I left home at noon on Wednesday, August 27, to begin a tour that would take me to three solo gigs in Utah, one in southwestern Colorado, and a Rubber Souldiers show in Carson City, and end right back here in Berkeley with a Reptiles reunion in honor of our rhythm guitarist, Al Feldstein, who died of a heart attack on June 21. I was planning to spend my days off wandering around various desert sites, indulging in my adult-onset interest in geology. I had plans to drive highways and visit sites I had never seen before, guidebooks and camera in hand.
I had two days to get to Salt Lake City. I wanted to take CA-120, Tioga Pass, through Yosemite’s amazing back country, and I planned to spend some time Thursday at Berlin Ichthyosaur State Park, way out in the middle of the Basin and Range country of Nevada. I thought I might get as far as Hawthorne, Nevada, on my first day, but my attempts to book a hotel online didn’t yield any promising results. I stopped instead in Lee Vining, California, where Tioga Pass meets US-395 at the edge of Mono Lake.
This was, as it turned out, the first of several very lucky decisions.
I got a room in a motel overlooking Mono Lake. I got out my guidebooks, fired up Google Maps (even funky old fifties-style wood-panel motels have Internet access these days, even though this one didn’t even have three-pronged electrical sockets), and started making plans for the next day’s explorations. I had some doubts about Berlin Ichthyosaur, after reading that Thursday is the day that the fossil exhibit is closed, so I began to consider Great Basin National Park as an alternative.
I walked across the street to a barbecue joint for dinner, rather than drive to the famous Whoa Nellie Deli, which bills itself as “the most unusual deli, inside a gas station, you will ever visit.” Rita and I had dined at Whoa Nellie in May, and I knew it was likely to be the only decent meal option in town, but I was lazy and I also wanted to visit the Mono Lake Committee bookstore next door.
My dinner was, shall we say, unspectacular. The bookstore was quite the opposite, and I spent a good deal of time there examining their huge collection of John McPhee titles, a shelf full of geology books, lots of literature about saving Mono lake, maps, photo books, etc. I bought a pair of earrings for Rita and walked back to my room for the night. I watched a Ted Kennedy documentary for a while and went to sleep early, planning to get an early start toward whichever destination I settled on.
I woke up at 6:30 am and made myself a cup of Blue Bottle coffee in the French press mug I bought in Moab a few years ago. I had bought a small carton of organic milk in the general store, and I poured that over some Udi’s granola I had brought from home.
Something wasn’t right. Ordinarily I would have made another cup of coffee before hitting the road, and I would have had more to eat in anticipation of a long drive with few dining options. I can’t say I had an upset stomach, but I found myself uninterested in food or coffee. Last night’s dinner wasn’t all that bad, but I allowed myself to believe I might have a touch of indigestion or food poisoning.
It was a sort of hot pressure in my chest. One of the reasons I didn’t immediately go for help was that I had felt the same thing four days earlier, after a vigorous bike ride across San Francisco for a lunch date at the Beach Chalet with a group of friends. On that occasion, the burning subsided in ten or fifteen minutes and I didn’t think much more about it. I had no further discomfort on my ride back that day, nor on subsequent days’ rides.
And I know I had had this sensation before the San Francisco experience, because I mentioned it to my doc when I had a physical on Friday (8/21); he and I agreed it was likely related to my recent habit of riding my bike upwards of 10-15 miles a day and pushing myself to ride up hills and max out my heart and lungs. I have taken to this born-again biking thing with great gusto.
When I woke up Thursday morning, I had a much more intense version of that pressure in my chest. And this time, the hot pressure didn’t subside. I decided to wait a while before getting in the car and driving even farther from help than I already was.
I called Rita and told her I wasn’t feeling quite right, but at that point I wasn’t terribly alarmed.
In retrospect, I think I knew this was more than indigestion, but I didn’t want to give up my greatly-anticipated explorations and performances, and I didn’t want to find myself in some expensive out-of-plan ER situation that would cost me my house. I mean, fuck Sarah Palin and her “death panels,” but we are living in weird times when it comes to health care. Plus, you know, I’m a guy, and something of an overachiever; guys tend to tough things out, and overachievers tend to ignore obstacles.
I had looked on “the google” for hospitals. Mammoth Lakes had one, half an hour or so south of my location, and there were a couple of possibilities northward in Bridgeport.
I decided to head toward Reno, the largest city in the area. I figured if I felt better by the time I got there, I’d take a right on US-50 and go on out to Great Basin; if I didn’t, I’d have access to big-city resources. So I drove up US-395, listening to my body and still pretending this was just a touch of indigestion.
