I almost died on 10 Feb. As part of code.org, I was a guest speaker for two classes at Academy of the Holy Names in Tampa. As I presented my life story during the first class, I noticed that I was sweating profusely. Flop sweat? I never had flop sweat, but this was epic. I pulled a Kleenex from my pocket and wiped my brow. Soon, my chest felt tight - like when you have a burp that just won't go away. Except I couldn't burp, not even discretely. Breathing became an effort. Then my hands became like ice and the tips had the numb "pins and needles" feeling. The backs of my arms were aching with every expression I waived. I had trouble focusing on the students, but I attributed it to mars on my glasses. Eventually, the first class ended and I excused myself to the bathroom. I tried to burp, but nothing happened. I tried to pass gas, but that didn't help, either. The tightness in my chest felt like someone was behind me tightening a belt across my chest. Is this a heart attack, I wondered.
I addressed the second class for an hour, but the sweat, arm pains, numbness, and chest pain became a bit much. I was having trouble reeling in my sentences so my thoughts were not so rambling. I asked the class to show me what they had been working on. Soon, I tasted a metallic disgusting taste in my mouth. After fifteen minutes, I excused myself and went to my car. I unbuttoned my crisp white shirt once I was in the car and started it up, cranking the air conditioning to high.
I drove down Bayshore and made the right onto Gandy with the full intent of returning to work, as I had promised my boss. As I waited for a light at Manhattan, I realized that I needed to get home. I was very sick and I needed my wife to help me. So, the lights went my way and I crossed Gandy Bridge, then made the left that took me home. Along the way, I called my wife, because I was unsure what to do, and if she wasn't home, I might be in even bigger trouble. "I'm really sick and I'm coming home," I spoke into the receiver.
Wendy, my wife, asked, "you sound urpy... are you urpy?"
"I'm really sick."
"Then come home," Wendy said ending the call.
I pulled into the driveway and gathered my items. I had a rough time, but I managed to get out of the car and open the screen door. Wendy was standing at the edge of the kitchen as I came in. By her description, I was ashen and bent forward. My shirt was unbuttoned like someone trying to get air and my T-Shirt was soaked. She took the items from my hand and sat me on the chair where I normally remove my shoes. Wendy asked, "do you have chest pains?"
"Yes."
"Trouble breathing?"
"Yes. My hands are ice and numb on the edges. There's a taste in my mouth that is rancid."
"Want help taking off your shoes?"
I replied, "We won't be here that long."
Wendy exclaimed, "Let's go!"
We went back to the car I had just left, me in the passenger seat this time while Wendy sat in the driver's seat. And drive she did - beeping at some idiot that was doing 5 in a 25, then turning down MLK. It was a little bouncy and jerky, but I was trying to maintain focus on something. Between Wendy's "are you with me" pings, I asked her if we were heading to the hospital.
"Yes," she said. I began thumbing an email to my boss, Joe Mcclung:
Subject: Scheider sick
Body: Heading to hospital now... more later.
I touched Send. I needed a new point of focus, and as luck would have it, we were nearing the hospital. Wendy made the right on 5th Ave, then the right into St. Anthony's Hospital campus. She pulled up behind a van in the circle in front of the entrance. "Wait here. Open the door, but don't get out," Wendy stated.
I nodded affirmation and opened the door, briefly enjoying the breeze.
Wendy departed the car and entered the emergency entrance, spotting two nurses. "My husband's having chest pains. Can you get him?" One nurse grabbed a wheel chair and they both followed Wendy out. After clearing the van ahead of our car, I saw them. I could see that they were trying to figure out how to get me out of the car.
"I can get in the chair," I stated and I did so. The two of them helped with the foot rests and off we went - to the reception desk. The woman behind the desk asked me a couple of questions that I couldn't decipher. Wendy appeared to my left and began responding for me. The nurse tending my wheel chair said that I had chest pains, and they settled on a triage ER room. And off I go.
In the ER room, one gentleman was hooking up EKG probes to me while others asked hosts of questions. Wendy came in after a couple of minutes. The EKG ran for all of 5 seconds, and the tech tore it off, showing it to the leader, who immediately took it to the doctor. Next, the leader looked me square in the eyes and said, "Sir, you are having a heart attack. We are going to transfer you to another room where a team will help you. Can you get in this chair again?"
"Yes, I can" and I did. The distance to the next room was short, but there was no shortage of people. On arrival and transfer to a gurney:
"Has anyone given him aspirin?"
"Giving him aspirin." and it continued, being fed pills, starting an IV line, dosing morphine and other IV drugs. At one point I seceded my wedding ring to Wendy. I kept my eyes fixed on my wife, though I noticed one individual that was passive in the room, and his shirt had "EMT Trainee" stitched above the right pocket. My daughter is pursuing a career as an EMT, so the young man symbolized her and I felt that the family was here.
Before I realized it, we were moving again, this time to the Cath Lab. I can't recall the path, I was fighting to keep my vision. Then, we stopped. I heard a woman's voice whisper "last kiss." Another nurse told Wendy that this was where she could wait, and that she could give me a "quick kiss." She leaned down and kissed me and we both whispered "I love you!"
It was too brief, that last kiss. I vowed to ensure that was not the last kiss. I had to fight. When we entered the Cath Lab, the doctor and a nurse were tending to the equipment near the spot where I would lie. The doc came and explained that the procedure had risks, providing some examples, and finally saying: "do you wish to proceed with this procedure?"
"Yes. Please help me."
Then two lady nurses slid a piece of plastic under me rolling me to facilitate the process. With one tug, I was in place. A couple rolls to remove the plastic, and I could here the anestesiologist ask "How much do you weigh?"
"Two ninety," I replied.
There were numerous conversations between the occupants of the Cath Lab, few that made any sense to me. One involved shaving me, which felt odd. I was alerted when I heard, "Mr. Scheider, this will pinch." And it did. They checked the seal and I reminisced about my time working in a QA lab for CR Bard. But I needed to focus. I needed to fight. I heard the doctor state that something looked odd, but that he would come back to it. Then he found the blockage.
When flow was restored, the tightness in my chest eased dramatically. I sighed. The doctor asked if I had pains in my chest.
"Not my chest, but my arms still hurt."
The doctor continued to check the remaining arteries, and then returned to the odd one.
"I'm going to do it, too. It's too unusual. It may have been the cause of the other blockage."
I was feeling better. My chest pain was gone. I still had trouble getting air, but it was better.
"Mr. Scheider, we're closing. You will feel a hard pinch." I realized that they were done.
"Thanks for saving my butt!" And I meant every word of it.
They transferred me to the gurney again and wheeled me out, next stop, CVICU. I was transferred from the gurney to a bed, which was very comfortable. I made it. I freakin' made it! I was asked if I would accept visitors and I replied, "yes. Bring in anyone waiting out there!" I felt wonderful. My hands were still icy, and my breathing wasn't deep enough, but I felt great. My wife entered the room and I teared up and said, "I love you, baby," as we hugged and smooched.
I later learned that I had no damage to my heart, after inspection by ultrasound.
I am a very, very, lucky man.
