Winning the battle one driver/passenger at a time

[segsurfer]

Originally Posted by Eric Payne

Scotty,
September 15th, 2009, will be my tenth anniversary of Congestive Heart Failure. I've been on the heart transplant list for three years last month, but am not likely to get one: in the course of the last nine years, other organs have failed/are failing that would be adversely affected (read: "killed" ) by the anti-rejection and recovery protocol following a heart transplant. So I'd need a multiple organ transplant, with all the organs coming from the same donor. The odds of a kidney, liver (or piece of a liver), lungs and heart all being available at one time are so remote.

Whoa
Keep on keepin' on man.
-segsurfer

[Eric Payne]

Originally Posted by segsurfer

Whoa Keep on keepin' on man. -segsurfer

Thanks. It was fun this week meeting with new doctors who don't know me, and aren't familiar with my history, and gauging their reactions; unfortunately, because of those reactions, those doctors with whom I met will not be my new team of doctors. I'll have to get our insurance provider to refer me to new ones.

It's like I tell my spouse: "There's obviously something I'm meant to do on Earth before I go... and as long as I can keep avoiding doing it, I'll be here forever!"

Last week, we were at a local southern chain restaurant called Krystal - it's a "White Castle" type fast food restaurant with a killer "banana pudding milkquake". That milk shake was especially welcome that Wednesday evening; the air temperature outside was in the mid-to-high 80s, and the humidity was in the 90s. Having been in-and-out of our Isuzu Trooper all afternoon, I was drenched in sweat. The gray polo shirt I have, with the "Segway of Scottsdale" name and logo stitched into the fabric covering the left pec felt heavy - but only because the rest of the shirt was drenched in sweat and, instead of hanging off my body, was right up against my skin, hugging my body like Saran Wrap.

Krystal's had a special meal; a sampler. Four of their sandwiches, with fries and a drink. I ordered two of the hamburgers and two of the mini- cheese chili dogs. Bill ordered one of each sandwich. After a few minutes, our food and drinks were delivered to our table. After seeing Bill's four different sandwiches, and after devouring my sandwiches, I decided I wanted a mini-corndog and a mini-spicy chicken, and returned to the counter.

Ahead of me was a woman who had ordered for take-out, and was struggling with three large sized soft drinks, as Krystal's had run out of drink carriers. The woman, I should add, was also talking on the cell phone to someone, saying she had finished her shopping and would be "there with dinner" in a short period of time. She finished her conversation. The threat of rain was imminent - that unscented aroma that hits the back of the nostrils and just hangs there like ice overpowered the stink of old frying oil. With her folded closed cellphone in one hand, she was trying to pick up the three large soft drinks by pushing them into a triangle, hoping each cup would support the cup next to it when she lifted them. It didn't work, and she aborted her lifting, setting them back on the counter.

She was laughing; I was grinning, and told her: "Go get your man out of the car and have him come get his own." I had no idea if she had a man or not, but she just looked like the type of person that, when there is someone in their life, does everything for that person... never realizing that the 24/7 attention can kill a budding, building relationship faster than an affair.

She laughed some more and said, "He's not in the car. He's waiting at home... OH MY GOD..." Her eyes widened; she ran out the front door.

And almost immediately came in with a toddler. A blonde-haired kid, maybe 3 years old. Bill came walking up about that time; he was ready to go and wanted to know what was taking me so long. The woman just started babbling: "God you saved my baby, you saved my baby, oh god..." over and over.

Her chant changed: "I'd hear about people who left their kids in the car for hours and I'd think 'how can people be that stupid?' god, you saved my baby..."

I just looked at her and said: "Please! Don't say that!"

The cashier gave me my two sandwiches; I'd ordered when the woman ran out of the store. I went over to our table, where I sat and ate them. Bill joined me, and started laughing at me. The waitress came over - the woman wanted to thank me, personally, but thought I was mad at her because she left her kid in the car

... (When she came in with the kid, he was sluggish. He couldn't hold his head up. Five minutes later, as we were leaving, she reached out to touch me - she was again on the cellphone, telling someone that "(I) saved her baby!" When she reached out, I stopped. Since the kid was still sluggish, I asked her to please take him to the ER since the hospital was, almost literally, right around the corner. Her response was "Oh, no. He's always like this when he wakes up.")...