My GPS showed me a hospital in Carson City: Carson Tahoe Regional Medical Center. I passed a couple of strip-mall doc-in-the-boxes as I drove into town, but I was aiming for the real hospital. When I got there, I knew I was in the right place: it’s brand spanking new and big enough that I knew it would have what I needed, whatever that might be.
I parked my car near the main entrance and walked in. Still not quite ready to admit I was in crisis, I sat in the lobby for a few minutes deciding whether to go to the ER or not. I got my computer out and discovered that I couldn’t get email there, nor telnet to the WELL. Dang.
After ten or fifteen minutes, still feeling this burning pressure in my chest, I decided I needed to go for it. The person at the information desk pointed me toward the ER.
When you come to an emergency room and say “chest pains,” you don’t have time to say another word. I was handed a clipboard with a form to fill out, but I hadn’t written much before a nurse took me to a room and went to work on me. The paperwork happened later.
I saw the ER doc, and soon I was given an EKG and then an echocardiogram. The initial diagnosis was pericarditis – an inflammation of the sac that encloses the heart. The cardiologist, Dr. Anthony Field, told me my initial EKG was a “textbook” example of a pericarditis reading.
However, there were two other test results that confounded this diagnosis somewhat:
My sedimentation rate was 2. According to WebMD, “When inflammation is present in the body, certain proteins cause red blood cells to stick together and fall more quickly than normal to the bottom of the tube.” A low sedimentation rate argued against inflammation.
My level of troponin, a “diagnostic marker for various heart disorders.” was 2.68; normal is .04 – “almost undetectable,” said Dr. Field.
“If this was a heart attack, we’d expect it to be 10 or 20,” Field continued. “There were EKG changes indicating problems underneath and on the side of the heart,” he said. A level of 2 “made me a little bit uncomfortable,” he said, but the EKG was classic pericarditis and I had responded to a dose of the anti-inflammatory toradol.
After it was clear I was going to be admitted, I called Rita’s school (she’s a kindergarten teacher). No one answered, so I left an urgent voice mail message and tried her cell phone. She rarely leaves it on, so I left a message there as well. Another call to the school was answered, and I was connected to her classroom. I busted out crying trying to tell her what was going on: “I may be having a heart attack.”
The next time I spoke with Rita, a little before 5, she was at home. She had left work early, assuming she would be coming to Carson City sooner or later to bring me home. I spoke to her again later when the first (and less frightful) diagnosis was afloat, and that’s what she thought was happening as she rode up from the Bay Area (driven by our good friend Sandy Sonnenfelt).
My first tests took place at 2pm; a second round of tests at 7pm yielded a troponin count of 10. And the second EKG looked more like a heart attack.
The first injury could have been on the outside of the heart, irritating the pericardium; that could account for the misleading indications.
As soon as it was clear that I was having a heart attack, they sent me downstairs to the cath lab for an angiogram.
Weird as hell lying on a table with a tube stuck in my thigh, watching my heart on a monitor while they pulled a balloon through the arteries and then implanted little mesh tubes to reinforce the artery walls.
It was Field who handled the angiogram, but when it was clear that the plumbing needed work, he called Dr. Carl Juneau to wield the balloon and install the stents.
The procedure took more than two hours, and I was awake through the whole thing. I was given a modest amount of Versed to ease my anxiety – but not enough to send me away nor to make me forget what happened. (I think it’s because I had been given a meal during the time I was thought to have pericarditis, and a larger dose would have cause me to puke.) And that turned out to be okay – I enjoyed chatting with the technicians and I found the process fascinating.
What they found was a 70%-80% blockage of the main artery that serves the front half of my heart and a “non-occlusive” blood clot that broke loose that morning and caused me the distress that sent me to the ER.
Rita left home Thursday evening thinking I was being treated for pericarditis; when I found out it was a heart attack and I was going to the cath lab, I chose not to call her because I didn’t want her five-hour automobile ride to be a miserable and frightened one.
When she arrived at 3 am, I had to tell her what had happened to me while she was en route. So over the course of her day she had two nasty scares separated by a bit of false relief and followed by news of a successful treatment.
I spent the next 60 or so hours in the Telemetry Unit, with EKG leads stuck to my body and a wireless transmitter sending heart info to a remote monitor. Aside from the sort of irregularities that were expected due to reperfusion, my circuits and systems performed admirably.
