“The scare” as I now run for me
I’ve been very blessed to have a relatively healthy 40 years thus far, free of major health concerns. It one of the main reasons I run - to run for others who can’t run for themselves, so that no one “needs” to run for cancer. No one would have to face their own mortality in that fashion. But like I said, I never had direct perspective on what facing mortality felt like.
That was until December 21st, 2017... the day I was without a doubt the most scared I'd ever been in my life. It ended up being an all-too-common case of a hypertension attack I'm happy to say... but the path towards that diagnosis was frightening.
The day actually started out reasonably normal. My car was in the shop so I had my wife drop me off for a session with my executive coach. It was a great session and I felt great as my wife and I headed off to lunch with friends. Lunch was full of fun and banter and I made a few calls regarding some work we’re having done at the home. It had been a fairly busy day, and my body was looking for a five minute cat nap - unusual for me, but I didn’t think too much of it then. We got home just before 3, with a few hours before we needed to pick up the kids from day care.
About an hour after we got home, that’s when it all started.
I started to have pains in my chest, like someone laying a significant weight on them. At first, I thought it was indigestion from lunch - took some Tums and waited for it to go away. But as we got in the car to get the kids, it wasn’t going away. I was still able to function - even wished the teacher a Merry Christmas on our way to pick up food for dinner. But the pain was getting worse - and spreading to different parts of my body, especially the back of my head. As we got back to the house, I knew something was seriously wrong. I pulled Kham (my wife) aside and said I needed to go to the hospital.
We’re very fortunate that we live only a mile from the hospital, and I was still functioning to the point I was able to walk from the car into the emergency room on my own. To the staff there at first, they were confused why I was standing there - there was nothing visibly wrong with me. When I told them what I was experiencing, they instantly put me in a wheelchair and took me back to the ER.
That’s when, as the initial equipment was being hooked up, I saw a set of numbers I had never seen before: 180/110. My blood pressure was beyond high.
The staff set me up for an EKG, and after two attempts, the doctor spoke to me in a very calm, collected manner. The EKG has detected the possibility of a heart abnormality. She advised me that they would have to run through a series of tests to rule a series of very serious - and potentially fatal - conditions out, or if confirmed to act on it immediately. She said at the very least I should be admitted for an overnight stay for observation.
With everything agreed, my family was allowed back to see me. My son and daughter didn’t really understand what was happening - just that daddy was in the hospital. Kham, as she listened to the doctor, knew much more was at stake. She was worried, and I was petrified. Could this be it? Is this the last I would be able to see my wife and kids? I wasn’t ready for all this, and a wave of fear swept over my body. I had to have faith in everyone - and everything - around me because I was not in control.
One by one, as the night wore on, a serious ailment was eliminated from consideration. Death of the heart - no. Aorta rupture - no. Pulmonary - no. Eventually enough scenarios had been eliminated that I could be treated with aspirin and other medications and moved into the main hospital for observation.
It was nearly midnight when I was admitted. That night was one of the longest of my life. I kept being woken up by hospital staff for vital measurements and drawing blood. The times that I was alone I couldn’t sleep - I was nervous beyond belief. My pain was starting to return, but they couldn’t treat me as I had a cardiovascular test in the morning which required me to be as untreated as possible. And thru it all, there was Kham at my side telling me I needed to fight this, and to never scare her like this again.
The next morning, I was sent down for what’s called a stress test. Essentially, they do a sonogram of all four chambers of your heart, and then they put you on a treadmill at steadily increasing speeds and inclines. They were looking to see if I couldn’t take it, but my marathon training was kicking in: I never got to a pace or incline I couldn’t handle. After 15 minutes, they stopped the tests and did an immediate sonogram of my heart, looking to see if any chamber looked different from at rest. If it did, surgery was going to be required...
None did.
With all the most serious conditions eliminated, I now became one of the millions of people who must take care of themselves through diet, exercise, and medications such as lipitor and aspirin. The changes I’ve made in my diet - less salt, lower cholesterol, no alcohol - are necessary steps as I fight this condition. And I’ve picked up my running as well, as I begin to prepare for Boston. My doctor said that I'm doing the right things to "fix me", and she has every confidence that I will.
My story is not that unique, but it provided me the perspective on how powerless a life threatening condition can make you feel, and how grateful I am that I can work to treat myself. And while I’ve never been diagnosed with cancer, I now have perspective in terms of fighting an enemy within your body you can’t see. Those who I run for do not have always that luxury because cancer may not allow it, nor can they necessarily help themselves directly. This is why I run to end cancer -- so that no one has to stare down mortality as a result of it. We all deserve to live long, enjoyable lives free from pain, and cancer just does not belong in the world we all aspire towards.
This entire experience brought me back to many images I have of my mom, and how she could go out and around time for brief moments and look “normal” to all the world, but at night, all that she had to do to “fight” was very apparent. She would tell me to "fight" this. And so, in her memory and spirit, I will fight. For myself. For all who I love, particularly my wife and kids. For all those I run for against a disease that's far less forgiving that what I'm going thru. And to ensure others don’t have to fight for themselves. The road ahead for me is still scary, but I go forward with hope and a stronger sense of purpose.