I told the waitress there was no need to thank me, but the waitress wanted to know why Bill was laughing. Bill briefly told her of my health, as well as my motto; the waitress got it immediately, giggled a little herself, and said: "Thought this was gonna be it, huh?"

Damn... diarrhea of the brain/finger connection, again....

Sigh.

Eric Payne
Lawrenceville, GA

[scotty1024]

Originally Posted by Eric Payne

I wasn't around in these forums when you started this thread; I do not know the extent of your cardiac disease.

September 15th, 2009, will be my tenth anniversary of Congestive Heart Failure.

Sorry to hear about your CHF. And yeah, unlike some here: I know all about watching your life slip away day by day and not being able to do anything about it. My first round was as my world slowly contracted in around me as my legal blindness caught up with me.

I went in to see my opthamologist one day and she asked me "Scotty, how did you get here?" I asked her if by here she meant her office or if she was asking if I was the product of alien human hybrid experiments ala the X-Files.

Having seen her a few times she refined her question "Did you drive here, uh, today, to this office, in a car?"

The expected yes resulted in my learning that I was now considered legally blind and I really shouldn't be driving anywhere anymore. But uh, yeah, since I'd gotten there I could probably drive home, but maybe I should kinda just park the car and leave it there after that.

Doctors! They expect you to be a mind reader at times.

As for my heart...

The weekend of March 1, 2008 I was in LA for an iPhone get together. Apple had just released the first beta of the iPhone SDK and I flew down to cuss and discuss it with a group of folks. I had been feeling pretty poorly since December 2007 and thought I just had the flu as gosh darn nearly everyone else had it and it wasn't letting go of them either.

At 3am I woke up coughing up fluid. Alarming amounts of fluid. I stumbled to the kitchen and found a measuring cup. I was coughing up roughly 200ml of what sure looked like water every five minutes for a half hour. The friend I was crashing with was pretty freaked out but when things calmed back down after 3:30am I promised to go to the walk in clinic "around the corner" in the morning.

The nurse couldn't get my blood pressure and I said "Yeah, that happens, I have thin veins." The doctor came in, I told him the story and he said "So, you'll be needing some cough syrup and from the sound of your lungs you need a Z-Pack."

So I got a prescription for codeine cough syrup and a Z-Pack of antibiotics.

I now know I'd had a serious congestive heart failure incident and some how lived through it with essentially no treatment. Its likely when I suffered the 25% heart damage. Six weeks pass with me going from one doctor to another getting stronger and stronger cough syrups and antibiotics. Doctors would refer me to other doctors for blood work, which the new doctor wouldn't do.

Finally my Mom found a doctor 2 blocks from where I work and told me this was a "real doctor" and I should go see her.

I show up at 10:30am, the nurse can't get my blood pressure. The Doctor comes in around 11am looks at my chart and says "Hmm, I see we couldn't get your blood pressure. OK, lets take care of that."

She pumps, pauses, pumps, pauses, really pumps, gets this concerned look, pumps some more. I finally measure out at 240 over 142. She immediately checks it again and gets 241 over 143. She looks at me, I probably looked back at her like a cow contently eating grass: "You don't feel any chest pain?" Moo, no?

She tells me to lay back and goes to the door to yell for a 12 lead EKG. I think she used the word "quickly". The EKG reveals I have an A-Flutter which makes her very unhappy and she tells me I'm being sent to the ER.

I think my intelligent reply was "Me? ER? Are you serious?"

I call my supervisor and tell him I apparently won't be back from lunch as I'm going to the ER. His comment of course was about as good as mine "Are you serious?"

Anyway, that's the story of my "legal kidnapping". The day had many more twists and turns to it but the upshot of it all was that my CHF had me days from being dead. If I'd missed the appointment I probably wouldn't have waken up one morning that week or my co-workers would have found me face down in my keyboard at work.

I spent 8 days in the hospital got 3 elluting steents and they only tried to kill me twice. Hey, I can only check so many drug interactions myself, you expect them to always be on the ball when playing with such powerful stuff: they weren't.

I don't count my femoral artery popping back open during recovery from the steent procedure against them on the kill count. My memories on that are strange at best due to the happy juice they had me on. Thankfully I was still with it enough to realize "Oh yeah, the nice lady said that if I feel warm and sticky there, to press this thing..."