We had a long meeting with Dr. Field, the cardiologist, on Friday morning. He expects I will make a more or less complete recovery. We discussed the time lines for various activities, and I need to be very conservative with physical activities while the hole in my femoral artery knits, but I did not not experience any significant discomfort.
Field used two very amusing words in his advice to me: for now, I am to “mosey” around the house, and maybe around the block once or twice a day. And pretty much for the rest of my life, “no grunting”: It’s the sudden exertion that can raise my blood pressure and cause problems. He also told me that I can be back on my bike in three weeks and back to a full range of activity in two months; I just need to warm up a bit rather than charging out the door and immediately up a steep hill. That, I can live with!
I was not thrilled to be spending 48 hours peeing into a jug, taking walks around the third floor a couple of times a day, and eating unexciting (and unsalted) hospital food, but I had Rita with me and enough Internet access to keep from going completely stir crazy. The incision in my thigh didn’t hurt – just looked weird, with my half-shaved pubes, a faint blue shadow where some sort of fluid had been painted on me where they were working, and a thick wad of gauze over the puncture held in place by a large square of transparent plastic material.
I have to say that every single person I dealt with at Carson Tahoe was great. The nurse who practically snatched me up when I presented at the ER window with chest pains; the case management workers; the nurses; the cath lab techs; the cardiologist, Dr. Field; and the “interventional cardiologist,” Dr. Juneau – all were friendly, responsive, informative, and damn good at their jobs. I don’t know if I could have had better care anywhere else on Earth.
As I lay in the cath lab waiting for the angiogram, I got into a conversation with a tech named Scott. I was nervous and probably a little bit disinhibited by the Versed, and babbling about my thwarted desert mission. We got into a conversation about John McPhee‘s books. I asked him if he’d save the balloon catheter and stent packages for me as souvenirs, and he agreed; the following day he visited me in my room and handed the boxes over. (See photo above.)
The RNs and CNAs took care of me 24/7, delivering meds, drawing blood, taking my blood pressure and pulseox – all great. Kind, funny, compassionate, informative, and deeply helpful. I suspect they were happy to have a patient who wasn’t suffering nor demanding nor unpleasant. Most of them were willing to chat a bit, banter and joke – but always taking care of business, too. I had some Barlovento chocolate bars from our farmers’ market that I had intended to deliver to friends on my tour, and I gave them to the nurses instead, along with copies of my CD which they received politely. I hope they listened, and I hope they liked the music. I am especially grateful to an ER nurse named Kathy, who was pleasant and informative and reassuring when I was at my most vulnerable and uncertain.
Another thing I am very glad about from my time in the hospital: I watched all of Ted Kennedy‘s memorial (Friday) and funeral (Saturday); that was an inspiring and emotional experience, especially the speeches by Teddy Jr., Patrick, and President Obama. It was benefit of being incapacitated; I might not have plunked down in front of the tube for all that if I had been ambulatory.
They sent me home at around noon on Sunday, with some brochures and a list of meds to start taking. I was ordered to stop once every hour or so and take a walk around the car. We stopped at a cafe in South Lake Tahoe for lunch, and then again in Placerville for a bathroom break. We hit a Wal*Mart near Sacramento to buy a blood pressure machine, and then we were at home.
The hospital had phoned in prescriptions to my pharmacy here at home, so we stopped to get those meds on our way. I have Plavix, simvastatin, Metoprolol, and nitroglycerin. The latter is only for emergencies: I if I get chest pains, I put one (or two or three) under my tongue and either call 911 or head for an ER.
(BTW, here’s a weirdly amusing bit of info sent to me today by Stev Lenon regarding nitroglycerin:
I’m sure that they warned you of potential headaches related to using nitro tabs sublingually. What is seldom included in physician talks is this little tidbit. It applies primarily to patients using nitro patches but may also affect tablet users:
In some instances, partners who are particularly sensitive to nitro may develop instant headaches while having oral sex with a partner taking nitro.
I’ve never directly experienced that problem but know people who have.
However, I am so sensitive to aspartame that until Gloria quit using it I would get an instant and smashing head ache if I kissed her after she had drunk something with aspartame in it. You can run the further conclusion.
Hope this brightens your day and that you never have to choose between headaches and happiness!
I have an appointment with my primary care physician tomorrow morning, and his practice will connect me with a cardiologist. East Bay Family Practice and Steve Bryzman took very good care of Rita during her lymphoma treatment, and I have every confidence that I will get what I need from them in my case as well.
So here I am, lucky to be alive, grappling with the news that my body is imperfect and I might actually die some time. It probably won’t happen soon, but my beliefs have been shaken a bit. I’ve received hundreds of warm wishes from all over the world, and you know that stuff really does make a difference.
