I lived through the heart attack that, thankfully, wasn’t.
Some background: By virtue of winning, or losing, the genetic lottery, I landed firmly on the McLoone side. Men are bald, carry a little something around the waist and they can’t breathe. On the Finley side of the equation, the men have robust heads of hair, are mostly trim and have fully functioning lungs.
I was never officially diagnosed with asthma as a kid, but looking back, I had every symptom. I was active but always fought for my breath. The older I got, and perhaps the less active I became, the wheezing became more evident. I remember taping an interview and going back to listen to it, and it sounded like Darth Vader was on one side of the table.
I was directed to a pulmonologist at some point, who deemed that I have 80 percent lung capacity. What does that mean? I wheeze a lot. I was put on a steroid of some sort that I inhale for my lungs.
A few weeks back, I fell ill and after the requisite amount of time a man waits to go to the doctor, it had advanced to the point that it felt like I had a 50 lb. weight on my chest. Now I know some of you are chuckling right now, because I have one much bigger than that around my midsection. That’s rude of you.
I was sent home from the medical center with a bevy of new prescriptions and had to refill my lung inhaler. At the start of this year, our insurance switched to the company which recently lost its CEO because of a madman upset with its policies. I certainly don’t agree with his course of action, but after now having multiple drugs I’ve been taking for years rejected because they don’t cover them, I can certainly see how this particular firm’s tactics could perhaps push one into a psychotic break.
I was offered a different medication that didn’t quite do what the other did, but it was supposed to do something. After a few days, all I knew was I couldn’t breathe. This last weekend, from Friday evening, I never left our premises. If I walked to the kitchen, I would have to take a breathing break. Now I know those same people who made fun of my weight earlier now are thinking, “Less kitchen trips would do you good!” Again, rude.
I finally turned to the medical experts on the World Wide Web. A side effect for a select few on this new drug actually makes your symptoms worse. It restricts the airway. The warning ended with, “Seek medical attention immediately.” I only waited a day, because by Monday, my heart (yes, I have one) hurt too.
About five hours later, I was all fixed up. Pictures of my heart were beautiful, or at least as they should be. Medication subdued my wheezing for the time, and I was sent home with medication to treat infected lungs.
I hope it’s covered.