My Unfortunate Infarction P1
I had a heart attack, literally.
The Large Print
For February, I’m illustrating and writing a four-part story about the heart attack I had a few years back (I figure it’s appropriate since Feb is Heart Awarenesss Month). This is a humorous retelling of the events that led up to “the big one.” A lot of people—especially men—ask me what the signs and symptoms were. I tried to document as much as I could in this story, but feel free to ask any questions in the comments.
I also want to point out that watching the current political events unfold since the new administration + 1 private citizen have taken over, I am not in a great place and just as rattled as many of you are.
I don’t have any words of comfort, but I do take comfort in the fact that we’re here together.
Spams, Scams, and Hot Damns!
A few years back, I got an email that I thought was clearly a joke and/or spam.
Before I responded, I double- and triple-checked to make sure it wasn’t yet another NFT Bro Scammer Crypto Shitbag trying to buy my art as something akin to a virtual Beanie Baby.
I looked up this “producer’s” name on the Sony Animation website, and there he was—a legit guy working for a legit company, and I’d legit get to work for Genndy Tartakovsky and Scott Wills.
I was beside myself—jumping up and down and a little teary-eyed at the same time. So I did what anyone would do: I rushed to Instagram to brag to the world that I was hired to work on a FULL-LENGTH FEATURE ANIMATION MOVIE, ALL HAND-DRAWN.
It was—and still is—one of the core memories I’ll take with me to my grave (though I’ve requested to be cremated and my ashes scattered across the Walmart parking lot, so I can haunt the patrons of WallyWorld).
“This will not happen.” – Heather, Editor, Wife, Fact-Checker, Queen-Bee
I texted Heather. I texted Mom and Dad. I texted everyone because I, Thig, was finally going to get to do what I’ve always wanted: to work for a major studio under the direction of two people I’d idolized since the ’90s.
I had so much nervous energy that I couldn’t settle down, so I hopped on my bike to burn it off.
Sweat, Speed, and Sudden Signs
I’m no stranger to biking. In fact, in the past, I’ve been a wee bit obsessive with it: mountain bike races, triathlons, racing from Canada to Mexico back and forth across the Continental Divide, 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons (I never got up to running a full marathon), and the two-hour vinyasa yoga practice I did daily for years.
I guess you could say I was a little into fitness (and damn, I still wish I had that body I worked so hard for—I went from a six-pack to a personal keg).
So, to kill the nervous energy that accompanied my excitement, I hopped on my bike to do a high-intensity ride. You know, the kind of exercise where your breath sounds like a violin in a Rachmaninoff symphony—where you’re wheezing and heaving and almost unable to speak.
The Lowdown on “Runner’s High”
I used to like heavy exercise like that… until Heather introduced me to the lavish and luxurious lifestyle of gravity-based exercise: couch sitting, sleeping, napping, eating ice cream, and dozing off.
If lethargy were an Olympic sport, Heather would be a three-time gold medalist. That girl knows how to rest. Basically, I married a sloth. (And I’m okay with that.)
But today, I wanted to burn off my excitement, so I pushed myself hard on that ride. When I got home, I collapsed into bed, sweaty and riding that sweet runner’s high.
That’s when my cat Sable showed up.
Pussy Pressure
Anytime I lay down, I’m immediately accosted by Sable, my feline landmass. She doesn’t sit on my chest—she occupies it, like a heavily armed invader securing new territory. If I ever go missing, check beneath her first.
She once slipped on the stairs and started rolling like a boulder chasing Harrison Ford. When we had that freak freeze in Austin, we wrapped up in her fat flaps like a Taun-Taun to keep warm. (And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.)
Read more about Sable here:
Usually, I love it when Sable sits on my chest and purrs. But this day, I figured she must’ve eaten two or three smashburgers because she felt extra heavy.
Or so I thought.
I shooed her off me… and yet, the weight didn’t go away.
Strange, Familiar Pain
Years ago, in a mountain bike race, I cracked my collarbone. Then, in another race, I cracked the other one. I’m smart like that. Without a shirt on (which I always keep on, because my moobs bring all the women to the backyard—to point and laugh), I look like a mix of Lurch from The Munsters and a Thriller zombie.
When the weather changes, my collarbones ache. Sometimes, that ache spreads to my arms. Barometric pressure change is an absolute bitch like that.
But today, there was no weather change. And my left shoulder was hurting.
And even though Sable was off my chest, it still felt like she was there.
I sat up. The pain got worse. So bad, in fact, that I vomited. That was weird. I’ve never had that problem before.
I texted my physician, Dr. Wife:
Me: “I did a bike ride on the trainer and my shoulder is killing me now.”
Her: “Take some Motrin.”
I didn’t mention the vomiting or the chest pressure, so she thought I’d just aggravated my collarbone.
The pain didn’t stop. The vomiting didn’t stop.
I took the Motrin. It did jack shit.
Sweaty Sheets and Cardiac Beats
Heather came home, expecting me to be bouncing off the walls about my Sony Animation news. Instead, she found me sprawled in a sweat-stained bed, looking like a rejected extra from The Walking Dead.
I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the hot water would help ease the paroxysms of pain in my shoulder. For a second, it did. But the moment I stepped out, it came back, and the phantom weight on my chest got worse.
I walked out and said, “Heather, my arm is still killing me, and now it feels like the cat is sitting on my chest. And I vomited.”
Heather—my Doctor Wife—snapped into diagnostic mode. And slowly, we started putting two and two together.
Left shoulder pain.
Nausea and vomiting.
Chest heaviness.
Almost 50. Borderline high cholesterol. Borderline high blood pressure.
… Maybe this wasn’t bursitis.
Heather looked at me, then at the vomit, then back at me.
“So… wanna go to the hospital now, or do you wanna wait until we’re splitting funeral costs with your life insurance?”
Heart Attack Awareness Tips
First of all, don’t smoke, lungs weren’t developed for that sweet nicotine hit. (Smoking is an independent risk factor for heart attack- Wife)
Do some kinda moving around during the day that gets your heart rate going.
Go to your doctor and get checked out, especially if you have risk factors like high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, family history, etc.
Buy a blood pressure cuff from the Big Box Pharmacies. They are cheap. Monitor your blood pressure and heart rate often to get a baseline, then if you’re feeling “off” you can check it against your baseline and whatever your doctor says it should be. (Normal BP 120/80, HR 60-100 but ideally closer to 60-80. -Wife)
Try living in an alternate reality where Kamala is president
If you are feeling chest pains or pressure coupled with left arm pain…don’t panic but do get your ass to an ER, tell them you want your EKG checked and bloodwork done (that was the telltale sign for me).
If you’re wondering, the arm pain can be excruciating and can bring you to tears. (Or you can have no pain, so watch yourself- Wife)
A heart attack can be (in my situation) a lot more subtle than you think it is.
Healthy people can have a heart attack, too. Me being one of them, so wipe that smug grin off your face.
It’s hard to tell the difference between panic attacks and heart attacks, and I had to have ongoing reassurance from my Cardiologist after a normal repeat heart cath, months of cardiac rehab without a recurrence, and counseling for PTSD before I started to get a handle on it. Even now, I have to use a blood pressure cuff and wife to reassure me about which is which. (I have no idea, I’m not a heart cath. -Wife)
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I’m glad I’m reading this with the biggest spoiler alert of them all (you lived!) because dang that sounds scary. I am reassured to know that in every house there is a cat ready to help in emergencies.
I will definitely be living in the alternative reality where Kamala is president 😄 I'm so sorry you went through this! I cannot imagine how scary this must have been. Hope you're on the mend!🩵 Great drawings in this post too!