Loud Voice: Yes?
Me: I feel warm and sticky! (I think I giggled)
Loud Voice: What?
Me: I feel warm and sticky! (I know I giggled)
Loud Voice: You feel warm and sticky???
Me: YES! (a happy sounding emphatic yes and I really giggled)
Loud Voice: Oh sh!t, he feels warm and sticky, get in there!

Of course my life's blood is squirting out of me through my popped open femoral artery. You die from that kind of thing in 4 or 5 minutes.

The next thing I know two tigers are attacking me with sharp claws and they have sharp teeth and they're covered in blood! Later I would realize what my brain was trying to process were two female nurses grabbing me and trying to hold my femoral artery closed while I was spraying them with my blood.

The rather clever tigers could talk and they were telling me to "Breath Scott, you need to breath deep!" and I was giggling and telling them I was busy ordering magazines!

It must have been quite a scene. I don't have any recollection of the Iraq War Artery Tool being used on me and from the bruises it left on me it had to have hurt like hell, especially since in the excitement they managed to clamp my scrotum under the web belt too.

The next morning I got out of bed and they tried to quickly change the sheets for me but there was no hiding all the blood. My goodness! At the time I had no idea what had happened. I was very weak, my testicles ached abominably (that had me very confused), I had this huge bruise around my leg and I was hungry.

I was also alive and very thankful to the nurses for keeping me that way. The above is my best recounting as my memories slowly returned to me that morning and I got to speak with the nurses about events. They were very impressed with how calm I had been and had figured my ordering magazines was some ploy to remain calm.

After they kicked me out I was called back in 5 days later and got 2 more elluting steents. Everyone decided happy juice was a baaad idea so I was more lucid for the second event but nothing exciting happened that time.

They only put two more in because we'd reached the limit for active elluting steents. It seemed likely I'd need a couple more but they literally couldn't put more in with out risking killing me.

Both of the above events together totaled to $200,000 list price. Aetna's whole sale price came in under $100,000.

I was back in the shop July 2 for an emergency room visit from hell that is recounted elsewhere here. I did get a nice letter of apology from the hospital for that day from hell and the large part they played in it.

Anyways, it wasn't until they did a two day nuclear camera study on me that they really started to believe the 200ml story. Thats when they figured out I had 25% heart damage to go with the 25% ejection fraction the echo told them about. That's when my Cardiologist really got on his high horse about my needing to fight, to walk everywhere, no Rascals, no Segways, no ADA parking permit!

He likes the results the Segway has produced though, even if he believes its from the blind man walking everyday. I'd be road kill if I was walking as much as he seems to think I am.

If you can hang in there maybe we'll both get help from the recent break throughs in stem cell research. I can certainly appreciate his call to fight. Keep fighting!

[jryan]

Well, since we are talking about heart issues, I will go into more detail later. But in the interim, my EP told me he wants to start me on Flecainide (Tambor), a class 1c Anti-Arrhythmic. Anyone tried this? I do not have CHF, so chances are slim, but as he was telling me about it, sounds like this drug could help me or make it worse. Just wondering whether anyone here has tried it. Speaking of which, they have to keep a close eye on the Pacer. They said that the drug could interfere with that so I have to go in every morning for checkups! But if either of you (or anyone else) has tried this Flecainide or Tambor, please let me know what it is like. I didn't respond well to beta blockers a while back ago!

[scotty1024]

The Accessibility Coordinator just isn't answering when I call. For all I know he isn't answering if anyone calls. And that thought lead to an interesting tangental thought for me... these things happen, they're usually represented in the comic strips by drawing a light bulb turning on above someone's head.

I've never seen anyone in a wheel chair, a powered wheel chair, or a Rascal board a Sound Transit bus! Ever!

I asked around work "Oh yeah I've seen those Rascals get on all the time" I asked if it was a green and yellow bus or a blue and white bus. It was of course the green and yellow Metro bus. Heck, I'd seen all kinds of equipment get on and off Metro busses.

I called friends.

No one had any memory of ever seeing a disabled person boarding with a mobility assistive device on a Sound Transit bus!

I started thinking back to the stuff I was trusting Purell to clean off my hands: bus dust I was calling it. The tie downs are very nasty with dust. The rings to release the seats were always such a difficulty to pull (man I'm getting weak I thought!)

I'm really starting to suspect that not only am I the only Segway user, I'm one of a very small group of disabled folks riding Sound Transit at all. To a one every driver has been clueless, the operator that tried to strap my Segway down had been laughable.

