My husband and I were on the hotel bed, I snuggled into his arms as we listened to the music and the occasional voice of the emcee that drifted up to our floor. It was New Year eve and we could hear the revelers having a good time at the poolside area.
We hadn’t gone anywhere since the time we checked into the hotel. Dinner was ordered through room service. Right after dinner, I received a call from my brother who informed me that my customer had died suddenly of a heart attack. If I were the superstitious type I would have thought it was a bad omen. We simply couldn’t believe the sudden demise of someone who had appeared to be healthy.
We just wanted to hole ourselves up in the room and held onto each other with a feeling of anxiety. We didn’t talk about his pending operation even though we were dreading it. It was hard on my part to keep quiet about things that I would like to talk about. However, I kept up the pretence that everything was normal. So we spent a quiet evening in the room. And down by the poolside the emcee was into another game with the revelers. This time it was for the revelers to get the stuff he announced over the microphone.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0...it was the countdown to the New Year. The revelers welcomed the New Year boisterously. In contrast, we tried to sleep and were determined to keep out the worries so as not to sleep fitfully.
After breakfast, we checked into the hospital. My husband went through a series of check-ups before he was given green light to undergo the operation the next day.
During visiting hours, a stream of well-wishers consisted of relatives and friends who came to visit. My late friend was one of them. I’ll always remember her cheerfulness in the face of adversity. At that time I didn’t know she’d had only a few more months to live. She was stricken with cancer, the second time around. It was an inoperable liver cancer.
In the evening, the surgeon dropped by to check on my husband. We had to believe that he would do a good job. It would have been very comforting to believe that.
Next morning, my husband was administered anesthetics by the anesthetist. Shortly, he was wheeled into the operation room. Three of his friends turned up but my husband was already knocked out by the anesthetics to realize their presence.
I was all alone in the waiting room. The waiting seemed to take ages. It could have been a few minutes but I wasn’t checking. Then a woman came into the room. We just exchanged smiles. I wasn’t in a sociable mood.
Even though I kept to myself, I couldn’t help being aware of the goings-on in the waiting room. Right after the arrival of the woman, she was followed by a relative and then shortly by her husband and her son.
The coming and going of people who were all centered round this family. I’d gathered by bits and pieces of their conversations that it was the couple’s elder son who was hospitalized. He was in a coma. I suspected that he was suffering from meningitis, the bacterial kind.
Church members turned up to give them moral support. I was startled by the sudden chanting of hallelujah. I silently prayed that the boy unbeknownst to me would regain his consciousness.
The mother was highly excited when she returned from spending time with her son. She called her family doctor to inform him that she saw her son’s eye twitch. The doctor responded by coming personally to the hospital. The mother took the doctor to see her son. A while later she returned with disappointment. It was a false alarm.
It must have been hours as I watched the touching drama unfolded before my eyes. I really felt for the family in their helplessness. Yet when the husband and wife had moments to themselves, they offered words of comfort when I told them my husband was undergoing coronary bypass surgery.
“What, you put away the school bag somewhere else! I want you to put it back on the same spot right now.” The mother was so agitated on the phone.
The mother must have felt if the school bag was removed from its normal place, the only constancy would have been gone. Apart from the faith in their son’s doctor, all they had were prayers and miracle. She didn’t need bad omen.
The phone in the waiting room rang. It was a call for me to inform me that the operation was over.
Heart Problems from a Wife's Point of View
posted by Colourful Jade at 9:48 AM
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Coronary bypass surgery or bomoh's treatment
By the time my husband’s siblings knew about his health problem, they were not surprised. High blood pressure, diabetes, heart attacks and stroke have been their family history.
When my husband was six years old, his dad died of heart attack. Few years ago, his oldest brother died of stroke. Last year, another brother died of heart attack.
Before his passing, he wasn’t well for a few months. Just a month before he collapsed in his house, my husband advised him to see the cardiologist. He told his brother he would accompany him to the hospital but his brother refused.
