Caring friends help prevent a free fall
/The Boston Herald
BEVERLY BECKHAM
The pain started last December, but he didn't recognize it as pain. He had a funny feeling in his jaw as he danced and he was breathless. So he stopped dancing and muttered to himself that he was 46 and he was getting old.
It happened two months later, again on a dance floor. This time he registered the discomfort, made the association with dancing and modified his behavior. He gave up dancing and the pain went away.
In May, while walking across a field at his daughter's graduation, he felt the strange tightening in his jaw once again. He mentioned it to no one, treated it like a cramp or a crick, something that would work itself out, get better, go away.
Only it didn't. A few weeks later he was rushing for a plane, and the pain came. Then he was at the gym doing sit-ups, and there it was again.
It was probably nothing, he told himself and his doctor. He took a series of tests. His blood pressure was high and so was his cholesterol, but not alarmingly off the charts, not nearly as high as other perfectly healthy people he knew. He passed one stress test. Then he passed another. But the test showed something, a small problem, easily treated, nothing to worry about, he swore to himself. And to me.
He saw a cardiologist who prescribed a drug for high blood pressure and another for his heart and nitroglycerin for when his jaw felt numb and sore at the same time. The drugs were a kind of test, too. They should have helped, but they didn't. The pain couldn't be stilled. At a follow up appointment, the cardiologist recommended another test, an angiogram.
We had to be at Brigham and Women's by 6 a.m. The test, which would determine not only if there were blockage in my husband's arteries but exactly how much, was scheduled for 7:30 a.m. All this was routine. The test was invasive and uncomfortable, but still only a test. It could show nothing, or it could show a small blockage, which could be treated with angioplasty, a procedure in which a balloon is inserted in the artery to dislodge collected plaque.
I was told how serious his condition was minutes after the test was finished. He had at least three blocked arteries, a doctor said. One of the blockages was life threatening. He needed open heart surgery, and he needed it soon. The hospital was in the process of admitting him. He was to be monitored and operated on as quickly as possible.
That's how these life-altering things happen. One minute you're flying along, in the company of hundreds of people just like you, talking about where you're headed, excited about the trip, relatively safe, moderately in control, toughing out a few bumps and some turbulence now and then.
And in a blink, the plane on which you've grown quite comfortable, doesn't just plummet; it disappears. And there you are, alone, spinning toward the ground.
That's what fear feels like - falling with nothing to grab on to.
Then a parachute opens.
"We've done thousands of these" a doctor says.
"People feel so much better after this surgery," a stranger waiting with her daughter for a report on her husband offers.
Then friends arrive, almost immediately. How did they know to come? How did they know they were needed? They arrive all day and all the next day, and the day after, right up to and through and following the surgery. Others send cards, flowers, notes. Many call. The hospital phone rings constantly. At home, on the answering machine, there are countless messages. Food appears in the refrigerator. Prayers are said. Masses offered. Everywhere, there are continuing signs of caring.
Every bit helps - the smallest gesture, the briefest note, a touch, a look. People are our parachutes. All their good will and good wishes sustain us.
My husband's quadruple by-pass was a success. He will be fine, the doctors say. He will be more than fine. Doctors worked their magic and friends held our hands.
That’s why we're here, isn’t it? That's why we're born, to help one another, in big ways, the way doctors do, and in smaller ways, the way friends do. In any way we can.