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Observations of An Ex-Cop in La La Land |
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“No Thanks, Just Had One!”  "Wake up, Mr. Murcia. It's Nurse Roberta. I need to sit on your chest again and put pressure on your wound!" |
It struck without warning:
Sharp, steady and painful
of TheColumnists.com
Tuesday, November 18, 2003, was to be a normal day.
Do my exercise : Some stretching and light weight lifting ; finish
by walking two miles on the treadmill.
But after only a few minutes of walking I felt some "discomfort"
in my chest, so wisely I stopped. Heartburn, I thought. Maybe
something I ate? Soon as the discomfort subsided, I headed for
the shower and on to the grocery store. As I pushed my grocery
cart the chest discomfort came back. This time is was starting
to feel a little worse. I should have gone to the hospital right
then, if not sooner, but I didn't, and here's my feeble excuse.
I had recently added the weightlifting into my exercise regimen
so I logically thought that was causing my chest muscle discomfort.
By 2:30 a.m. the following morning, my chest felt like it had a giant elephant sitting right on the center of my breastbone. This was no pulled muscle. I got busy, I drove myself to the hospital, admittedly a dumb thing to do. Soon as I told the receptionist the magic words--"chest pains"--they had me on a gurney, hooked up to all their medical devices.
They did an EKG and the emergency room doctor said those words none of us want to hear, "You're having a heart attack/"
At first I was sure they
made a mistake, but in a split second I knew they must be right,
my chest was steadily hurting. As the doctor turned and started
issuing orders for my care, my hand instinctually went to the
doctor's jacket and turned him back to me. I said, "Doc,
I have an 11-year-old son. I have to live, man!"
The surprised Doctor said, "You came to the right place.
We have a terrific heart center here and we'll take care of you."
My mind started thinking of my wife and family. Somehow I just had to pull through this. Doc asked who my heart doctor was and I told him Dr. Jerome Hamburger. Thank God he knew him and didn't figure I was joking. In short minutes Dr. Hamburger (who lives close to the hospital) and a cardiac arrest team were in the emergency room with me. Dr. Hamburger issued a laundry list of procedures he wanted the cardiac team to gear up for, one of which was "open heart."
All I could imagine was a buzzsaw opening up my chest cavity! I asked the doctor if he intended on doing that to me and he said, "I'm going to do whatever it takes to save your life." I liked this guy, and I quickly placed my confidence in him. I had met him only once before about two years ago when I went in for a heart exam for a pulled chest muscle. He checked me out and sent me home then, but not this time.
As the cardiac team swiftly rolled me into surgery, I knew this was the big time. I saw all their gadgets as my skin felt the cold, hard slab which they expertly slid me onto. I knew either I make it here or I don't see my loved ones anymore. I'm a guy who has always been in control and here I was in their hands, hook line and sinker.
But I’m no tanker. I’ll fight to live and keep my eye on what they were doing to me. I said a quick prayer to my God just in case they put me out with some magical chemical, and it went something like this. "God, I've always been a good hearted guy, so I ask for your help now, please. I need to get Andrew Boy (my 11-year-old son) off the pad, on his way into life and I’d love to see his children. I have to take care of my wife, Ann, and daughter, Denise. I need to get a will made and I must get Ann’s business interests organized in such a manner that another manager could just step in and run it for her."
Then I said something I heard my Ann say when she won the Golden Globe award for “The Ann Jillian Story”: "(But know this, Lord,), “I’m always resigned to your will.”
As I lay there, stripped naked on that cold slab, I felt like a wounded warrior on the battlefield of life. Sure I was 62, but I always felt like 22. In war they say one never hears the bomb that kills them. Well, I never saw this heart attack coming either. My cholesterol was 190, my blood pressure was like a young man, (doctor told me), so where did this heart attack come from? Dr. Hamburger states from the time we’re born we can be forming blockage to our hearts. At least three factors apply: Our genes, nutrition, and exercise habits.
I could see the doctor
and the cardiac team in quick conferences, just out of my hearing,
as they readied their plan to save my life. Soon they had a see-through
plastic shield set up between my pelvic region and me. Their
TV monitors were on, the doctor makes a cut into my femoral artery,
blood spurts out onto me and the plastic shield. I'm really hoping
the Doc knows his stuff, or I could bleed to death!
They have my heart and all on TV and their tools are roaming
around inside me from my thigh to my chest cavity. They quickly
locate the main artery entering into my heart. It's 100 percent
blocked, says the Doc. In seconds they have their balloon in
place. They're going to open the artery by pressing the blockage
material to the walls and out of the way. They do it! They put
in a stent to hold it open. They're happy and they ask me how
I feel? In less than a minute, my big chest pain is about gone--but
Doc is still looking around and spots another artery that's 50
percent blocked.