On the day he collapsed, he was eating an orange when he keeled over. His eldest son, who sat the nearest to him, managed to catch hold of him.
When he was rushed to the hospital, his heart was given cardioversion which is an electric shock to the heart to stop ventricular fibrillation but he died without regaining consciousness.
Two other brothers died of diabetes-related diseases. His cousins on both his father’s and mother’s side are having the same medical problems. Some had even passed on, either of stroke or heart attack.
The only thing was that none of these people had undergone coronary surgery at the time my husband was supposed to undergo his in the very near future.
It was a hard decision to make as coronary bypass surgery isn’t risk-free, during the coronary bypass surgery; segments of healthy blood vessels are transplanted to the heart to carry blood around the areas of blockage. Some grafts are made with veins, usually taken from the legs or portions of the mammary artery in the chest wall. Up to 7 or even 8 bypass grafts may be done in a single operation.
My husband’s coronary angiography showed marked blockages in three arteries. His coronary disease was severe enough to have the operation in a month’s time.
My husband’s sister suggested that my husband should try alternative treatment. Her idea was to ask her brother to give bomoh (witch doctor) a try. We decided to give it a try. This was the first time we went to the bomoh so we had no expectation.
This bomoh lived in a big and comfortable house. During the small talk, my sister-in-law, my husband and I learned that his children and their spouses were highly educated. There were photographs of graduates that hung on the wall.
Finally, it was time for the bomoh to do his stuff. I can’t remember much except that the bomoh was reading some verses, two bottles of water, limes...
The bomoh told us that my husband must put his full trust in him. During the treatment my husband must not seek medical treatment from any doctor. He assured and reassured us that he would be able to cure my husband.
That was a tall order especially when my husband was a walking time-bomb who would have exploded anytime. My husband and I weren’t brave enough to play Russian roulette with his heart disease. We dared not risk a heart attack, it could be fatal.
So we took home the two bottles of water, one was for drinking and the other together with the limes was for bathing. My husband was told to recite some verses before he drank and bathed. We saw no harm in administering his instruction. But we didn’t go back to see him.
When my husband was six years old, his dad died of heart attack. Few years ago, his oldest brother died of stroke. Last year, another brother died of heart attack.
Before his passing, he wasn’t well for a few months. Just a month before he collapsed in his house, my husband advised him to see the cardiologist. He told his brother he would accompany him to the hospital but his brother refused.
On the day he collapsed, he was eating an orange when he keeled over. His eldest son, who sat the nearest to him, managed to catch hold of him.
When he was rushed to the hospital, his heart was given cardioversion which is an electric shock to the heart to stop ventricular fibrillation but he died without regaining consciousness.
Two other brothers died of diabetes-related diseases. His cousins on both his father’s and mother’s side are having the same medical problems. Some had even passed on, either of stroke or heart attack.
The only thing was that none of these people had undergone coronary surgery at the time my husband was supposed to undergo his in the very near future.
It was a hard decision to make as coronary bypass surgery isn’t risk-free, during the coronary bypass surgery; segments of healthy blood vessels are transplanted to the heart to carry blood around the areas of blockage. Some grafts are made with veins, usually taken from the legs or portions of the mammary artery in the chest wall. Up to 7 or even 8 bypass grafts may be done in a single operation.
My husband’s coronary angiography showed marked blockages in three arteries. His coronary disease was severe enough to have the operation in a month’s time.
My husband’s sister suggested that my husband should try alternative treatment. Her idea was to ask her brother to give bomoh (witch doctor) a try. We decided to give it a try. This was the first time we went to the bomoh so we had no expectation.
This bomoh lived in a big and comfortable house. During the small talk, my sister-in-law, my husband and I learned that his children and their spouses were highly educated. There were photographs of graduates that hung on the wall.
Finally, it was time for the bomoh to do his stuff. I can’t remember much except that the bomoh was reading some verses, two bottles of water, limes...
The bomoh told us that my husband must put his full trust in him. During the treatment my husband must not seek medical treatment from any doctor. He assured and reassured us that he would be able to cure my husband.