So I got worked up to just under dizzy wobbly and called Sound Transit and wasn't giving up until I got a human that claimed they could do something.

I had to settle for someone in customer service whom said they could take a message and put it in the computer and get it escalated to the right people.

We got through the splint event.

OK, now I'll take this and get it escalated... I have another. You do? Yes. Oh OK, go ahead and give me that one too. I gave her the PA event. Uh gosh, I can see how that could make you feel demeaned. Now I'll take that and the other one and ... I have another one. Oh really, um, do you want me to put them all together or would you like to start a new one? You tell me what works best. Umm, can I put you on hold?

She comes back and I give her the slammed door shut in my face event. And he didn't tell you why you couldn't bring your uh slegway err epmad err mobility device onboard? No ma'am. Have you thought about calling Metro to complain? Why would I call Metro, these are Sound Transit busses? Well you see they actually operate all our busses for us, you might consider filing a complaint directly with them as well.

OK so I'll take these three and ... I have another one. Sir, um, just how many more do you have? Twenty six.

You could hear a pin drop.

Ma'am, every single day has been a battle, but I only have one more I want to give you today. Oh very good sir! So I gave her the we're all out of room now it sucks to be you event. Sir, you really need to call Metro right after you hang up with me!

I really need to be calling someone because I'm really afraid to ride their busses now. Who knows what psycho they'll have scraped up for my next ride. They seem to be hiring from frustrated I've applied to be a law enforcement officer sixteen times and I like working for Sound Transit because I get time to study for try number seventeen stock.

How anyone trusted to operate a bus could think it was safe to pull out with something like a Segway not strapped down still boggles my mind. That he then hopped off the bus at my stop to castigate me for bringing it on the bus, well, it did pop my brain.

If I don't hear back from them tomorrow: I go to the press. It isn't right for me to be afraid to ride the bus because of the operator (other passengers, well that's another story...)

And no, my wrist wasn't up to riding today even if my nerves were up to it. More lavender oil, more massage, more splint time, more Tylenol. We're getting better.

[scotty1024]

Originally Posted by jryan

Well, since we are talking about heart issues, I will go into more detail later. But in the interim, my EP told me he wants to start me on Flecainide (Tambor), a class 1c Anti-Arrhythmic. Anyone tried this? I do not have CHF, so chances are slim, but as he was telling me about it, sounds like this drug could help me or make it worse.

Its like that for most all of these drugs. They're just educated monkey's knocking rocks together. If the drug doesn't kill you they can generally look up in the PDR which drug to try next with an educated guess based on how that one didn't work out.

In the next 20 years they'll start being able to take your genome and plug that into a computer and have it make a very educated guess on what to use on you. But for now you have to do much of the research yourself. One of the apps I have on my new iPhone 3G is Epocrates so I have another drug reference besides the PDR. http://www.epocrates.com/

Family history is useful for drug interactions with your genome: my sister reacted very badly, my mother reacted badly, my father reacted badly, I think we're done with that drug in my family thank you very much. But we don't know if you will react badly! I don't want to find out, we aren't using it, don't bring it up again (this was the fourth conversation, after the nurse tried to sneak it into my morning meds)

Oh my goodness but Doctors can whine like a hungry baby looking for a nipple when you take their favorite drug off the table! If your research is sound: let 'em whine. Most drugs with serious side effects have alternates these days. Precisely because they were looking for a way around the side effects of the other drug.

In my case my real issue isn't CHF, its my abnormally low HDL. I'm killing myself right now as I type this because my body has to use LDL in place of the missing HDL. My steents will slowly clog back up because I'll die if we took my LDL down to "safe" levels: you have to have cholesterol or you die. My heart needs blood or I die: tough choices.

If I can't get on a trial HDL booster drug I've got a date with the Bruce Banner event. They cath me again and then they shove a nuclear pellet up inside my heart. Then everyone but me runs out of the operating theater and they push a button from behind some nice safe shielding. Gamma rays burn out my steent site to help prevent plaque build up.

Then I've got to be real careful about getting angry.

Anyway, the other thing to check for in research on drugs is side effects and how to effectively treat them. If there's a pill the Doctor will give it to you. But if its something like Activia each morning they won't say squat, you have to find those on your own.

