shaynezucker.com

"I don't know why fortune smiles on some - and lets the rest go free" -- The Eagles ("The Sad Cafe")

I was the least person you would expect it to happen to. Oh sure, I was a little overweight, but not by much and for most of my adult life I was somewhat tall and thin. Back in the mid ‘80s, I only weighed 135 pounds in a 6-foot frame. I was athletic until I injured my lower back, but continued to play sports long after. Once I got married, I started to slow down.

It started innocently enough, on a warm August afternoon in downtown Chicago. I had to make a deposit at the bank during my lunch break from work. While waiting, a weird feeling came over me. My stomach started burn, not unlike when you have heartburn. But this was different. The burning started to spread up through my throat to my ears. About 5 years earlier, I had developed peptic ulcers. However, through medications, which I still took, I had not had any serious problems since. At first, I thought I was just having an acid attack, but whenever I had those, it generally did not make me feel faint. This one did.

The teller at the bank noticed I was not feeling well and offered me a drink of water. I accepted and immediately upon drinking it, felt 100% better. When I returned to my office, I started to feel the pain slightly, so I got another drink and took some Mylanta©. After that, it seemed to go away.

I don’t remember the next time it hit, but happened a few more times over the next couple of years. Finally, after my daughter was born and having moved to Miami, I decided to see an internist. He gave me a complete physical and a GI endoscopy. After the exam, he said that he saw the scar tissue from the ulcers and strongly assumed that the pain I was experiencing was from that. He then prescribed Zantac©, which was a new product at the time. The doctor felt that the Zantac© should alleviate the symptoms, if not cure them all together.

He was wrong.

I should mention that in every one of my medical exams, when asked about my family history, I always mentioned that my maternal Grandmother died of a heart attack at the age of 67, but was grossly overweight and diabetic. So, at no time was I considered a “risk” for heart disease. My cholesterol levels were always normal to just above normal and my blood pressures averaged about 110-75.

I do not recall when I started noticing the increased frequency of the attacks. Every time it struck, it was a surprise. There did not seem to be a correlation with increased stress, different diet of changes in medications. Again, I would drink a glass of water and take an antacid. Sometimes one and sometimes two. I was convinced it was nothing more that my stomach and that I would just have to live with it.

In 1999, we moved back to Dallas, where I grew up. This time with a wife, Renee,  and four kids in tow. I decided a career shift was in order and I went to work for a dot.com. Throughout the years, my back became progressively worse. I had slipped a couple of discs playing roadie for a music band once and was hospitalized back in 1982. Although traction was prescribed and did seem to cure the problem, I should have opted for surgery. However, back in ’82, surgery on your back was not an optimal choice. At that time, back surgery was maybe 50% successful. So, I went through physical therapy time after time after time. Well, this reached a breaking point in Dallas (almost 20 years later), and I finally decided to have it operated on. The decision to have the surgery was a pretty easy one, since I couldn’t walk any longer. I had a dicectomy in September and then, after realizing it wasn’t enough, a full lower-back fusion.

There is a reason I am mentioning all of this. Before any major surgical procedure, it is necessary to have a complete physical to insure suitability for the surgery. One of the items supposedly checked is whether there is any family history of heart disease. My father had just died from cancer. He did suffer from high-blood pressure, but mine had been, and still was, normal.

The surgery was successful and after four months, I returned to work full time. However, the pains in my stomach were still there.

About six-eight months later, in the winter of 2000, I noticed that I hit a plateau in my recovery from back surgery. The exercises were still apart of my recovery, but the pain was not subsiding. In addition, I noticed that my fingers and toes were regularly sore, especially my thumbs. At times, my toes would feel as if they were crumbling. It was so uncomfortable that I had trouble sleeping at night. I was constantly messaging my knuckles and fingers. A friend told me that he suffered from Rheumatoid Arthritis and that it sounded to him as if I should be checked by a rheumatologist.  I had always had chronic “aches and pains”, even as a child, so I decided to go.

After spending about 10 minutes examining me, he asked about my family’s history, specifically if anyone had any rheumatic diseases. I told him my paternal Grandmother had Rheumatoid Arthritis and that my sister suffers from Sjogren's syndrome, a form of RA. Furthermore, my niece had Juvenile RA as well. Well, that’s all he needed to hear and determined that I had either classic RA or Ankylosing Spondylitis, an off-shoot of RA. He prescribed Plaquenil©, and Vioxx©. He said that the Vioxx© would work similar to ibuprophen, but the Plaquenil© would take about 4-6 months before you start to feel better.

About 3-4 months later, the pain I was feeling in my stomach began to increase tremendously. In addition, a new symptom began. I began having real discomfort right in the bottom of my chest, where my lungs meet. I was also having difficulty sleeping through the night. Since I knew I had arthritis, I was not concerned about the extra effort I seemed to exude to get through the day. So, I went back to the doctor. He told me that I should expect the pain to continue untilthe Plaquenil© kicked in and that as far as the pain in my chest, it is caused by a joint that is inflamed in the lower chest. For my sleeping problems, he prescribed Trazadone©.