I am still pretty weak, and I am not pushing myself at all. I’ve been talking with friends on the phone and online, and worrying about my cousins in southern California whose home in La Crescenta is in the evacuation zone but not in the fire zone.
*
I just went outside to walk for a bit, as I have been advised to do. I started hearing Cat Stevens’ “Miles from Nowhere” (from Tea for the Tillerman) in my head – “Miles from nowhere, guess I’ll take my time… to reach there… Lord my body has been a good friend, but I won’t need it when I reach the end.” Came back into the house and couldn’t find the CD, so I downloaded the song from iTunes. As I started to listen to it, I began to cry. I have a feeling I’m going to be processing a lot of emotions as I emerge from this event and settle into my new life. Truly a “before and after” experience..
I have to take it easy for a while, but I am assured I can get back to all my various gigs and hobbies pretty quickly. The guy who fixed me up in Nevada is extremely optimistic about my prospects for a full recovery.
I will continue my healthy lifestyle and use drugs to overcome my genetic predisposition to heart disease. All the good things I’ve been doing in recent years – healthy eating, bike riding, fish oil pills, low-dose aspirin, etc – may have made the difference between life and death. The blood clot that came loose on Thursday morning didn’t completely block the artery; if it had, I would not be here today.
Upon reflection, I also have to admit that part of my concern on Thursday morning had to do with the expense. Do I want to put myself in hock for untold sums in pursuit of a false alarm? As it turns out, the whole deal cost me a hundred bucks. And I realize now that it was stupid of me to have allowed that consideration to delay my trip to the ER. How close did I come to “toughing it out” and dying on a remote Nevada highway?
Adding “heart patient” to my list of occupations and attributes is damn weird. But hey, I made it through, and that puts me ahead of quite a few wonderful people we’ve lost – most recently, and most grievously, my musical partner and friend of 35 years, Al Feldstein, who had a heart attack in June and did not survive. For that reason – and because our old band and circle of friends are reuniting this Friday in his memory – surviving my own is extra poignant to me.
It’s going to take me a while to trust my body again, to stop being afraid that I could die any time. Every little twinge is gonna give me The Fear. I will get past it – the cardiologist gave me every reason to believe I will be okay, and able to ride my bike a hundred miles if I want to – but still. The ground beneath me is less stable than it was last week.
Every bit of advice and information I’m getting, from friends and strangers all over the place, is hugely appreciated as I make my way into my new life as a heart patient who is goddamn determined not to be an invalid about it.
I have, as you know, the finest support system on the planet. Her name is Rita.
thanks for sharing that, David… it does seem that you caught a break in a sense, though I am sure the dislocation from your previous plans is no fun at all.
(kind of chilling to see you launching that new tag for your blog)
If your all patched up by this winter, come on back to the Carson Valley and go skiing up at Heavenly, we’ve got a few buddy passes for next season. Best Wishes!
Wow, David. Thank god you have a heart full of soul. That old soul may have kept you calm and directed you to the right place. Good to know you’re on the road to recovery, and I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon…or when you’re ready. Take really good care.
Speaking as someone who used to work in a telemetry ward when I was in San Francisco, I can tell you that yes, we do appreciate mild-mannered, non-demented patients such as yourself who are not ripping their IV lines and urinary catheters out. I’d say you will be a pleasant memory for the nurses who worked with you, except we forget the nice patients and remember the awful ones, so you’ll be a cipher to them by next month. Unless you turned them on to some good Dead music. Chocolates we got plenty of, but sounds — that would be rare!
I’m also glad you didn’t lose your house to save your life. Of course, if you lived in a country with a civilised medical system (like this one) or Canada (where we’re emigrating to this Northern Hemisphere fall) that wouldn’t even be a worry. Too bad Teddy K didn’t have his way.
Keep up the good exercise. I will think of you every time I grunt.
Rick Buck — (Carol Shinker’s husband)
Wow, quite a story, David. Thanks for setting it out so clearly. I’m guessing, but I’m pretty sure you wrote it all down at least in part as a public service announcement – “if you get any of these symptoms, act on it straight away”.
Like you, I’ve been taking low-dose aspirin for years. And I may start taking statins soon. And, like you I ride a bike – though I don’t do 10 miles any more. I try and avoid hills, as much as possible, as my knees can’t cope. I was getting chest pains on hills a while back and saw my doctor, but tests showed that the pain was in the superficial (just below the surface) muscles, and not in or around the heart (I was doing press-ups too at the time, but have given those up too). My favoured exercise now is walking with my wife Lizzie. Not only is it a great way of keeping fit, but you also get a chance to converse at length without distractions of phones, computers, TV, radio.
