FIXING JOHNNY SLOW BLOOD
Everything Is Different Now
And it came to pass that once again I wanted (and needed) to write. The state of the country was so terrible I felt desire and ambition had no place, but grace and magic intervened. Just a week ago before what follows in the clearest dream I’ve ever had, I was zooming along a perfect New Mexico highway toward a mountain straight ahead but hovering inches above the pavement without a car... Just me sitting with my legs stretched out in front, camera in my lap, moving very fast without a hint of wind blast in my face. I even turned my head to look behind to see if I was being pushed but only saw the road receding. Guess what happened when I wondered how to stop.
12:20 A.M. JULY 1: 10 MINUTES OF HEART RATE UNDER 40 BPM, according to my Apple watch. Goddamn weird but not unheard of in my circumstances. I’d been living with off and on bradycardia1 for years, maybe even decades. Resting heart rates as low as 40 bpm aren’t cause for alarm if you’re asleep, a healthy kid, or athlete. I was almost 80 and had always told myself you hike a lot, no sweat, or you’re a Leo2 dammit, it must be big and doesn’t have to work so hard. Over the last dozen years or so my exercise hikes had shrunk from four miles down to two and sometimes I would stop and rest a moment—then two moments, then every 50 yards. If I walked up the driveway fast I’d feel a wobble starting out. Just a passing shadow, man. Go get the mail, relax. Ten minutes into editing the photograph above it alerted me again. Well, shit. Another time. And then again. My blood oxygen was fine although I felt a little strange. The first thing I tried was my old idiot bachelor trick: swig a cup of coffee, raise my arms, walk briskly back and forth across the room three times, hop up and down a bit. Ha-ha, 41 bpm, told ya. Twelve minutes later the damn watch buzzed again. I googled. The gist was that if your oxygen is normal and your heart rate’s in the 30s and you feel a little off, seek help immediately. Motherfucker.
Not the ER!
The last time I did that, I was out hundreds of dollars for swelling from an allergic reaction to no-see-um bites I thought might be a blood clot in my leg, so I did the next best thing and googled for excuses. Another hour gone. Every 10 minutes the Apple watch buzzed and now my heart rate was down to 32, then 31 bpm. This is crazy, I’ll just go to bed, except that I was pretty tense—the same existential dread I felt before I stepped outside our old Taos condo late one night because I thought I heard a mountain lion on the roof, and then I did, and saw its round ears silhouetted in the moonlight. Finally I texted a lady in Albuquerque I knew might be awake: “GO TO ER!!!” she said, and surely saved my life.
At least I knew what that was like. I pulled on jeans, changed my shirt, and off I went in darkness down the road like when I followed the ambulance after Kathy had her stroke in ‘21... Holy Cross is relatively poor and understaffed but they have heart. I ended up on a bed curtained off in the corner of a larger room. A doctor appeared and supervised an EKG but never told me what it meant in layman’s language. For the next four hours I rested mostly all alone. No food or water, just beeping signals from my heart at 30 bpm with hopeful bounces up to 40. A nurse I’d never seen before poked her head in and asked if I needed anything. I said I felt fine, wanted to go home, and could I see a doctor (haha), but did finagle a blanket. Around the five hour mark a better nurse came in and said they were trying to transfer me to a hospital in Santa Fe or Albuquerque3 because there was no cardiologist at Holy Cross, the only holdup being that no location had a vacant bed. I felt like I was being kidnapped and wanted to plead my case. About an hour after that, an overworked physician who looked like she’d been sent to beat me senseless finally appeared. I offered up the “too much magnesium” rationale I’d worked up for busting out of there. She glared at me with furrowed brow and said, “Your heart could stop at any minute…”
It was now mid-afternoon. I’d gotten some water and still had battery power on my phone. A nurse informed me they’d found a bed at Christus St. Vincent in Santa Fe and that the helicopter was on its way. Something for my inner Air Force brat to get excited about! As I waited I occupied myself by texting end-of-life messages to my siblings and giving them the unlock codes to my devices. By this point my heart rate was a deadly 30 bpm and I even saw a temporary 29. Funny how I wasn’t scared exactly, just “transported.” A pacemaker was in my future if I had one but no one acted worried and I wasn’t either, happy for the helicopter ride and letting go some more. In the pipeline now, I knew I had to go along. I wondered if I’d die above the mountains and stopped caring about the mess I’d left at home. Hunger was the thing and I could have used a candy bar. A last cheeseburger, anything. They want you fasting if they’re going to operate, of course. I didn’t think of that.