You also have to pay close attention to what they say. Part of what got me in trouble July 2 was freakin' Centrum Performance vitamins instead of regular ol' Centrum vitamins. The extra niacin in the performance model was bad bad bad. Its even in my chart: patient is being a good boy and taking Centrum Performance each day: Gold star for embracing wellness program! My primary care physician was very happy I was taking them to help be healthy and not get sick!

Weeks later my Cardiologist told me that one long shot on the HDL was to feed me extra large doses of Niacin but he didn't want to do that yet because that would really whack out my diabetic meds. (note to self, throw away Centrum Performance when you get home, buy some Centrum instead...)

[scotty1024]

Originally Posted by Eric Payne

It's like I tell my spouse: "There's obviously something I'm meant to do on Earth before I go... and as long as I can keep avoiding doing it, I'll be here forever!"

I was born in the central hospital in Atlanta. We called it 98 and 98: 98F and 98% relative humidity, back when there was no A/C it was also called hot, wet and sticky. And indeed I know the scent you refer to. When I went into the hospital July 2 I could smell it blowin' up a storm her in Seattle. We get a good ol' thunderstorm once every five years or so. I miss the show, don't miss needing to hide from the twisters.

In my case the recent events have resulted in my changing my supervisor's life. He was headed down the path to untreated ischaemic heart disease as well. He's now on meds, diet and making a recovery. Two other people I've met gulped when I told my story and admitted maybe they should have paid more attention to what their doctor was telling them: and came back to thank me a few weeks later.

A diabetic friend whom was checking his blood sugar once a week, if that, is now checking daily and getting a referral into a diet program that could have him off his diabetic meds all together.

I've been on a one man mission to get the protocol for the super coagulator they use for healing the femoral artery updated to account for an A1C of 9 or higher (need to squeeze longer).

I've been educating every doctor I meet about TDaP vaccine and latex. Treat me for a sprained wrist: get a free PSA about TDaP and latex. By the way, time for another PSA: if you are sensitive to latex, make your doctor look up the CDC hand out on the TDaP vaccine before using it on you!

Don't even get me started on Segway stuff: flora pruning, people's driving habits, ADA accommodations from hell that will get fixed...

Don't worry Eric, its been my observation there's plenty more things to get done. Agent's of Change tend to stay busy.

[Eric Payne]

Wow, Scotty. there's a lot about your story that's familiar!

Sunday, September 12th, Bill had to fly to Mexico. He had to be on-site for a new installation of equipment and wouldn't be returning until Friday, September 24th, at about 11:45pm. He was departing from San Jose International Airport, so we drove the 50 miles from our home in Livermore, CA. I walked him to the gate (ah, the pre-9/11 days seem so long ago now, don't they?), hugged him goodbye - though somewhat "liberal" being part of the Bay Area and all, I'm sure that if we had kissed goodbye, security would have been called - then, we both took off. Him on a southeast bound plane, me in our truck.

Wednesday, September 15th, I had to be in court. An ex of mine was attempting to obtain a restraining order against me; I was, at the same time, attempting to get one against him. Both of us were receiving e-mails from the other that had grown increasingly bizarre and threatening over the previous couple of months. Much later, we found out, the e-mails were actually coming from his former spouse's current lover. My ex had never really gotten over the guy and, again from information we would not receive until later, that guy had never gotten over my ex, either. That current lover of my ex's ex, after Michael (my ex) had called Scott (his ex) to tell him another relationship had broken up, got worried that Scott would dump him to go back to Michael. He did, but that was to be expected, and once the re-united, their relationship lasted about 42 days.

Anyway, that lover e-mailed Michael at some point, hiding a keystroke replicator as an attachment to that email, giving him access to Michael's AOL password. He signed in one day as Michael, got my e-mail address, and started e-mailing me, as Michael. He also hit me with the keystroke replicator, gaining my address. Like a jockey reacting to "They're off!," it started, culminating in our search for restraining orders.

We're in court, our case thrown into the mess of divorces and child custody issues of the Santa Clara County (though I didn't live in SCC, my request was heard there as a "counterclaim" to Michael's request). The way that particular court works, all the plaintiffs and defendants enter the court and seat themselves in the gallery at 9am, and wait. When a case is called, it's called. There's no set docket.

That morning, I wake up coughing, but don't think anything of it. I drive into San Jose, pass the courthouse, and drive an additional 7 miles so that I can park, free, at the next Light Rail station. I get on the Light Rail; it stops directly in front of the courthouse. On the drive into San Jose, I'm coughing every few minutes, despite lengthy swigs from the huge bottle of Arrowhead Water sitting on the seat beside me. On the light rail, I'm still drinking from the water. I'm also still coughing.