Like you I used to take fish-oil pills but don’t bother with them now. I do eat a fair amount of oily fish though (and tinned mackerel is great – cheap, tasty and very good for you, with plenty of omega-3).
And I haven’t added salt to my food for a long long while (but I do add lots of black pepper, and love hot chillis – which are supposed to be good for the heart).
And I watch my weight, and don’t smoke.
Oh, and no meat, either. I gave up meat around 40 years ago, at the age of 20.
That doesn’t make me pefect or anything – just careful (and considerably more careful than in my youth when I did smoke, and drop acid and all sorts of other things which probably don’t make for a healthy heart).
CJ
tremendous reporting there david.
glad that you made it through and
will be back for the long run.
b
Nice account, David, and I’m glad you’re here to tell the tale. Maybe you can find closer spots for your next geology fix — Los Trancos or Pinnacles, perhaps.
David: Chilling read. As silly as it may have been to delay going to the ER at all, you were probably more on top of it than most of us would’ve been. I’m real glad I’ll be seeing you and friends on Friday.
Oh man you are still a long winded fellow or f……. I couldnt type this much to sanve the world. I am passing ot on to my fire department ans I found it interesting to know what happens after. I will call
Great to hear you are on the mend, and thanks for the detailed story. i am sure that it will help a lot of people who read it. Interesting that you hesitated to go to the ER for a while partly out of concern for the cost – even though you are insured. That would make you the second person in our Well community (after Soren, last fall) to hesitate for fear of costs in a life-threatening situation. Luckily you hesitated much less, your problem turned out to be less dire, and your results far better. All blessings, man.
Wow David. We are getting to that age aren’t we? It’s a good thing you followed your gut. It makes you realize that you don’t always get in touch with the people you care about till it’s too late, so expect a phone call.
You cut the deck to the queen of CLUBS, and before you know it, you’ll be back singing around the fire again.
Wow David. Quite a story. Glad it has a happy ending. When I was having my stroke I reacted like you did to your heart attack. I think I had a mild one the night before the big one. I blew it off both because I’m a guy and because of the money, I had no insurance at the time. Like you, I survived and learned a few lessons. Take care of yourself my friend. I am getting married next week and we will need to have a big party next year that I’d love you to play. Looking forward to seeing you down the road. Get back out there as soon as you can.
that’s an excellent narrative with a close to excellent ending. I’m so glad you got (and will continue to have) such good care.
From Back of Beyond, Utah: So glad you made it…! The Grateful Gans cover band (Moab’s Broken Angels) filled the air with grateful song in your honor during the arterial cheese incident. Start working out with Lovely Rita’s hula hoop, and keep the Mother rolling…Intrepidly Furthur!
Everybody’s playing in the Heart of Gold Band…
I’m relieved that your recovering,did you ever consider writing another book,you have what it takes,there is a verse in Truckin that goes:it takes time to mello slow,then keep truck’in on,you mentioned your interest in Geology,thats when I thought of C/d covers of Steve Roaches there pretty cool and he has a website http://www.steveroach.com mello soundscapes,again I hope to see you in the near future,it would be cool to see you at the Fox in Oakland for Phil & Bob and the guitarist of Darkstar orchestra,but a little at a time.Be Well Larry in Santa Rosa
David, I’ve never read a more interesting travelogue. I think it shows how important living a reasonably healthy lifestyle is. As you wrote, it may have made the difference between life and death. Here’s looking forward to the day when the ground beneath your feet stabilizes again.
Glad you’re on the road to a full recovery.
Next time you’re in LA let’s go for a bike ride!
Take Care.
Long may you run David.
Thanks for the writing, David. You are an inspiration as a writer and as a just plain amazing person. I’m so glad you are likely to be able to make a full recovery. Time to get back on my own bike…
David, thanks for sharing your story including the full spectrum of emotions you felt at the time and will continue feeling during your recovery.
If it’s any consolation, my dad became a “heart patient” at the age of 53 and in 2 weeks will be celebrating his 76th birthday, so I’m confident with today’s medical technology you have a long life of music, love, and laughter ahead of you.
I take Lisinopril for high BP now and try to eat healthy and stay active since I know my family history. I know that Rita and the rest of your support system will be there for you always.
Take care and keep on living life to the fullest!