The three-man flight crew was impressive. All former Air Force guys, they looked and acted the part. The focused skill they showed immediately made me proud and I talked about my father (USAF Lt. Col, Ret.). I told them how he’d flown for the FAA after leaving the service and took me on a low-altitude flight over Manhattan in a C-47 in ‘63 with no one else aboard the aircraft. I occupied the right-hand seat as “co-pilot” to satisfy the rules. He had me hold the steering yoke a moment while he studied something on a map. The engines and propellers roared. Their vibrations tingled in my sweaty teenage fingers as I ooched the nose up and down a bit to get a feel for the controls. He shot a glance at me and went back to his map. No way in hell is anything like that permitted now and likely wasn’t then. Thanks, Dad.
The flight to Santa Fe was totally engrossing. I knew every location we flew over: the High Road, Vadito, Las Trampas, Truchas, and the rest. I was surprised at how slow the helicopter seemed to be—most anything at altitude feels that way—and how much it shook from the rotors slapping overhead. The view was indescribable, really. I couldn’t believe how deep the canyons were and how many we never see from the highway. What an astounding, rugged landscape, so beautiful and unspoiled! I honestly had no idea just how wild it is and I’ve been here since ‘99.
At Christus St. Vincent they wheeled me into a modest private room with big windows across from the nurses’ station in the cardiac unit. If I must have a favorite hospital, St. Vincent will do. The tech level and quality of staffing was a wonder—everyone I met at St. Vincent was brilliant, friendly, highly competent. The next morning Dr. Remo cut me open, stuck a pacemaker in my chest, connected tiny wires to my beating heart, and I’ve been at 60+ bpm ever since. Boom-boom-boom, so fast, both the surgery and my circulation. All these pros, just like the flight crew. Something wanted me to see this.
Here I am just after surgery:
I’ve been home a week now. Everything is different. How can I ever explain this???
During the process various doctors at Christus St. Vincent performed over 20 tests on me including an extensive transthoracic echocardiogram (TTE) to look at my heart. Other than a complete blockage of the electrical signal from the atria to the ventricles, there isn’t anything wrong with it.4 I realize that’s like saying“ if not for losing his head, he might have lived a long time.” But it’s true: the chambers are normal, the valves work, there aren’t any clots. Not as strong as it once was but in good working order, pumping away now like it hasn’t done in years. Last year my doctor mentioned the possibility of a pacemaker and I wouldn’t hear of it. Didn’t want to be a pitiful old man with a battery and wires in his chest. But now that I have one, I don’t feel like an old man. The mild edema (swelling) is gone from my ankles. There’s more color in my face. I feel more awake. My memory is better. I’ve only had a single nap all week. When I walk to the mailbox there’s nary a doubt or stumble. It’s better with the gadget.
The biggest change is I KNOW THAT I’M ALIVE! My old life was over when the CHB (complete heart block) settled in—not dead yet, but time was up. Without the insertion of a tiny battery-powered device with wires leading to my heart, I might be gone already and people would say well too bad but he was almost 80. Bah. It’s almost like I’m not supposed to be here. That’s the mystery, though. What’s really happened is I have a backstage pass to everything… I will take advantage of this. I will pay complete attention. I will listen to the quiet voice inside my heart. No one needs to worry for me. Whenever I do wake up outside my body, know that I was happy as I crossed the threshold with a smile.
Slow heart rate!
Astrological sign associated with the heart.
First time I’d gotten an inkling of what was really going on!
Or any other major organs.
Glad you made it ❤️ . Funny how we may feel like ‘checking out’ except decide to wake up fighting it if given the choice 😊
THANK YOU for not leaving your mess to clean up 😅
- li’l sis
I’m happy you’re getting that heart out of first gear!
Pretty traumatic I’m sure.
I get sub40 alerts like tic tacs on my Apple Watch every day. Have for over 4 years.
I don’t have attendant symptoms so my cardiologist hasn’t plugged a pacemaker in me yet. Says it’s just fine.
Being a Canuck I’m lucky we have universal healthcare. If I do get slated for a pacemaker it’ll be covered as have been my two knee replacements and a hip and a corneal transplant.
Again, so happy you’re staying in the game.