A month or two later, I drove my daughter, Rachel, to Chicago and then I drove to New York alone. I went to look for a job, now that the tech bubble had burst. We were unhappy with the schooling - one of my children has special needs - were getting in Texas. About a week after I arrived, I went to a Mets game with my nephew and a few of his friends. It was a warm day and afterwards, we decided to go to a park in Long Beach and play softball. It had been awhile since I played any sport, so I agreed. It appeared the Plaquenil© had started to take effect and I was able to play 9 innings without any serious side effect. In fact, I was quite amazed at how well I felt. However, within a few days, the pain in my stomach returned. Two weeks later, after leaving my car by my sister, I flew back to Dallas and we moved to Brooklyn. I had not found a job yet, but was confident I would very shortly. Furthermore, we needed to enroll the kids in school as it was already near the end of August (2002).

We were offered to stay at a small one-bedroom apartment inside a larger house in the Boro Park neighborhood of Brooklyn, by a very sweet family. The owners used the room for a small nursery group that wouldn’t be starting until October. Since our intention was to be there for about a month, this worked out perfectly. Then the first of two tragedies struck…

On a Saturday afternoon, my children were playing in the living room when my then-8-year-old son decided to climb up on a glass table to get a toy for his little brother. Seconds later, the table split in two and sliced his stomach badly. I immediately called 9-1-1. My wife held him while trying to close up the wound, which was bleeding at an alarming rate. I have to give him credit, though. He didn’t seem overly scared and was being very brave. Then, a neighbor called Hatzolah, the Jewish ambulance service. Although she called them 4 minutes after I dialed 9-1-1, Hatzolah got there first. They took him to Maimonides Hospital and with my wife and I riding with him. Well, Thank G-d, he didn’t quite cut into the muscle, but his abdomen was less than an inchfrom being punctured and just needed 10 stitches. In fact, he was able to walk home, which was about 4 avenues and 10 blocks.

The problem for me was that I was having a hard time with the walk. I wasn’t in particularly good shape, but I had to stop at least once every block. I was just out of breath. This rather scared me, but when I got home, I started to feel better and put it aside.

Over the next week, nothing much changed. On Saturday night, August 31st, we celebrated my daughter’s 11th birthday and went out to a neighborhood pizza place for a late night dinner. It was only 4 blocks away. When we left, we started walking home. About two blocks later, Renee stopped, looked back and saw that I hadn’t even made it through the first block. After every 5-10 feet, I had to stop and rest. I couldn’t carry the bag of leftovers because my arms were so sore. I believe that was when she got scared. She told me that I needed to see a doctor.

I did start to notice that I was losing my temper frequently, but Renee had been telling me this for a year or so. I went to a job interview on Monday, September the 2nd (2002) and was offered a part-time job through a Jewish organization, that needed someone to take special needs children on outings. I thought it would be fun, since I have a special needs child myself. However, as I was sitting in their boardroom, watching a video about the program, I started to feel weak and anxious. It was as if I needed to get out of there. I excused myself and went out to the car. I called Renee and told her. She told me to go and see a doctor immediately.

Although I had taken out health insurance through COBRA, I was playing with fire. I had fallen a month behind on my premium and was hoping to find a job so I could avoid paying the $1000 a month. I knew I had three more weeks before they would cancel me and I was close to getting a job. I had already been hired by another organization as a full-time fundraiser, but unfortunately, the man who hired me did so under false pretenses. Apparently, the position he had given me, he had given to some else as well. Neither of us were aware of this as it was what he had planned all along. In addition, he had offered a salary and insurance as well (in writing – although the terms were “to be determined” before I was to start). Well, he lied about that as well. Since I wasn’t going to get insurance and was to be paid a commission AND had to compete for my pay, I walked.

So there I was, unemployed for the most part, in a new city, in an apartment that wasn’t ours and feeling stressed. Gee, I wonder where I ever had the notion I would ever have a heart attack?

The next day, Tuesday, Renee went out to visit a friend in Bensonhurst (yeah, I know, who has friends in Bensonhurst?). I was home with the kids, who were getting ready to start school, and I “lost it.” I don’t remember why I got angry (not remembering things will become a recurring issue from here on out), but I did. I became so out of control that I just walked out and left my daughter in charge. I didn’t go very far. I wasn’t going to leave them in any danger, so I just went outside and sat on the front steps, seething. I couldn’t control the way I was feeling. My personality is such that I usually get over things very quickly, but this time, I just couldn’t do it. I also noticed a new sensation in my chest. It was like a grabbing, pulling pain. It wasn’t very strong, but it still frightened me. I didn’t tell Renee because I felt she already considered me a hypochondriac, but I did tell her to come home right away. She was not happy with me. I didn’t blame her.