I'm cheer leading now as
I yell, "Go get it, Doc. You're the man!"
But he says, "That's not the one that gave you the heart
attack."
We deal with that one later. I'm feeling much like I used to feel when I was a cop. After removing one gun from a suspect during a search, I’d keep searching, knowing he might have a second or more weapons left to take me out with. I'm almost disappointed that the Doctor didn't blast that 50 percent blockage, too. He later told me it had to do with "safety" and that I could live well with this one but we'll keep an eye on it.
I'm feeling so much better already that I'm saying to the Doc and the cardiac team, "Man, what a wonderful thing you people do--you saved my life!"
Yet I keep my eye on my
chest just to make sure there's no buzzsaw spinning on it as
in open-heart surgery. My eyes are searching around the surgery
suite as they call it now, looking for their big guns or in my
case their big saw blades. I'm feeling a little like I'm back
in control again. Pain is gone.
They're trying to stop my bleeding and having a hard time but
they somehow get it stopped. Dr. Hamburger is in my face. I look
up at him and--please forgive me, but my sense of humor is kicking
in now. I say, "Doc, Thank you! I like you, Pal. In fact,
I never met a 'Hamburger' I didn't like!" He's heard it
all before but it gave me a chuckle, as he topped me by saying;
"I see that," motioning to the TV screen that revealed
my blockage.
As they wheel me out of surgery and into my intensive care room, I'm greatly relieved, feeling like I was involved in a shoot out and was only wounded, but won! I'd get to see my son again as God heard my prayer and granted me more time.
I'm so happy to be alive
now and only half listening as the intensive care nurse (Roberta)
is explaining to me what's next. She's forty-something and a
real “plain jane” type. She's a California clean faced
Doll, wearing glasses. I just know she eats brown rice and must
hike a lot as she's slim and in shape. Her eyes attract me. They're
soft, deep, and hold some sadness and a lot of wonder. Her sensuous
mouth is moving, I see her well-shaped lips. They look soft.
That pain shot they gave me is working well. Her voice is so
nice, it has a mellow woman tone to it, my favorite. Her words
and heart are all for me I felt, as she is saying something about
making me "as comfortable" as she can, and, "I'm
here for you if you need anything."
I like this woman. She is a nurturer, I can tell she likes to
mother a man, I'm so glad she got in the profession of nursing.
All us men love to be mothered when ill, and I think these patient/nurse
relationships are as creditable as any love affair going, only
difference is there's no sex and they end upon release from hospital
or sooner if they hurt you. My Ann for example loves her oncologist
who saved her life from breast cancer in 1985.
My nurse goes on to tell me that in about an hour she will have to remove something from my wound that the doctor must leave in until later. I say, "Sure, whatever you want. You're the boss, babe." Her face is close to mine, I can smell her scent. My eyes take her in and I like all that I see. It's the quiet wee hours of the morning, I’m naked under the sheet and she's softly wiping my lips with a wet cloth. Roberta is now cleaning me every place where my blood landed. She's very tender, has a nice touch I thought. Roberta is such a nice name and I like how she cares for me. I mean listen, I need to make a friend fast in this joint, so I turn on the Murcia charm.
I see Roberta is liking it, too. Like an investigation when I was a cop, I'm “working” this case for all I can, as I need someone on the "inside" for informational sources. Every detective knows that he or she is only as good as their information. Roberta now has me clean and snugly covered with special warm blankets she got for me right out of the heat closet.
"Thank you, God,"
I say to myself. "I'm going to be okay."
I dozed off looking into Roberta's eyes as she softly brushed
my hair back. In my ear I heard the great standard, “Laura”
played on the tenor sax by Dexter Gordon. His verson is laggard
and sexy, and took me back to the wee hours of the morning in
my Chicago apartment. Ann and I returned home after dancing til
4 a.m. Ann’s snuggled warmly in my arms as we drift off
to sleep with our music playing low. I’m at peace with the
world.
Not sure how long I slept,
but Roberta wakes me and says it's time to take the sleeve out
of my wound. She says it will hurt as she has to apply direct
pressure right on my wound hard, in order to stop the bleeding
that will start after she pulls it out. I’m receiving blood
thinner medication in my IV and I'm also taking aspirins, which
thin the blood, so the bleeding is going to be hard to stop.
Roberta wants to give me something for the pain. I whisper; "Nah,
I trust you babe, I’ll take it cold turkey, go for it!"
She asks me what I do for a living, I tell her I’m a retired
Chicago policesergeant. She’s duly impressed. Most nurses
like us cops, we’re almost associates, you see. Well, had
I known what she was going to do to me, I not only would have
taken her pain shot, but more. I would have demanded heroin mixed
with crack and a Hollywood party dose of cocaine!
