"Daddy, I wish snow was warm," said Oliver, echoing the sentiments of millions of Americans who experienced the same storm system we just had.
We had a blizzard dump about 18 inches (45 centimeters) of snow over everything. Oliver is our youngest child and he's spent half of his life (the half that he remembers) in Papua New Guinea where it's hot, humid, and snow is the last thing on anyone's mind. Because of this, Oliver thinks anything under 70 degrees is unacceptable. Snow is downright unsurvivable. In his opinion, at least.
I've been enjoying it even though I had to shovel all the snow off of the sidewalks, cars, and the street (since we have street parking). Shoveling snow is a lot of work, which is why blizzards are popular times to have heart attacks. In fact, I've had several people text me and express concern about my heart. "How is your heart?" they ask, like they're checking in on their elderly neighbor. It seems like a nice thing to do, if not a bit strange, especially because I'm not elderly. But give me a few minutes and I'll explain.
Maybe a year ago I took a trip to a clinic in the capital of Papua New Guinea, Port Moresby, because I was having some heart palpitations. It wasn't anything new, I was having them off and on for a few years before that. But they were getting more frequent so I wanted to get checked out. They gave me some prescriptions but no answers. Since then I've found things that help reduce them and I thought I had the issue largely under control. Then around 2 am one morning I rolled over in bed and suddenly my heart started beating funny. Usually I'll feel a couple skipped beats and then it goes back to normal. This time my heart was out of rhythm for forty five minutes, which wasn't normal at all. We have a hospital just a few blocks from our house and Janice and I started discussing going to the Emergency Room, even though that five minute trip would cost more than buying plane tickets for our entire family to Papua New Guinea, three times over. But as it turns out, I'm willing to pay a lot of money to not be dead. Also, in the past every time I went to the doctor to get my heart checked out, my heart would act perfectly normal, putting its hand in its pockets and whistling nonchalantly as the doctor fiddled with his stethoscope. So I thought maybe it was a good chance to catch the rascal in the act and maybe get some answers as to what is going on.
Janice drove me to the hospital around 3 am and dropped me off at the ER entrance, waiting to see that I got inside and talked to somebody before she drove off, just to make sure I didn't keel over halfway to the entrance without anyone knowing I was there. Then she drove home because we had left four sleeping kids alone in the house.
As I signed myself into the hospital I felt a little lightheaded and started feeling kind of panicky, as one does when they feel like they're on the verge of a heart attack. They got me into a room and as I sat down on the bed my heart rate increased to 190 beats per minute. My chest felt numb and full of pressure at the same time. In my head I was checking off symptoms of a heart attack. This did little to calm me down. They jammed an IV into each arm and began hanging bags from hooks. The ER doctor was on the phone talking to someone in a hushed tone, which I didn't find that reassuring. If I can't fix an airplane, I usually call someone else for advice. I felt the doctor was doing the same thing.
"Ok," he told me, "all of our ICU beds are full so we may transfer you to Canton.”
If I woke up in heaven, at least it wouldn't cost me anything. But if they transferred me to Canton, well... that definitely would. I managed to get my phone out and text Janice, telling her she better come back. I was feeling like I could pass out and if they shipped me off somewhere, she should be there so she knows where I got shipped.
As I was lying there, I remembered the time when I had blood drawn and I was on the verge of fainting so the doctor told me to just keep talking so I wouldn't pass out. It had seemed to help. So I gave it a shot this time. I began giving the nurse a play-by-play on my symptoms. It took a lot of concentration just to form words.
"Ooo. My chest is quivering," I said. That sounds kind of like a Valentine's card, if you take it out of context.
"Ooo. Now my lips are puckering." I said, which also sounds like a Valentine's card. But I wasn't doing it voluntarily. For some reason my facial muscles were puckering my lips without my consent.
"You don't have to tell me everything that is happening," the nurse said.
I kept narrating anyway. As readers may know by now, I typically process trauma out loud.
"On second thought," the nurse said after a few minutes,"talking seems to be calming you down. Keep talking.”
