7 Ways a Mid-Life Heart Attack Changed Me
I was going to come up with 10 ways, but then got stressed about it. So I settled on 7.
No, I didn't write a bucket list.
No, I didn't hug all my loved ones.
No, I didn't swear off fast food. I'd already done that.
Okay, okay, I'll stop being snarky. I'll tell you how it changed me.
But first, let me tell you what happened and how I was not the guy you'd expect to have a heart attack in mid-life.
I was fit. I could move around the racquetball court like a 30-year-old. I watched my diet. Okay, I’ll admit, I did enjoy the occasional fry, but rarely (Are fries with a dollop of ketchup made in heaven?). My BMI was normal. No family history.
The infarction happened at 4:30 in the morning before a business trip. I woke up feeling pressure on the inside of my biceps. I raised my arms in bed and shook them like a swimmer does when he warms up. I thought it would get the blood flowing. But it didn't help.
I shook my arms again on my drive to the airport. Then again during the flight to Des Moines. No relief.
It wasn't until that night, after I'd checked into the hotel and made it only five steps on a Stair Master, that I knew something serious had happened. I dragged myself to my hotel room, plopped face first onto the disgusting bed cover, and was out cold before I knew it. When I woke at midnight, crawled under the covers, stared at the ceiling, I knew this feeling was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Something was wrong. I just never thought of a heart attack.
Over the next three weeks, cardiologists poked and prodded, ran me on a treadmill, and were universally shocked that a 48-year-old, 155 pound, 5'9", racquetball playing, fast-food-avoiding, whole-food-eating, no-history-of-heart-disease guy was sitting in their office. The diagnosis was still uncertain.
My last cardiology visit was with a 55-year-old doctor. He looked at my chart, looked at me, and said, "You can drive to the hospital or I'm calling an ambulance. Either way, you are going straight there. You, my man, have had a heart attack."
I stared at him. Not in shock and not in relief. I stared at him with resignation. I’d had a heart attack at my young age. Wow.
Half hour later I was in the ER and the interventional cardiologist asked, "So, tell me about your stress level?"
"Well, I don't know. Normal, I guess. No more than the average Joe."
He smiled, rolled his stainless-steel stool closer to me, and asked me about my life. I'd just begun a new career at age 45 in a never-before-tried position. I would be a non-technical person selling a highly technical product. The learning curve was as steep as the Matterhorn and the doubters were gathered like vultures. A few years before this, I’d served in the ministry for 15 years and weathered a family crisis and a worldwide church crisis. And at the time, two of my sons were struggling with opioid addiction.
"Seriously?" He smirked at me. "You think that's as much as the average Joe?"
I shrugged, "Well, true, I just don't know what it's like to be in someone else's brain."
"Let me put it this way," he said, "You're lucky you're sitting in front of a cardiologist and not a coroner."
Then he placed two stents in my heart, one of them in the 95%-blocked 'widow-maker'.
Weeks later I asked him, "Why me? Of all the guys you know, why did I have a heart attack?"
He grimaced. "You're not gonna like what I'm gonna say."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Ken, sometimes we just don't know why. Some things just happen. I'm as befuddled as you are."
So that's it?...I thought as I drove home. That's what I'm left with? No rationale. No connecting of dots.
For the next few weeks I was really discouraged. I googled everything I could about heart attacks. No new insight. I abused my privileges at my local Barnes and Noble and still no fresh perspective.
Then one day I stumbled on a heart-health book that included testimonials of survivors in the last half of the book. There were all the expected stories about the overweight men, workaholics, and couch potatoes. I could relate to none of them.
Then I started reading a story about a man whose kids struggled with drugs, who argued with his wife on how to handle them, who poured himself into his work, and who saw his anger sometimes explode when he played sports. He described the pressure he felt, how he would carry it in his stomach, and how his whole body would tingle from stress. As I read his story, a wave of resonance came over me. Could that be it? Could stress have led to my attack?
Over the next few weeks, I studied my reactions to things with this new awareness. At the end of a Grey's Anatomy episode, I broke down weeping. Not just tears. But tears-streaming-down-the-cheek weeping.
A few days later my wife and I got into an argument and when she left to drive to her job, I sat in my office, tingling with, well, what I realized was stress.
Then one night on the tennis court I was playing more like Jimmy Buffet than Jimmy Conners and anger was burning within me. After one too many missed shots, I hurled my racket at the fence so hard that it shattered. I stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the mangled racquet, my body on fire, and I knew I had a problem. I was too tightly wound.
I realized that anger, stress, and bottled emotions were likely the cause of my heart attack. It was a life-changing moment.
That was 16 years ago.
So, how did it change me?
I learned to listen to my body. In my twenties I could tell my body what to do. In my forties I had to listen to what it was telling me. Now I notice things. Now I recognize that pit in my stomach or that full body tingle.
I learned to be ruthless with stress. I'm like Maverick in the cockpit during a dog fight, spinning my head every which way, frantically looking for any sign that I'm letting emotions or concerns overwhelm me. If I see myself moving into that space, I'll journal feverishly, talk it out with my wife or a friend, go on a hike, head out to Carpinteria beach, or pet my dog so hard he'll think I'm angry with him.
I learned to let the emotions flow. No more bottling. If I want to cry, I'll cry. Even during a TV show. Even during a song. Even while watching IG Reels.
I learned to be more accepting of my sons and others and myself and of life itself.
I learned to be less ambitious for ambition's sake.
I learned humility. I was humbled. I learned how thin that line is between life and the hereafter.
I learned my 27 favorite words. Yes, there is a 27-word saying that has become my mantra. You've heard it and sneered at its corniness. But it’s just so true and helpful to me.
Are you ready for it?
Drum roll please…
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage the change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Very helpful coping advice. Thank you. So sorry you had to learn the hard way.
That is my go too saying as well. I do say it a lot.