Renee told me she had had enough. She called around and found a doctor who would see me the next day. This calmed me down tremendously. The next day, Wednesday, I was feeling pretty good. I spent the day talking to people who I had interviewed with and I accepted an additional part-time job. At least we could afford to get our own apartment now. I figured I could sell my car (and keep the family van) and that would help us become somewhat financially stable. I was pretty excited about the job. It was nearby, where we wanted to live, and would start the next day. It was if the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders.

I went to see the doctor in his office in Boro Park, feeling pretty good. No pains and no other symptoms. He checked me out, did an EKG, and determined that I was not having a heart attack. However, he felt that I should go in for a stress test, the sooner the better. Not because of the EKG, but because of the symptoms. When I left his office, I started to get anxious again. I felt very lethargic and just wanted to sit in the car, in the heat. I had felt that way once before, in 1985, when I developed peptic ulcers and I was beginning to strongly believe that it was the case again. One of the reasons I felt that way was I remember sitting in my parents car, waiting for a mechanic to fix the air conditioning that had gone out, while driving to Florida. I recall feeling some chest pains and was comforted by the warm air.

I finally mustered the strength to drive home and lied down for a while. Again, I started to feel restless. Renee convinced me to go to the emergency room and find out what was wrong. She offered to take me, but we had no one to watch the kids. Plus, I was well enough to get home from the doctor, so I should be well enough to go the ER.

I remember being very concerned about finding adequate parking. Since I was in Brooklyn, and not in a civilized town, I drove around and found nothing. I then drove up to the ER area at Maimonides and told a security guard that I was sick and needed immediate care. He barely looked at me and said, “can’t park here – go to the garage”. Nice. Not wanting to get into a fight I drove around to the parking garage, which was a block or so away. I did not want to park there because I had only $4 on me and did not have a cash card. Parking is $3.50 for the first hour and $2.50 per hour afterwards. I wasn’t thinking straight due to my health and was fretting about not being to get my car out of the lot. It’s not like in a normal town, where they understand and make exceptions due to emergencies. Heck, I had never been to an emergency room where you had to pay to park!

Well, I decide the hell with it and parked. Maybe I would only be a short while. So, I walked the block or so and came to the front desk at the hospital and told a gum-chewing security guard that I was about to collapse. My breathing was labored and I had a vicious headache. I felt very weak. This piece crap security guard just grunted and pointed me to the ER, WHICH WAS AROUND THE BUILDING!  At least the first guard made eye contact! I informed him that I needed help, perhaps a wheelchair and was told, “We don’t have one, you’re going to have to go around to the ER." Apparently, he wasn’t allowed to leave his post (except to get a donut, I suppose). It wasn’t like it was terribly far, just one city block, but still, when you are on the verge of collapsing, it’s far.

Normally, it would take a minute or two to walk it, this time it took me almost 15 minutes to walk it. When I finally got there, what I saw blew me away. There had to be 500 people in the ER waiting for treatment. My first thought was, “how am I going to get out of here in time to get my car out?” I signed in and waited. Remember, I had no concern whatsoever that I had heart disease. After only about 5-10 minutes, a nice lady, who I assumed was a volunteer, came over to me and asked how I was feeling. The truth was, I was actually feeling a little better. I had sat down, drank some water and felt okay. She then suggested hat I go back home and if I get worse, call Hatzolah. “If it’s an emergency, they’ll get you in right away”, she said.

Now that I was feeling a little better, I felt that it would be foolish to stick around. So, I walked back to the garage and got my car. I made it to the exit and found out I had been there exactly 58 minutes. I paid the three bucks and drove home. I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was take a Vicodin© and go to bed. Renee was concerned, but since I was feeling better, she was fine.

I fell asleep pretty quickly and slept until about 5:30 in the morning. I’m not sure why I woke up, but I believe my son Elisha, who was almost four at the time woke me. I got up to get a drink and started to feel anxious again. Renee then got up and asked me if I was alright and I told her that maybe I should go back to the ER. She then called the ER for me and found that they were no longer busy. While I was sitting there, with Elisha on my lap, got the strange feeling that maybe I shouldn’t drive. I told Renee that I thought she should take me. So she got dressed and was about to go to the neighbors apartment, to ask if someone would be able to watch the kids. At that moment, I remember saying, “wait, maybe you should call Hatzolah." I stood up and went to the sink. The next thing I knew, I was throwing up. It was all fluid. I felt like I was drowning. I braced myself and, feeling very weak, almost flu-like, started to pass out. I remember going to one knee and then laying down on the floor. There was a towel there and I put me head on it. I recall Renee saying something like, “that’s a dirty towel, let me get you something better.” I could tell from her voice how scared she was. My daughter grabbed Elisha and immediately took him to the other room.

Then I blacked out.

Go to Chapter 2