to go to the emergency room.

I said no, and we started driving home. Halfway there I consented to maybe going to an Urgent Care which was located around the corner from his home. We pulled into the parking lot and discovered it was closed! My Dad said the ER was only a block away. I said fine, let’s go.

My dad pulled the car into the ER portico and I hopped out. COVID was still an issue, so he had to wait outside. I told the front desk I was short of breath and had a burning in my chest. I barely got the word out before they whisked me into the operating room simultaneously putting me into the computer system.

Electrodes were applied to my chest and moments later the doctor said, “My dear, you’re having a heart attack”. I still refused to believe it. What? Me? It’s heartburn! The physicians and nurses informed me about the next procedure; a stent and how it would be inserted. I’d just gone through this three years earlier when my boyfriend suffered a heart attack so I knew what was happening. I wasn’t alarmed at all. While it seemed to take only a few minutes, my father told me it was longer.

The doctor inserted the stent through my wrist up into my heart. I didn’t feel a thing. I was more concerned about my 91-year-old Dad who I’m sure was worried sick. He knew nothing about what was happening!

When the procedure was over, I realized my blouse, bra, jewelry, and sneakers were put in a plastic bag, which I was given as they wheeled me upstairs to an ER private room. I was wearing a hospital gown. I kept asking them to please allow my Dad in to see me.

He finally made it up to my room, and I explained to him everything that had happened. We were both shocked and resigned to do whatever it took to get me well.

The problem was I had a flight scheduled for 3 days later to return home to New York. I had a job to return to! My father's friends, a former pilot and a former flight attendant, contacted my airline and got a credit for my ticket. I called my Human Resources Department who applied for short-term disability and FMLA for me.

I stayed an extra week at my Dad's, and had a follow-up appointment with the cardiologist who had done my stent surgery. I filled a month's worth of prescriptions there and promised to see a local cardiologist when I got home.

It's now 3 months later and I feel great! I've unintentionally lost 11 pounds, and I'm almost at my goal weight. I stopped eating animal products (dairy, meat) and watch my cholesterol along with my blood sugar. The entire experience has me appreciating life.