Article for February, 2007

Excerpt from Lady in the Red Dress: A personal story of a woman with heart disease

By Lois Trader

On a Wednesday I told my doctor that my right hand had been numb for about a month. He agreed that it sounded like carpal tunnel syndrome and referred me to an orthopedist. But he also suggested having an electrocardiogram (EKG) before I left his office. An EKG takes longer to set up than to actually perform, so by the time I buttoned my shirt I heard the nurse tell the doctor the results were abnormal. He scheduled two additional heart tests: a 24-hour Holter monitor and an echocardiography.

Upon hearing that my EKG was abnormal, I didn't jump with joy, but I figured it was a result of my having rushed there from work without eating breakfast or lunch. No big deal. I told the nurse that I'd be back on Friday to get hooked up to the 24-hour Holter monitor. That way I could wear it over the weekend in the privacy of my own home. Returning to work with what looks like a transistor radio attached to a fanny pack just didn't work for me.

Plus, let's face it; I didn't take the time to let that abnormal EKG reading sink into my over productive mind. Could it be something serious? Nah. No way.

That night we had a business meeting and dinner planned. While waiting my turn to speak, I became really anxious; I started biting my nails to the bone and couldn't calm myself down. I thought a piece of chocolate cake would help. I never eat cake, I thought, so it would do the trick. It didn't. When I got home that night, I stayed up talking to my youngest daughter a little later than normal. I remember telling her that my heart hurt.

The next day I stayed home from work. I couldn't say exactly why—just that I felt extra sensitive and couldn't imagine being around a lot of people. The same thing happened on Friday—highly unusual for me. I had left my laptop open at work with unfinished spreadsheets neatly displayed, and I had left personal letters, without stamps, waiting to be mailed. Again, not like me.

After a short trip to the store, I could no longer dismiss the feelings of radiating pain—heartbeats of pain. My chest felt heavy. It felt like a pair of really big hands was squeezing my chest, like an elephant's enormous feet were pressing outward on my chest. My husband arrived home at 8:30 p.m., and before he got comfortable I told him, "This might sound weird, but I think I need to go to the hospital. My chest and back are really bothering me."

We chose the small community hospital down the street rather than the large hospital a few miles away. No big deal—it was just for our peace of mind. As it turned out, though, it was a big deal. Later that evening the kind ER doctor administered nitroglycerin and said, "I'm glad you're here." With tears squeezing out of the corners of my eyes, I looked at my husband and asked, "What in the world is happening to me?"

The standard blood tests they take at such times as this show only if you've had a heart attack, not (and this is important) if the heart attack is actually in progress. About an hour or so later, the blood tests showed that I had not had a heart attack. We tried to relax. As a precaution, they kept me overnight in the hospital and arranged for a cardiologist to see me the next day, Saturday. That morning he visited my room, and again I was told, "You're young and a woman. I think it's probably acid reflux, and women have abnormal EKG's. Let's schedule a stress/echo test this week. Since it's the weekend, you'll feel better at home."

Okay, here's another secret. I didn't believe for one minute that I had acid reflux. I've had acid reflux and been on the "purple pill"; it wasn't the same feeling at all. But did I say anything? No. Women have abnormal EKG's? That's news to me—especially with my personal health history. But it's easy to feel stupid when someone in a position of authority is telling you something you know is wrong, and I felt stupid. I'm writing this so you won't be stupid.

On Sunday my daughter and I went to have our nails done. While watching the polish being applied, I thought to myself, "I'm probably having the worst acid reflux I've ever had." My back hurt about 10 times worse than it had on Friday night, and I felt lightheaded. I asked my daughter to drive me to the "big hospital."

In the emergency room, we had to play musical chairs with all the other people and their children. "I'm out of here," I said finally. "This is dumb. I'm not staying. I'm fine." My daughter said, "Mom, please tell the lady at the desk you're having a heart attack! Why is that so difficult?" I casually walked up to the apathetic woman behind the desk and said, "My chest is really hurting, and I'm a little anxious about waiting too long." With great lethargy she assured me when the nurse finished with her current patient they'd call my name. Yippee. Back to musical chairs.

The next hour brought EKG's and blood tests, all ordered by a comforting young female physician. She did not tell me, "You're young and a woman." She asked about all my symptoms, my family history, and what had happened on Friday night at the emergency room at the other hospital. She also said there was no good reason why my EKG's should have been abnormal. This "abnormal" EKG made my third one.

As hospital protocol would have it, though, another doctor had to see me also. He started ugly and got worse.

"You're young and a woman," he said in most patronizing bedside manner. "Did you think of taking Pepsin? Women have abnormal EKG's." Wait; get this, it got worse. He continued, "If I had to bet my last nickel, I'd put it on your stomach. And I disagree with my colleague. You shouldn't stay overnight."

My husband and I actually heard him arguing with the first doctor. So, over great reluctance on the part of "Dr. You've Got Ingestion," I stayed in the hospital that night. I was assured that I'd be home by noon the next day, right after the stress test. And make no mistake: His assurance was arrogance that he was right and I was wrong.

Monday afternoon, after another half dozen "young and a woman" comments, the cardiac nurse assigned to me told me that I'd be staying another night. My stress test showed some "finding." Tuesday morning, the cardiologist stopped by briefly to inform me, again, that women have abnormal EKG's and that he didn't think the "finding" amounted to much. He scheduled an angiogram for the next day, Wednesday.

Now the stress test, it turns out, is only 85% accurate, but the angiogram is 100% accurate. And my angiogram couldn't be scheduled for Tuesday because the cardiologist was busy with other patients. Oh boy—another day in the hospital, knowing that my chest pain was relieved only by the nitroglycerin patches, which I had worn since Friday.

Finally, after an eternity of Dr. Phil and reality TV, Wednesday arrived. Time for the angiogram. I knew a tube would be inserted into my groin and jimmied all the way up into my heart. We would all see on the monitors what was really happening inside the heart of this "young woman." Except this "young woman" was shaking so intensely that they administered more sedation and I missed my big show on the monitor. But I do remember being whisked through hallways I hadn't seen before and taken to a very private room, where two nurses attached me up to every machine known to mankind. By golly, finally I'd made it to intensive care! Suddenly I had become a very important "young woman."

The next day I signed papers for Open Heart Surgery or another Angiography with stent deployment. My life was forever changed that day, the day I was told I had coronary artery disease, premature heart disease. I inherited this disease from my father, whose first major coronary was at 37 years of age. He also died young, when I was married with three baby girls under six.

My mission is to send a warning to women that they do not have to become one of the 500,000 women that die each year of heart disease. We must make ourselves our number one cause, and as with me, be given another chance at life. With organizations like womenshealth.gov, we can help women learn how to control or prevent heart disease.

The rest of my story is written in my book: Lady in the Red Dress: A Personal Story of a Woman with a Heart Disease. More information is available at http://loistrader.com.

Current as of February 2007