David, Thanks for the very eloquent report. All of the what if’s really make you think…As you said, so good that you have been working on eating well, exercising etc. It motivated me to get off my ass and do the same. So glad the prognosis is so positive and I can’t wait to to hear the music that comes out of this experience…
Hi David
Thanks for that great story, albeit a scary one! Yep, we’re growing older and the human body, our vessel on this mortal coil, does indeed have its limitations….So glad the devil didn’t take his due, and the earth is a better place with you on board! Definitely a wake-up call….and your healthy lifestyle is a plus! You certainly didged the bullet….and this in and of itself is a badge of honor….a testament to the possibilities that lie within…the ability to see beyond typical restraints….to live within one’s own self….to design how your life can be…..the mere fact that you were on top of your game, and followed your instincts, shows ones ability to be self-reliant…..you made bold and courageous moves…others may have failed……as you travel on, stay in good touch with yourself….be careful with the medications….google like crazy for clearer understanding and education…..watch the coffe intake….as delicious and addictive it is, coffee can disrupt the natural flora in the GI tract….I’m soap-boxing a little…but my experience in Probiotic supplementation has taught me much…..so I’m actually sharing the good news….feel free to contact me on this…..definitely keep up the Omega 3’s….hemp seed is a great alternative to fish oil, and more easily assimilated on many levels….stick with organic food when possible…no good has ever come from pesticides, preservatives, and Genitically Modified Organisms ( UGH!)….take care, David!! Keepthat good music coming!!!
Thanks for writing it all up – and for surviving.
Of course, now I have a new reason to be worried if I feel something strange in my chest. I run, I’m on statins, don’t eat much meat, have a brother who had a major heart attack at age 40 – during a 15 mile run (I’ve got the same genes), and I’m about to embark on a 6 week road trip (with a stack of John McPhee in the car) that will see me in Moab in about a month. Creepy coincidences abound.
David, it’s so cool that you have chosen to share your personal experience in this instance just like you’ve chosen to share so many other things, personal and not over the years. Your openess and sharing approach to life is truly a gift to all the friends you’ve made and the people you’ve touched through your “hobbies” and professional endeavors.
We’ve never met in person, but I feel like we are friends through our shared passions and the few electronic interactions we’ve had over time. I will keep projecting positive thoughts your way and trust that you will know where to tap into the strength you need as you tackle the harder parts of getting well and figuring out how life is going to be different now. May you find that you feel more plugged in to something awesome.
Apologies if this comment is a bit mushy around the edges, but this is one of those times when I want to let you know that your actions in this world have meant a great deal to me while I can still do that! Take good care of yourself!
Dear David,
An inspiring story of your good fortune in surviving the medical emergency
you were in without realizing it while you drove north on 395 toward the
hospital. You/we are so lucky that you made it. I look forward to seeing
you again in the near future and giving you a big (but gentle) hug.
Yo, David, we sure missed you out here in the desert but very glad to hear you are on the road to recovery and we’ll expect a “make-up” tour once you up and about! 🙂
David, I just wanted to add my name to your list of well wishers. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you (I think the last time was visiting Adam at Goddard), but my husband Simon and I think of you often (especially when we catch you on XM) and are sending you good energy for a speedy recovery.
Wow. I look forward to giving you–and Rita–extra special hugs on Friday night.xoxoxoo
What a scare, David! Your friend and little China Doll, Hannah, Sandy and I look forward to having you around a lot longer and enjoying your humor, music and opinions! I expect your next album might contain some very interesting reflections on your experience and how we all need to not take life for granted. So happy you are on the road to full recovery!
Holy Cheroot! Glad you’re gonna be OK, David. I guess we all kid/delude ourselves that our bodies will hold out forever. I bike a LOT — 3000 miles so far this year — and some of these Colorado climbs make me wonder if my heart is going to explode. I tell myself that which does not kill me makes me stronger. I’m early into my (gulp) seventh decade, take my statins, etc., but ya nevah know. Just grateful that you eventually had the good sense to turn yourself in before it was too late. So follow those doctor’s orders for now and bring it around slowly so you’ll have many more tales to tell.
Oh, Brother David,
So glad you’re still with us. What a cautionary tale. Wish I could join you on Friday, but will see you soon enough. Hugs to Rita. You both are blessings in my life.
David, you are an amazing reporter and writer, taking us with you and sharing such intimate — and universal — detail, on your at-first exploratory, and ultimately scary, trip.
I haven’t seen you in years, but because of your reaching out and sharing so completely, I am there with you.
Take good :: slow :: care of yourself.