And to my "opponents" in this fight, three words -- bring it on.
That was until December 21st, 2017... the day I was without a doubt the most scared I'd ever been in my life. It ended up being an all-too-common case of a hypertension attack I'm happy to say... but the path towards that diagnosis was frightening.
The day actually started out reasonably normal. My car was in the shop so I had my wife drop me off for a session with my executive coach. It was a great session and I felt great as my wife and I headed off to lunch with friends. Lunch was full of fun and banter and I made a few calls regarding some work we’re having done at the home. It had been a fairly busy day, and my body was looking for a five minute cat nap - unusual for me, but I didn’t think too much of it then. We got home just before 3, with a few hours before we needed to pick up the kids from day care.
About an hour after we got home, that’s when it all started.
I started to have pains in my chest, like someone laying a significant weight on them. At first, I thought it was indigestion from lunch - took some Tums and waited for it to go away. But as we got in the car to get the kids, it wasn’t going away. I was still able to function - even wished the teacher a Merry Christmas on our way to pick up food for dinner. But the pain was getting worse - and spreading to different parts of my body, especially the back of my head. As we got back to the house, I knew something was seriously wrong. I pulled Kham (my wife) aside and said I needed to go to the hospital.
We’re very fortunate that we live only a mile from the hospital, and I was still functioning to the point I was able to walk from the car into the emergency room on my own. To the staff there at first, they were confused why I was standing there - there was nothing visibly wrong with me. When I told them what I was experiencing, they instantly put me in a wheelchair and took me back to the ER.
That’s when, as the initial equipment was being hooked up, I saw a set of numbers I had never seen before: 180/110. My blood pressure was beyond high.
The staff set me up for an EKG, and after two attempts, the doctor spoke to me in a very calm, collected manner. The EKG has detected the possibility of a heart abnormality. She advised me that they would have to run through a series of tests to rule a series of very serious - and potentially fatal - conditions out, or if confirmed to act on it immediately. She said at the very least I should be admitted for an overnight stay for observation.
With everything agreed, my family was allowed back to see me. My son and daughter didn’t really understand what was happening - just that daddy was in the hospital. Kham, as she listened to the doctor, knew much more was at stake. She was worried, and I was petrified. Could this be it? Is this the last I would be able to see my wife and kids? I wasn’t ready for all this, and a wave of fear swept over my body. I had to have faith in everyone - and everything - around me because I was not in control.
One by one, as the night wore on, a serious ailment was eliminated from consideration. Death of the heart - no. Aorta rupture - no. Pulmonary - no. Eventually enough scenarios had been eliminated that I could be treated with aspirin and other medications and moved into the main hospital for observation.
It was nearly midnight when I was admitted. That night was one of the longest of my life. I kept being woken up by hospital staff for vital measurements and drawing blood. The times that I was alone I couldn’t sleep - I was nervous beyond belief. My pain was starting to return, but they couldn’t treat me as I had a cardiovascular test in the morning which required me to be as untreated as possible. And thru it all, there was Kham at my side telling me I needed to fight this, and to never scare her like this again.
The next morning, I was sent down for what’s called a stress test. Essentially, they do a sonogram of all four chambers of your heart, and then they put you on a treadmill at steadily increasing speeds and inclines. They were looking to see if I couldn’t take it, but my marathon training was kicking in: I never got to a pace or incline I couldn’t handle. After 15 minutes, they stopped the tests and did an immediate sonogram of my heart, looking to see if any chamber looked different from at rest. If it did, surgery was going to be required...
None did.
With all the most serious conditions eliminated, I now became one of the millions of people who must take care of themselves through diet, exercise, and medications such as lipitor and aspirin. The changes I’ve made in my diet - less salt, lower cholesterol, no alcohol - are necessary steps as I fight this condition. And I’ve picked up my running as well, as I begin to prepare for Boston. My doctor said that I'm doing the right things to "fix me", and she has every confidence that I will.
My story is not that unique, but it provided me the perspective on how powerless a life threatening condition can make you feel, and how grateful I am that I can work to treat myself. And while I’ve never been diagnosed with cancer, I now have perspective in terms of fighting an enemy within your body you can’t see. Those who I run for do not have always that luxury because cancer may not allow it, nor can they necessarily help themselves directly. This is why I run to end cancer -- so that no one has to stare down mortality as a result of it. We all deserve to live long, enjoyable lives free from pain, and cancer just does not belong in the world we all aspire towards.
This entire experience brought me back to many images I have of my mom, and how she could go out and around time for brief moments and look “normal” to all the world, but at night, all that she had to do to “fight” was very apparent. She would tell me to "fight" this. And so, in her memory and spirit, I will fight. For myself. For all who I love, particularly my wife and kids. For all those I run for against a disease that's far less forgiving that what I'm going thru. And to ensure others don’t have to fight for themselves. The road ahead for me is still scary, but I go forward with hope and a stronger sense of purpose.
And to my "opponents" in this fight, three words -- bring it on.
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