I got to court just as they were opening the outside doors at 8:30; I wait in the lobby until they open the courtroom doors at 8:45. Since I had not seen Michael appear, when the doors are opened, I purposely take a seat in the last row of the gallery, on the aisle.

And I start coughing. And coughing. At one point, the woman seated next to me asks if I'm alright. I tell her I am, that it must just be my allergy acting up. I continue some intermittent coughing, and after the clerk has addressed the gallery as to how court will be run, I leave the courtroom to get some water. It turns out the public fountains are one floor down, in the basement. The Courthouse is brand new, by the way. Construction is not yet completed in some areas. One of those areas is the basement, where elevator doors and electronics have not been installed. I had to take the steps.

I don't think I've drank as much water in one sitting as I did at that fountain. I stood out of my bent position over the fountain and just waited a second.

No cough.

By the time I'm one step away from the first floor, I'm coughing again. But just lightly.

I re-enter the courtroom, emitting a closed lip cough, knowing people would consider it simply a throat-clearing "harumph." I sat down in my same seat. The judge came out and seated himself; the clerk called the first case... and I let go with a long string of explosive coughs that has me doubled over (in the time between my going downstairs and returning, Michael had arrived). The judge asks me if I'm okay, I reply I am. I'm admonished not to let that happen again.

The case restarts... and I'm coughing. Fast, hard and furious. Liquid is just being expelled from my body with each cough. The red industrial carpet is so stained with the fluid coming out of me on each cough, it looks like a St. Bernard puppy hasn't been housebroken. The bailiff comes back and asks me to sit outside the courtroom; he'll come get me when my case is called. He escorts me out and helps me seat myself on a wooden bench mounted to the wall.

Turns out, my relocation to outside the courtroom wasn't the best idea. Now, not only was I coughing explosively, but those coughs were being echoed in the large, marble walled/floored/ceilinged lobby.

A few minutes later, the bailiff comes back out, leaving the courtroom door open behind him. The judge has taken a 30 minute continuance on the first case to hear my case and get me out of the courthouse. I stand. And immediately fall back down, headed for the floor. The bailiff catches me, sits me back on the bench, and takes my pulse on my right wrist... at almost the same second his thumb is hitting my wrist, he's yelling into the courtroom "We need an ambulance, NOW!"

There were cops in the lobby who took over for the bailiff. The courtoom door closed, and it was announced in court that there is a gentleman in the lobby having a heart attack, so everyone would need to remain in the courtroom until the lobby was cleared. One woman came walking out, walked up to the desk by the front door where a bailiff was stationed, asked him something, then walked back toward the courtroom... only to detour herself to where I was sitting.

"Are you Eric," she asked me. Through coughs, I told her I was. "Okay," she said, "there's a lot going on here, so if you just tell me, in front of this officer here, that you have no objection to Michael's application, this can all be over with." She was Michael's attorney.

The bailiff said "Jesus, lady," and threatened her with arrest. When I told Michael of it a week later, Michael fired her.

The ambulance arrived; somewhere between the lawyer and the ambulance, I was starting to get groggy and realizing, somewhat, that my chest and arm hurt. It hurt a LOT. One of the EMTs takes my pulse. It's 212. Simultaneously, one of the EMTs takes my blood pressure on my other arm. It's 64/48. Another EMT is cutting my shirt open to put EKG leads on me. Another is pushing the cuffs up from my jeans to look at my legs. He couldn't get them past my ankles without cutting them up the seams. All the time they're saying "Don't go to sleep Jim... stay with us..."

They'd taken my wallet, looked at my ID, and assumed I was a "Jim" since it was in the name James E. Payne - my given name. There was a flurry of activity that ended with an IV in my arm, an oxygen tube stuck in my nose and me on a gurney, being trundled into the back of an ambulance, past local news crews and photographers.

At the hospital, after they get vital information from me - somehow I mumble out I was born with a bad heart, aortic stenosis, my first heart attack was in 1975 when I was 16 and yes, I have insurance, I'm allowed to pass out.