Keep on moseying, my friend.
Hi David,
Peter Thompson forwarded the blog tale of your heart attack. Phew, so glad you are still with us. I too have a similar tale, leading to a stent of my own. Every day is a bonus now, and it’s been nearly two years. Every morning I feel as if an angel has kissed me awake and back to life. It has been truly a wake up call to presence of mind and appreciation for the countless gifts that we come across day in and day out. Also diet and exercise routines have magically transformed in ways that years of simply knowing what was right never did. Anyway, it’s been a long time since we connected, and I decided not to let another day go by. I notice that you will be in wild and wacky Fairfax on September 30th, so I’ll try to catch your act in person then. Until then….Thanks for sharing and all the best. In Love and Laughter, Peter Oppenheimer (findpetero@yahoo.com)
Hi David,
So glad to hear you’re okay. What an ordeal! I know you’ve got to take it easy and probably won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, but it sure would be nice to see you again. The kids (not really kids anymore) still talk about your rainbow shoelaces, and how you taught them an easy way to get ketchup out of a bottle.
Take good care, and keep us posted!
Love,
Miriam
David,
Thanks for sharing the details of your heart attack. You must have very well tuned gut instincts to have recognized that you needed medical attention–not to mention, great karma that got you to the right place at the right time.
If the immediate resumption of your concert schedule is any indication, you’re not to about to let this get you down.
Keep on trucking (or more properly biking) and singing.
Best wishes,
Ken
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Thank you for sharing and so glad you are on the mend.
Hope you can make it to Great Basin, because it is an amazing place! Late spring, early summer is when I was there. Very green with some snow. Wishing you good health!
Man, am I glad you’re going to be okay. I have to add that I think your attitude and good humor couldn’t have hurt you any. Being kind to the folks who were helping and allowing them to be kind to you while letting your curiosity to examine the proceedings seems like a good way to handle things.
As a fellow, fish oil caps and low dose aspirin guy who’s been averaging 3+ miles afoot most days lately, I thank you for the inspiration.
And… let’s hope that this country will soon cease to be a place where a citizen has to consider forgoing life saving treatment for fear of losing their home.
Watching out my front window the festivities being prepared at Adele’s, grateful for your recovery, and hoping the night is great for you! Take care sir. You were in good hands at Carson Tahoe indeed.
Last week I read in your blog about Alan, intending to communicate with you at some point that he had been part of my life too, going back to the Discount record daze on the Ave. It was spooky to read several people commenting how when they would run into him after years unseen that
conversation just magically happened that made the time passed irrelevant – instantly back to feeling you were picking up an important unfinished something ?
Thanks for sharing the whole tale of your glimpse of mortality. While it seems no good deed goes unpunished at times, the good habits turn out to be joys independent of the good they do you, perhaps inspiring even more good habits! Keep on that sensible road to full recovery.
Good to hear that you are on the road to recovery.
David
you’ve been spared over to another year…
– glad you made it home again.
What did it feel like? “a burning pressure” that was key… recognizing the pains.
Now having the real heavy wierdness behind you, sounds like you are in for some brand new periods of peak creativity
I would not nave expected a ‘road trip-meets medical drama’ to be such incredibly riveting prose. You are amazing David.
When you do make it to the Mountain time zone, please book a gig (or three) along the Front Range, I’d love to get you into the station here for a live performance. Best wishes for a quick & full recovery!
Great, young and very talented performer, Danielle Ate the Sandwich, came in Aug. 3rd and played live (she’s also playing Monolith!), archived on-line until Aug. 16th just click the yellow speaker icon in the upper right ~
http://www.kgnu.org/cgi-bin/programinfo.py?time=1252026000
Glad to hear that this falls into the category of “tragedy narrowly averted”!
Thanks for sharing; it is good to live mindfully.
Keep up the healthy living and we wish you a speedy recovery, with lots of great music, poetry, prose, and pics to come.
David, I am so glad you’re still here and I can read this knowing you’re still here.
David,
I am glad to hear you are OK. Thank you for making public such a personal and moving account of your all-too–interesting adventure.
Hey David – sorry to hear about this, glad you are out of it now TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, eh? Contrary to what folks think – exercise (the wrong sort) can kill. Stick to yoga for a while, maybe?
All the best
Jeremy
David, congratulations! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You’ll now be more aware of your body and able to adjust to what it needs for your long-term health.
Your story inspired me to tilt at the windmill of Obama “health care”. Those whose opinions are determined by the political winds should avoid reading the rest of this, or you might get indigestion, which might not be good for your health.