That was a tall order especially when my husband was a walking time-bomb who would have exploded anytime. My husband and I weren’t brave enough to play Russian roulette with his heart disease. We dared not risk a heart attack, it could be fatal.
So we took home the two bottles of water, one was for drinking and the other together with the limes was for bathing. My husband was told to recite some verses before he drank and bathed. We saw no harm in administering his instruction. But we didn’t go back to see him.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
A closet smoker
Before we left the hospital, we went to meet the surgeon who would operate on him. The surgeon wanted to know about my husband’s family history. He was told that high blood pressure, diabetes, heart disease and stroke are no stranger to the patient’s family.
High blood pressure, if uncontrolled, can lead to stroke, a heart attack or kidney failure. Diabetes tends to run in families. Diabetes-related diseases are synonymous with those of high blood pressure. My husband, with his fondness for rich, fatty food, must be a good candidate for a heart attack or a stroke that is waiting to happen.
In my presence, the good surgeon posed him a question. “Are you a smoker?” my husband hesitated before he answered. I was just as eager to know.
When I met my husband, he was smoking 30 sticks a day. By the time I agreed to marry him, he understood that either he had to stop his habit or I would join him and smoke ourselves silly.
He decided to stop. For years I had believed it was all my doing that he stopped smoking. Wow, he gave up smoking for me. It is a good reminiscence that love can be such a powerful stuff.
Many months ago, I’d had my suspicion that my husband had started smoking again. My brother did alert me to the possibility. Perhaps, it takes a smoker to catch a smoker.
I smelled his shirt, t-shirt and his mouth. He was always chewing gums or sucking sweets. When I found a used packet of cigarettes in his glove compartment, he told me his golfer friend left it behind. If he was guilty, he covered his track very well.
Back in the surgeon’s room, honesty won over. It would be stupid to lie to his doctor when his heart was at stake. He had been smoking for over a year, stressed by his job, and practically surrounded by smokers who offered cigarettes to him before they lit theirs. Somehow, his will-power was worn down and after the first puff, there was no holding back.
He had been smoking 10 sticks a day. In normal circumstances, I would have been furious but it wasn’t normal and he might be dying.
I had often told him what things were bad for him, and he listened but not hearing. If he had ever thought about the things I’d said, he just never thought it would happen to him.
High blood pressure, if uncontrolled, can lead to stroke, a heart attack or kidney failure. Diabetes tends to run in families. Diabetes-related diseases are synonymous with those of high blood pressure. My husband, with his fondness for rich, fatty food, must be a good candidate for a heart attack or a stroke that is waiting to happen.
In my presence, the good surgeon posed him a question. “Are you a smoker?” my husband hesitated before he answered. I was just as eager to know.
When I met my husband, he was smoking 30 sticks a day. By the time I agreed to marry him, he understood that either he had to stop his habit or I would join him and smoke ourselves silly.
He decided to stop. For years I had believed it was all my doing that he stopped smoking. Wow, he gave up smoking for me. It is a good reminiscence that love can be such a powerful stuff.
Many months ago, I’d had my suspicion that my husband had started smoking again. My brother did alert me to the possibility. Perhaps, it takes a smoker to catch a smoker.
I smelled his shirt, t-shirt and his mouth. He was always chewing gums or sucking sweets. When I found a used packet of cigarettes in his glove compartment, he told me his golfer friend left it behind. If he was guilty, he covered his track very well.
Back in the surgeon’s room, honesty won over. It would be stupid to lie to his doctor when his heart was at stake. He had been smoking for over a year, stressed by his job, and practically surrounded by smokers who offered cigarettes to him before they lit theirs. Somehow, his will-power was worn down and after the first puff, there was no holding back.
He had been smoking 10 sticks a day. In normal circumstances, I would have been furious but it wasn’t normal and he might be dying.