I come to, and it's Thursday. There's this tremendous pain in my back - it's where they've run a drain pipe into my lungs. There's a tube down my throat; it's there to circumvent the gag reflex, they can just drop medication directly into my stomach. I'm in a single person Cardiac Care/Intensive Care unit... and I don't know where. I'm in and out of consciousness for the next 24 hours and I know I had some vivid dreams - in the years since, I've forgotten just what they were. I just remember they were more vivid than any dreams I'd ever had before. But, finally, I'm in a state of consciousness where I can get some testing done, answer some questions and assist the doctors.

My first thought? Our only car is parked in a lot that has signs everywhere saying: Any car left for 24 hours will be towed and impounded.

My second thought? All the information I have on how to contact Bill is 40 miles away, on a memo pad by the phone in the kitchen. I can remember his cell phone number, but there's no service in the area of Mexico he's in.

And the testing! At some point, I remember thinking if they do one more thing to me, I was going to kill someone. Now, I couldn't move, could barely speak, and my body seemed intent on my drowning on my own phlegm, but I'm going to get physical with someone. Just me doing my Clark Kent routine, I guess.

I'd had a heart attack. In addition, I had CHF. For the next week, I'm drifting in and out of consciousness.

A week later, I'm clear headed enough to try to get in touch with Bill; I'm supposed to be picking him up at the airport in two days, and I still hadn't though of a way of telling him our truck had been impounded for the last week, at $85 a day. I figure he might be checking his voice mail at work, so I call and leave a message there for him to call me at (the hospital room's telephone number), without telling him why, but that he was to call me IMMEDIATELY when he got the message.

He wasn't checking his voicemail. I called his company's main number and was faced with the option of a phone tree, but all I could remember was he worked with someone named Nell. so that was no help. I went back to sleep.

I woke up Friday morning and had an idea. I picked up the phone and called Bill's number at work again, but instead of dialing the last two numbers of his extension, I dialed the two numbers one up from his - instead of dialing 70, I dialed 71, and got a fax machine. I hung up and dialed 72. Computer modem. 73, dead line. 74... 75... 76...... 82: "Hello, this is (whatever her name was), can I help you?" I asked if she worked for (Bill's company)... and I was wheezing at the time. Do (wheeze) you (wheeze), etc. When she answered she did, there was a tentativeness to her voice as if, because of my heavy breathing, she expected an obscene call that would also be a call looking for employment. Between wheezes, I gradually got the gist of what had happened out to her. She did not work with Bill; in fact, it turns out she was in an entirely separate physical location, but she spent what seemed, to me, like the next 180 days going through various company directories. Finally, she found the directory that identified his location (she actually did some deductive reasoning. I told her his name was Seright pronounced see-right. There was no listing. I told her he worked with there radiation department. No listing. Then she had an epiphany and found it, under Bill C. Wright. She got his department, called Nell Lyons (the Nell I remembered) and conferenced me in. Nell got the information, asked me to hold on again, and called the hotel where Bill was staying in Mexico; the desk clerk ran up the stairs to get Bill, he came down, got on the phone, I said "hello" and that was it. I was out of it, unconscious again. Nell filled Bill in. He immediately called a cab to come get him for the hour drive to Mexico City and the nearest airport. While I was unconscious and unknowing of anything, Nell and the woman I called came to visit me.

While I was out of it that time, the doctors tried some new drugs. When I woke up again, I was stronger than I'd been; my throat was killing me, but I was both awake and alert - something I hadn't been for over a week. Nell came to visit that evening and told me she would pick Bill up at the airport at 2 am. He would be spending the night at her place; she'd bring him to visit in the morning. The next morning, I opened my eyes, and no medicine, no treatment could have done more for me than the site that greeted me. There was the person I love more than anything in life sitting on the side of my bed, gently holding my hand in one of his, his other hand rubbing my forehead, just as gently. There were those two brown eyes, the color of a buttery dark caramel, glistening because of the tears puddled in his lower eyelid. "Hi," I croaked. He just said: "Shhh. The doctors are filling me in now. Go back to sleep." I did.

Nell drove by the Light Rail lot to get the number of the Impound Lot off the signs after picking Bill up at the airport the previous night. Turns out they didn't need it. The truck was still in the lot, intact. Bill just got in it and drove it to Nell's.

A couple of days later, I wanted to go home. It was Saturday; I could do exactly what the hospital was doing for me, if Bill could just go get the prescriptions filled. He did, and though wary, the hospital released me, with the admonition if anything, ANYTHING happened, I was to immediately get to an ER. Saturday evening, I went home and went to bed.

