My First Fake Heart Attack

I am a middle-aged man and recently had my first fake heart attack. Everyone should have one. Not a real heart attack of course, but the kind that makes a person pause and take silent inventory of one's life.

Mine came suddenly on a late July evening while visiting family. After spending the previous 36 hours propelling my body forward at a rate much faster than it was normally used to, I found myself barraged with the classic infarction symptoms - aching in the left arm and chest, and something unexpected that made me sit up and take notice - a pulling tightness across my throat, as if my skin were being stretched beyond its limits. After a quick confirming glance at WebMD, I was mentally reviewing the status of my health insurance plan. "Deductible met yet?" I found myself wondering.

The answer, I knew, was no.

So, for the next two ridiculous hours I wavered between ignoring the pain and restricted breathing and saving a buck, or letting my father drive me to the emergency room. Exceedingly dumb, I know. Eventually, I came to just that realization when my Dad quietly said, "would you rather save two grand and possibly cease to exist, or spend the money and probably keep living?" After giving me a moment to let that sink in, we made the ten minute drive to Cloquet Memorial Hospital.

Time, we all know, is constant. But we all know with equal certainty that time is also extremely relative. That silent, ten minute car ride easily took an hour by my clock. And during the course of that seemingly extended interval, I pondered the unthinkable.

What if this is all the time I get?

With that question looming over me during the course of the three hour emergency room visit like a vulture circling, I grew increasingly anxious and irritated. One test followed another. Blood was drawn. X-rays were taken. Pulse and blood pressure repeatedly checked. Still, the symptoms lingered. My continuing anxiety was only partially due to my unresolved condition. The remainder rested on the understanding that there was so much more I wanted to do, but had been afraid to pursue due to my own doubts and fears.  "This better not be it," I muttered.

It wasn't. All tests were negative.

As quickly as the symptoms came over me, they left. No explanation was uncovered, no theory deduced. I stepped lightly for the next few days, half expecting "something" to brush by me again, perhaps this time on a more direct course to my chest. Nothing. In short order, I resumed my normal activities and was relieved to discover I was physically no worse for wear. But for weeks afterward, anytime I did anything that caused me to breathe more heavily than normal, my thoughts drifted back to that eternal, but brief, drive to the hospital.

And I was left unsatisfied.

I have not had more or less success and failure, love and heartbreak or triumph and tragedy than anyone else I know. My experiences, interests, talents and shortcomings aren't unique. And like many people my age, somewhere during the course of the last decade or more, I started playing it safe. Granted, playing it safe is often the necessary and healthy choice to make. Kids are born, houses are purchased and retirement plans began to take shape. All are rites of passage that bring equal parts joy and frustration, pride and purpose.

So if I already knew all this, what was the point of my first fake heart attack?

I have decided that I was simply lucky enough to get the scare without enduring the wear and tear. There are countless people who have faced real medical problems, overcome them and continued their lives. I would never assume to put myself in their category. Instead, I was given the opportunity to feel the pang of dissatisfaction without suffering the pain of a real medical emergency. Sheer, dumb luck.

I hope that pang, and its lesson, sticks.

I hope that pang grows beyond the restless urge to try new things, meet new people and rekindle long-forgotten interests. Instead, I hope it becomes a new way of life, a bridge to those occasional moments when I still feel like that young, green kid half my age - eager to explore, experiment and take risks. He just inhabits a slightly weathered, much older body. And I’m guessing there are many people who feel the same way. We have taken our licks, made mistakes and have regrets we wish we could undo. But if we survived those experiences relatively intact and can see many more decades before us rather than behind us, perhaps a fake heart attack is the jolt we need.

But I think just one is plenty.