I had often told him what things were bad for him, and he listened but not hearing. If he had ever thought about the things I’d said, he just never thought it would happen to him.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Part 2: Fatty plague happened
His friend insisted that my husband should go immediately to the hospital. I wanted to close my shop and take him to the hospital. The stubborn man said he could manage to drive himself there.
By the time I rushed home with my 2 youngest kids I was a nervous wreck. My husband was already at home.
He was wearing a white patch on his chest. He was allowed to leave the hospital. I was so terrified and started to cry. I was crying in his arms. It was the first and last time I broke down. I promised myself that I would be a pillar of strength for him.
I read up medical books about heart problems. Armed with little knowledge I had learnt from my reading I was too afraid. I also checked up on cancers.
The next morning he flew off to KL alone and then checked himself into the hospital.
The next 2 days he went through some tests. After he did the treadmill stress test, the findings were more conclusive.
My husband called me and wanted me to be there when he had this meeting with the cardiologist.
I made all the arrangements for my shop to open as usual, someone to pick up the children on school days, and a relative to look after my kids. I was terrified inside but pretended everything was all right in front of my older kids.
My husband and I held hands tightly. We were sitting in front of the cardiologist and listening to his explanation about the procedure of an angiogram, a special X-ray study of arteries, to determine how many arteries are blocked.
In the afternoon, my husband was wheeled into the room where the angiogram was performed. I waited and waited as the time dragged by. My husband’s good friend was with me when my husband was wheeled out of the room.
When I pressed my hands onto my face, his friend thought I was crying. No, I was just bracing myself to stay calm before I went over to look down at my unconscious husband fearfully.
The verdict was out, my husband had 3 blockages. A date was made in a month’s time for him to have coronary bypass surgery. His condition must be very serious as it couldn’t be controlled with drugs. Angioplasty wasn’t given as an option.
Suddenly, it wasn't about somebody you heard or read.... it was my dear and wonderful husband. I should have seen it coming. His bad eating habit had culminated a lengthy process in which his coronary arteries had become clogged with fatty plague.
By the time I rushed home with my 2 youngest kids I was a nervous wreck. My husband was already at home.
He was wearing a white patch on his chest. He was allowed to leave the hospital. I was so terrified and started to cry. I was crying in his arms. It was the first and last time I broke down. I promised myself that I would be a pillar of strength for him.
I read up medical books about heart problems. Armed with little knowledge I had learnt from my reading I was too afraid. I also checked up on cancers.
The next morning he flew off to KL alone and then checked himself into the hospital.
The next 2 days he went through some tests. After he did the treadmill stress test, the findings were more conclusive.
My husband called me and wanted me to be there when he had this meeting with the cardiologist.
I made all the arrangements for my shop to open as usual, someone to pick up the children on school days, and a relative to look after my kids. I was terrified inside but pretended everything was all right in front of my older kids.
My husband and I held hands tightly. We were sitting in front of the cardiologist and listening to his explanation about the procedure of an angiogram, a special X-ray study of arteries, to determine how many arteries are blocked.
In the afternoon, my husband was wheeled into the room where the angiogram was performed. I waited and waited as the time dragged by. My husband’s good friend was with me when my husband was wheeled out of the room.
When I pressed my hands onto my face, his friend thought I was crying. No, I was just bracing myself to stay calm before I went over to look down at my unconscious husband fearfully.
The verdict was out, my husband had 3 blockages. A date was made in a month’s time for him to have coronary bypass surgery. His condition must be very serious as it couldn’t be controlled with drugs. Angioplasty wasn’t given as an option.
Suddenly, it wasn't about somebody you heard or read.... it was my dear and wonderful husband. I should have seen it coming. His bad eating habit had culminated a lengthy process in which his coronary arteries had become clogged with fatty plague.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Part One: How My Husband's Heart Problems Started
My husband was never a discriminating eater. He loved his food especially ox-tail soup, mutton curry, nasi lemak and the list went on. Time and time again I told him how he’d poisoned himself with food so rich in fat and cholesterol.