Roberta got the "sleeve" out of me and immediately she was straddling my leg at my pelvic area as she applied “direct pressure.” I've done direct pressure to gun shot wounds and saved lives as a cop, but I never used the power that Roberta used on me! Our conversation went like this;
Me: (whimpering) "Oh God! That hurts, stop babe!"
Roberta: "I need 20 minutes, you got to give it to me!"
Me: "I won't last 20 minutes. I'll be dead. Get off me!"
Roberta: "You can do it, come on; you're a tough Chicago Cop. Just 15 more minutes is all I need!"
Me: "Please, babe, get off me. Settle for five, okay, please?"
Roberta: "No, I'm sorry. I know you'll hate me tomorrow when you see the bruise marks, but I need to do it to make you all better! Keep breathing!"
Me: "Oh God no! I'll feel better now if you will just get off me now!"
Our eyes meet, mine have
tears in them from the pain she's giving me but I notice her
eyes are now looking like CHARLIE MANSON’S eyes! My mind
is racing, did I figure this woman wrong? Is she really a nurse?
Why are we alone like this? Shouldn't she have another nurse
with her for a procedure like this? What if Ann should walk into
the room? What would she think is going on here? This just looks
bad!
I try to pump Roberta off me using my pelvis, but she ain't moving
and she's sternly ordering me to, "STOP! Lay still, do not
move, or else we start all over again!" I must comply, but
I'm trying to see where the "patient help button” is,
or what object is within my reach that I can whack her with if
need be! This woman might be the wife of some stick up guy I
sent to prison years ago, and she's getting her revenge on me!
I'm about to pass out. This lousy babe is pressing my bones so
hard it surely has hit a nerve and the pain shoots to my brain
just as Roberta yells, "YES! "YES!" "YES!"
“You did it!” She dismounts from me like "Willie
The Shoe" after losing the Derby! Her face is flushed red
and so close to my nude pelvis/thigh areas now that I'm wishing
maybe I should have subscribed to one of those computer pop up
ad's! She's full of kindly apologies for hurting me. Her voice
is sweet again just like before, and so, of course I accept her
apology. But I keep my eye on her.
I've known some tough chicks in my 62 years, but this is one vicious doll! I'm sure that brown rice and those 20-mile hikes up “Mount Whoopee” have kept her in great shape. I look at Roberta with new eyes now: Weaker sex? My ass! She hurt me! While I'm not one to make excuses for being on the losing end of anything, when I'm all better, I'd like at least a two out of three fall match with "Roberta, The Killer Nurse,” just to redeem myself! We're through, baby; this love affair is over, I thought to myself. Gone from my ear is “Laura” and in it now is “Linkin Park” the very angry metal band groove!
Several days later, I received a great report from Dr. Hamburger: The echocardiogram revealed that I had not suffered any permanent damage to my heart. It was time for me to go home. There was only one truly bad nurse here and he was supposed to be a man, but disappointed everyone. (I'll save that story for another column).
Seriously, I know Roberta did what she had to do to stop my bleeding and I'm forever grateful to her, yet I never want to see her again!
I'm home now, Ann and son Andrew are taking excellent care of me. My daughter Denise and my big sister, Cookie , call daily to cheer me.
As for my recovery, I can't wait to get on the hospital's monitored exercise program and to regain my health completely. I'm a bit weak but I'm getting stronger with each new day. I thank God for more life, and I promise to be an even better person to everyone I meet, including my Editor here at Columnists.com and all the other writer associates.
As a cop, I had to always look for what the bad people would do. I nicknamed myself "Mr. Justice" even after retiring from police work, because I always took time to correct anything wrong that I witnessed. It was time consuming, made a lot of folks angry at me, and I suspect it was a large part of why I got this heart attack.
So, folks, "Mr. Justice" died with my heart attack, but Andy Murcia lived. I’m more than willing to let someone else clean up the “wrongs” of the world. As my best friend Bob once said; “I'm looking to see only the good in all people and things”.
I just want to enjoy life with Ann as we watch our son Andrew Boy develop his. I'm very grateful to God and all his helpers, for whatever more time I was given to live. I thank Dr. Hamburger, the cardiac team, nurse “Roberta,” my family and friends, but especially my wife Ann. I’m forever grateful to her as she stands in those prescription lines for me, reads all the medicine small print, but mostly for never letting me down.
To me, the worst thing
that anyone could ever die from would be from a “broken
heart.” It's my wife who will never let me die from that.
She's been in my corner (and me in hers) since day one. Thanks
“homegirl.” I love you.
©2003 by Andy Murcia. The caricature of Andy Murcia is ©2003
by Jim Hummel. The cartoon is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection,
1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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