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Beige hospital socks are all the rage!

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I believe it was about a decade ago when I first heard the phrase, “ If you’re not living on the edge, then you’re taking up too much space.” I’ve always thought it was an appropriate saying for how I’ve lived my life, or how my life lived me, and perhaps after reading this…you’ll agree.

I had a pleasant Thanksgiving with family, cooking for my crew of four at my home in Ely. In addition to the holiday, the weekend brought two performances of Root Beer Lady, The Musical, performed at Vermilion Community College Theater. Audiences greatly appreciated the show; we received kudos for bringing it to life and got plenty of ideas on expanding the story to be performed at the renovated Ely State Theater. My role as the narrator went quite smoothly. I didn’t mess up lines, miss entrances or screw up my solo, to the degree that anyone aside from me noticed.  I was pleased with my work. I packed away my music and script on Sunday night following a great cast party. Monday I had the day to myself and I started cleaning house in preparation for a visit from my brother who would be arriving later in the week from Maryville, Missouri. After a bit of TV, late dinner and some conversation with my four cats, Vinnie, Ms Kitty, Colby and Gus, I headed up to bed.

At 1 a.m. I awoke to my right arm aching and I had a tight feeling in my chest. Strange deal, I thought. Reminded me of starting a jogging program years prior and that winded feeling a person gets but then recovers from quickly. Mine didn’t go away, but it didn’t get worse either. I didn’t sleep much all night as I sat in my Lazy Girl recliner reading online, creeping myself out with information about heart attacks and such, trying to figure out what my issue might be. I even took some TUMS, thinking it was heartburn. Around noon on Tuesday I decided to head up to the hospital emergency room. Something sensible inside my head was urging me to just GO! 

Bill and I got to the emergency room and all I had to utter were the words, “chest pain,” and the nurses were off! The staff was quick to act with blood work, monitors, an EKG and a bit of nitro. The doctor soon returned and told me I was going to Duluth. An enzyme, troponin, was elevated in my blood, signaling heart attack concerns. They don’t dilly-dally when it’s a heart case and said I’d be flying down instead of going by ambulance. There was some freezing rain on the radar so instead of the helicopter taking me, I’d be going down in the Life Link III’s new Pilatus jet, capable of flying 328 mph in adverse weather. I thought they were fussing too much but was over-ridden by medical wisdom.  They called the jet and paramedic crew up from Blaine to meet us at the Ely airport. I was feeling “sketched out” about flying in possible freezing rain and was quietly reasoning with myself. They soon had me trundled onto a stretcher and lifted into the ambulance headed for the Ely airport. My son, Bill and a couple others had wished me well at the hospital and were headed to Duluth by automobile.

We waited at the airport for about ten minutes for the jet to arrive. The nitro I’d been given had eased my chest tension and arm pain. The EMTs and flight paramedics quickly got me into a cocoon-like canvas wrap that reminded me too much of a body bag. I was strapped in and lifted from the ambulance onto another stretcher. Some drops of rain plunked onto my face as I stared up at the heavy gray clouds while going from ambulance to jet. Once inside, I was feeling restless leg syndrome and an itch here and there but couldn’t move my arms, knees or anything. In no time at all we were ready to take off. I studied the ceiling, counting some rivets, wondering how much freezing rain we’d encounter, conjuring images of the plane going down in some peat swamp, hatch door flopping open and Ms. Scarlet rolling out in my cocoon body bag. Unable to free my arms enough to help myself I’d no doubt suffocate in a pile of rotting leaves or something. I told myself I was thankful for humor but was getting carried away. They loosened my straps a bit so I was able to reach over and hold the paramedic’s hand. I needed some human contact. He smiled and squeezed my hand, happy to comfort. Within thirty minutes we were at the Duluth airport and not long afterwards I found myself in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit of St. Mary’s Hospital. As they rolled me down the hall I was greeted by Bill and a close friend. Their concerned, kind expressions reminded me of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz when she awakens and the comforting farm hands are there beside her.

 Not long after, a cardiologist and the nurses said the results of my EKG from Ely looked like I’d had a small heart attack. I was feeling quite fragile, like life had caught up to me. I’d never been a smoker, had low cholesterol, but figured the stress of a life “lived on the edge,” high blood pressure and carrying too much “muffin top “ were the culprits. I didn’t get emotional, figuring I’d had a great life and recalled being in the jet hours prior and the conclusions I’d come to while strapped in the body bag! I hadn’t  held back any sentiments from loved ones; I had a clean slate on making apologies to those who were owed them and felt alright about my choices. 

Over the next several hours more tests took place, another EKG, heart cath, and echocardiogram. About mid-afternoon Wednesday, a female cardiologist came into my room having seen the results of my heart cath and announced to me with a wonderful smiling face, “You didn’t have a heart attack, in fact you have the arteries of an eighteen- year-old, clean as a whistle!” I stared at her, stunned, and immediately began feeling superb, almost hearing the beginning strains of the theme from “Rocky” in surround-sound from all corners of the room. What a flip that was! So then if not an attack, what was it? When we were kids our grandmother would occasionally have what was referred to by the adults in my family as a “spell.” Some nebulous affliction that had no official diagnosis. So maybe now on approach to my golden years,  I’d simply had a spell. In reality, the cardiologists think it may have been the result of a virus and have ordered an MRI to be done to check a few more things. Another procedure for me, but so far I have come out of the situation landing perhaps “on the edge” but still on both feet. 

I was in the hospital for two days. On Thursday after a delicious hospital lunch, they were comfortable to give me the boot from St. Mary’s.  I’d seen my share of needles, tubes and hospital gowns! The next crisis was that Bill and our friend had returned home with my Jeep and my shoes. Fortunately, my brother had detoured to Duluth to collect me on his way north so he pulled up right to the hospital door and loaded me up. With my beige hospital gripper-socks on, he delivered me to a favorite shoe store and I ventured in….laughing all the way as we joked, “She’ll do anything for new shoes!”

I’m extremely grateful for my life…sometimes lived on the edge... grateful for family, friends, kind and competent medical people, health insurance, and once again, my sense of humor. In closing, I’ll share a quote;

“It stands to reason that anyone who learns to live well will die well. The skills are the same: being present in the moment, and humble, and brave, and keeping a sense of humor.” 

Victoria Moran

Ms. Scarlet can be reached at scarlet@frontiernet.net