And so I did. Within fifteen minutes I had talked my heart rate down. I'm sure the medicine helped too. As my heart rate slowed, my heart went back into rhythm on its own, just like that! That old rascal. No one mentioned ICU beds again, or transferring me to Canton. In fact, once my heart was back in rhythm, I felt completely normal, except for being a little tired.
"That's because your heart just ran a marathon," the nurse said. They wheeled me to a room and gave me a TV remote. "Just lay down and rest.”
Finally, someone had told me to do something that I actually wanted to do.
Bu it didn't last too long. I spent the rest of the day getting passed around to various lab techs who all performed their own experiments on my person. I felt like a lab rat. I even got injected with radioactive isotopes.
"Now," the lab tech said, as he got a syringe out of a lead lined box and filled it with some radioactive goo, "This is completely harmless. However, you'll be radioactive for a few days so it's important to stay away from children. Don't hold your baby for at least 24 hours." Yea, it seemed completely harmless to me.
There I was in a bed with a TV and the doctor's orders to not have children around. People were praying for me, which I really appreciated, but Janice deserved more sympathy than myself. She was up all night and now had to babysit all day while her husband sat in the hospital by himself, slept, and watched TV. And people even had the audacity to pity him!
As I toured the hospital on a wheelchair, I couldn't help but marvel at how nice the hospital was. And it's not even that nice - by American standards, at least. But compared to the hospital in Papua New Guinea (which we had visited once a week for the last two years) our little local hospital is an opulent, even excessive display of comfort and efficiency. I had my own room with a toilet that flushed. It was even stocked with toilet paper - I didn't need to bring my own! As I laid in bed I looked up at the ceiling and marveled that all the lightbulbs were on. I fiddled with the buttons on the bed and marveled that they all worked. I marveled that I pushed a button and nurse actually came to check on me. I marveled how easy it was to talk to everyone. They all knew my language! I was likely the most oddly grateful patient that they had in a while.
Later that day the doctor came to see me. All the tests came back OK. I didn't have a heart attack. My heart showed no signs of trauma. There were no signs of blood clots. Everything was fine. Mechanically my heart was sound. There was just a slight electrical issue. Which also could have been said about the Hindenburg, so I guess I shouldn't discount it. The only thing they found wrong with me was that I had a potassium deficiency, which can cause heart palpitations. They slapped a heart monitor on my chest with instructions to wear it for a month, then kicked me out on the street.
After the month of heart monitoring was done, we drove up to Canton to have a follow up visit with the cardiologist. I brought Janice with me because inevitably I'll have a meeting with a doctor, then go home and tell Janice what the doctor told me, only to find out the doctor was wrong. It's far more efficient to bring Janice along so she can tell the doctor he's not saying the right things and leave me out of it. We couldn't help but feel a little out of place in a waiting room filled with elderly people in various states of disrepair. One guy was even on a stretcher. I renewed my commitment to a healthy lifestyle as my name was called and we walked into the exam room. The results of the monitoring were very positive, with my results far below any concerning level. The most likely culprit, according to the doctors, is sleep apnea, which apparently I have. This can be fixed with a CPAP machine, or, as my dad calls it, a "shnoofer." So it looks like I'll be dragging some extra equipment back to Papua New Guinea with me. It sure beats having a heart attack.
We saw God work in the details: From getting a babysitter at 3 am, to having two of our supporters being medical doctors and donating their time and experience, to people reaching out and telling us they're praying for us at the times we needed it most, to having pizza arrive for dinner.
So here we are. How does this impact our return to Papua New Guinea and our second term fixing floatplanes with Samaritan Aviation?
We're planning on going back, armed with a better understanding of what my body needs to function properly on a hot, tropical island.
Until we leave, I'll be studying to get my Inspection Authorization (another rating on my FAA Mechanic Certificate) and I'll be working on a project that's been in the works for several years: a children's book! It's a story about a queen who refuses to do anything but knit and how the lords and ladies are too scared to tell her to stop, the issues that come from having a queen who doesn't do her job, and then finally how she snaps out of it and turns things around. It sounds riveting, right? Janice learned to knit a few years ago and inspired me to write the story. I have only a few pictures to draw yet and then hopefully you'll be hearing more about it.
Thanks so much for praying for our family. Until next time!
Josh