Your story helps to outline what’s wrong with the whole “health care” political debate.
Almost everyone equates “no insurance” with “no health care”, a foolish shortcut that even a moment’s thought will dissolve. When you bandage your friend’s paper cut, remind a child to wash their hands before lunch, or teach someone how to drink from your bottle without putting their lips on it, you are providing health care and they are getting health care. When I go to my doctor and pay a few hundred dollars out of my own pocket for my annual physical and a few blood tests, I’m getting health care. When I search the Internet for personal experience reports about a drug or medical condition, I’m getting health care. It’s pretty tricky how a WW2 tax scam plus years of insurance company marketing have convinced almost everyone that the only health care “worth having” is health care provided, mediated, or paid for by an insurance company or government. Health care that we, ourselves, provide, select, or pay for isn’t just valueless — it’s not even health care at all, in the “progressive” reality distortion field. As Pynchon pointed out, “If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about the answers.”
Even though you have insurance, you were so concerned with its potential cost that you risked death or serious disability by failing to get your chest pains checked. Part of the trouble seems to be the “telephone company long distance call” billing style of hospitals — first, they provide you the service, THEN you discover what it costs and are forced to pay for it. For unconscious patients at serious risk, this makes sense — but not for the conscious or the merely inconvenienced, like you. If you thought walking into a McDonald’s provided the same risk of “costing you your house” then you wouldn’t be eating many burgers. So what’s wrong with telling people what particular tests or procedures will cost FIRST, and letting the patient decide which ones are worth it to undergo? Seems to work everywhere else in life (how often do you eat at a restaurant whose menus don’t list the prices?). You can still do this at doctor’s offices, pharmacies, and hospitals; I do. It’s not the default, though; you have to take the initiative to ask. Instead, the “progressive” agenda is designed to move even further from individuals being able to see the costs of their health choices and make those choices themselves. And pretty soon, if they have their way, “buying” heath care yourself will become illegal.
So let’s see, to take your concern to its most absurd, if you had been sitting in front of an “out-of-plan” Emergency Room, dying of a heart attack, you’d choose to go elsewhere on the theory of ‘keeping’ your house? As you say, we’re living in weird times regarding health. I hope you’ve recently written down and notarized who’d get your house in such a situation (it’s called a will). But seriously David, you’d be better off starting over from the clothes on your back, your friendships, and your expertise, than being dead. And acute heart treatment is very unlikley to cost as much as your equity. 90% of the health care money is spent in the last few weeks of life; if you’re that close, you won’t need that house anymore.
And, in the end, our unreformed “health care” system provided you with exactly what you needed — a brand spanking new $200M hospital far from your home, built by a *nonprofit public charity* using donations, bond financing, and fees paid for services by patients and their insurance companies; doctors and nurses experienced in what you needed; diagnostic tests and devices created in advance by years of university or corporate research and development, ready to be wielded to solve your problem; and a total cost to you of $100 because you have been paying monthly for insurance for many years (while costing the insurance company much less than what you paid in). All this was provided to an itinerant musician and music archivist, paid for out of his own earnings, and with fully conscious choices made by you, the patient. What in this picture is crying out for reform?
Hi David,
Got a pointer to your story here from Reva’s blog.
What a wonderful story for us to all read–best of all
how it’s turned out for you. Now when any of us wake
with odd chest feelings, we will pay more attention.
Hugs to you and Rita,
Mary (themook) from the WELL
What, only a hundred miles on your bike? (LOL)….. There’s way more trails+pave out there to disappear into…
Best of fun on your next decade….
http://www.completesite.com/mbhof/page.cfm?pageid=7&categoryid=1&memberid=140
Wow, what a story, David. I read every word.
Mr. drive and I were in Berlin Ichthyosaur State Park about 10 years ago at least. I hope you get there. It’s fascinating, and yes, WAYYYYYYY in the middle of nowhere. Good thing you weren’t there.
drive
Yo David,
Wow, that’s epic, and fascinating. Thanks for documenting it.
David
I just now read this, and I am thankful and grateful that you are fine. Keep on bikin’.
Drrocky
Bob Kleinrock
So glad you are well. So smart to get yourself to the hospital. I am a nurse and I appreciate how you aknowledged the care you received as a patient and I know the staff must have been very pleased to have you as their patient. Thank you for sharing your story as it can save the life of someone else who reads it.
I will thank my brother Pete for passing your story on to me.
It is wonderful that you are able to tell your story and that it’s going well! I am Grateful!!! Hope to see you at Magfest.