When I refused to cook ox-tail soup for him, he would cook for himself. If he didn’t eat at home he would eat out. It was like he was let loose in a candy shop. Eating to his heart’s content, food he wasn’t supposed to eat.
In his thirties he played a little badminton and football. Then he stopped altogether and took up golf. He played during the weekends. He almost led a sedentary lifestyle and ate rich food. This combination was a recipe for disaster.
When he was 44-year-old he attended a seminar, he was given track suit to partake in cross-country run in the evening. He made light of it when he told me after the episode of the run he was dizzy and thought he saw stars. He brushed it off as a confirmation that he was out of shape.
The next few months he was his normal self until one day he came home after playing 18-hole golf, he felt he’d had pains around his shoulder area.
The pain must be bothersome for him to seek out his company panel doctor. He was (and still is) a great believer in panadols. He would only seek help when the pain had become intolerable.
The doctor who checked him out seemed to think he was all right. He checked his blood pressure, listened to his chest, and checked his blood count. He concluded my husband had muscular pain. He prescribed medicine for muscular pain.
My husband was so relieved because he wasn’t suffering from something life-threatening. He could handle muscular pain. He took his medicine and went to work.
The medicine seemed to be working because one morning he lifted me from bed as I refused to be roused from my sleep.
His act of lifting me had aggravated his recovery. However, during the day, the pain subsided only to return later. It so happened he talked to his friend’s doctor wife who advised him to have an electrocardiogram taken. His company panel doctor thought it looked okay.
I suspected it was heart problem and pressed him to have a thorough medical check-up. Appointment was made in a week’s time.
Three days before he left for his medical appointment in a private hospital in Kuala Lumpur, he had this recurring pain or attack every 2 hours. By the time I saw him he had already been through several attacks.
I told him he should go the local hospital. He wouldn’t want to go. “I’m leaving for the hospital in 3 days.”
Do you think you will be in time? I was frightened and then I remembered he had a doctor friend working in the local hospital. I called his friend and passed the phone to him.
When I refused to cook ox-tail soup for him, he would cook for himself. If he didn’t eat at home he would eat out. It was like he was let loose in a candy shop. Eating to his heart’s content, food he wasn’t supposed to eat.
In his thirties he played a little badminton and football. Then he stopped altogether and took up golf. He played during the weekends. He almost led a sedentary lifestyle and ate rich food. This combination was a recipe for disaster.
When he was 44-year-old he attended a seminar, he was given track suit to partake in cross-country run in the evening. He made light of it when he told me after the episode of the run he was dizzy and thought he saw stars. He brushed it off as a confirmation that he was out of shape.
The next few months he was his normal self until one day he came home after playing 18-hole golf, he felt he’d had pains around his shoulder area.
The pain must be bothersome for him to seek out his company panel doctor. He was (and still is) a great believer in panadols. He would only seek help when the pain had become intolerable.
The doctor who checked him out seemed to think he was all right. He checked his blood pressure, listened to his chest, and checked his blood count. He concluded my husband had muscular pain. He prescribed medicine for muscular pain.
My husband was so relieved because he wasn’t suffering from something life-threatening. He could handle muscular pain. He took his medicine and went to work.
The medicine seemed to be working because one morning he lifted me from bed as I refused to be roused from my sleep.
His act of lifting me had aggravated his recovery. However, during the day, the pain subsided only to return later. It so happened he talked to his friend’s doctor wife who advised him to have an electrocardiogram taken. His company panel doctor thought it looked okay.
I suspected it was heart problem and pressed him to have a thorough medical check-up. Appointment was made in a week’s time.
Three days before he left for his medical appointment in a private hospital in Kuala Lumpur, he had this recurring pain or attack every 2 hours. By the time I saw him he had already been through several attacks.
I told him he should go the local hospital. He wouldn’t want to go. “I’m leaving for the hospital in 3 days.”
Do you think you will be in time? I was frightened and then I remembered he had a doctor friend working in the local hospital. I called his friend and passed the phone to him.