Sunday was fine, I was feeling better, I wanted to go sit on the patio with an iced tea. Bill helped me out. Then I wanted to watch TV in the living room with him. Bill helped me get situated. He cooked dinner and served it to us in the living room. I wanted to go back to bed, he helped walk me down the hall. I wanted to go to the bathroom, so I stood up... SCREAMED... and grabbed my left upper arm on the way to my face plant.

Since then, the pancreas is shot. I'm an insulin dependent diabetic. Then the gall bladder died and, before doctors found that was the cause of the pain I was then experiencing, and not my heart, went gangrenous in my body. Then, my kidneys failed; I'm in "too wet/too dry syndrome" where, every so often have to go off my diuretic so the kidneys get some fluid to work with to prevent failure, but get back on the diuretic before my lungs fill with fluid and drown me. Then, the hypothalmus went. And somewhere in there, I've been told my liver is losing functionality, an anticipated event with long-term diuretic use. Oh, as you'll find out, coumadin allows for the formation of uric acid in the system (at least, I think it's the coumadin... it could also be the diuretics); that uric acid forms crystals. Those crystals will attach themselves to the joints in your knuckles and toes, causing gout. The pain will be incredible as gout sets in and, later, the gout causes full-blown arthritis.

I'm on 16 different medications. Those medications are mixed and matched, so that I'm swallowing 27 pills a day - including a Potassium Chloride pill the size of which, if swallowed by a giraffe, would cut off all air-flow for that creature, killing it. I'm on two different types of insulin, three times a day. I've taken the maximum dosage allowed by law of my diuretic so now, it's enhanced with a second diuretic, and further enhanced by a third that's only take three times a week. Due to the diabetes, the nerves in my feet have died. The nueropathy is so severe I nearly scream if, when I'm laying down, one of the dogs gets close enough to sniff my feet. I'm on Lyrica for that, which is great and helps me to sleep... but only if I don't wake up. If I go to bed at 7:30, and I have, after taking my Lyrica, if I wake up at 9, I'm up for the night.

I've seen so many doctors I don't remember all their names anymore.

And there are times I just want to say "to hell with it," pick up the two pill containers I have, each holding a month's supply of medication, broken down into days of the month... the solid blue one is morning pills, the multihued one with the white base is evening pills... toss them into the garbage and say "to hell with it." But I don't.

And the reason I don't is because of Bill. At some point, I'm going to inflict a horrible pain on him. I'm going to be a factor in destroying him emotionally, as well as making him question everything he knows in life: his faith, both in people and God. He's going to spend days simply lying in bed, crying. He's either going to be overly indulgent with the dogs, or ignore them completely for a couple of days, barely remembering to feed them. He won't shave or shower; he won't take calls, nor will he listen to the voicemails or pull his emails. My sister will show up; I know she'll make sure the dogs don't starve, and keep him as fed as he wants to be... and I refuse to do anything that might make that day be here one moment faster than it has to be.

So, nine years later, here I am. And it's just a waiting game.

Eric Payne
Lawrenceville, GA

[Bill Seright]

Originally Posted by Eric Payne

I'm going to inflict a horrible pain on him. I'm going to be a factor in destroying him emotionally, as well as making him question everything he knows in life: his faith, both in people and God.

No your not. I may be hurt but I'm going to be happy as well knowing you're not in pain anymore. When you do sleep at night I really don't. I'm awake and on edge listening for any sound that might indicate there's something going on in you that you might sleep through. It's been 13 years and sometimes I still think you expect me to throw you out because you're sick. That won't happen.

Thanks,

Bill S.

[jryan]

This thread is becoming so touching! In the beginning of my heart problems, I had a high risk of cardiac arrest. They thought they could get it under control (and for the most part have, just needs to be watched), so they didn't want to implant an ICD. Tatiana stayed up all night just listening for any noises and periodically waking me up, if she thought I stopped breathing.

This act, you describe Bill, and that I have seen through Tatiana is none other than pure love! I think you two are great for each other and I mean that in the best of ways. Just wish some of the people who do not think that two people of the same sex can truly love each other, or who think it was a fad, could see your examples. The only difference between the two examples, is that we have two different heart conditions and that Tatiana is a girl and you are a guy! Unfortunately, many of their minds are too far fried to ever see what is truly there! Hang in there Eric and Bill, you are both great people!


Jeremy Ryan