Heart Attack!


On October 15, 2001, George Dwaihy was a tough handball opponent, so I was excited to be  six points ahead, needing only the final point,  in the deciding game of a tied match.  George was not accepting defeat graciously and I was out of breath, so I remembered a ploy I learned from David Barr, a master gamer, which is to stall for time by telling and amusing story. With the national paranoia about anthrax in mind,  I called "Time out!"  and  told George that my game was a little off because I felt bad ever since yesterday when I got a letter from an anonymous student.  I told George that when I opened  and found it contained a mysterious white powder, I naturally assumed the student,  grateful for the great pearls of profound wisdom I had generously bestowed upon him or her in the course of instruction,  had sent me a small gift of cocaine and so I snorted a couple lines.  Ever since then, I felt bad.

George (left) laughed politely.   I recovered my breath and served the ball.
But something was wrong.  My chest felt like there was a rock on it.  I felt a pain in my wrist and my breath was now shallow and rapid.  I was weak.  I could barely move.   I wanted to stop.   It felt like the sick joke I had just made came back and lodged its dark self in my chest.
I stopped the game again, told George "I concede.", and laid down on the floor of the court clutching my chest, pale and panting, hoping the feeling would pass in a few minutes.  When it didn't, George said " Jimmy, You're scaring me.  Maybe I should call the E.M.S.?"  I told George, "Not yet.  It could just be the tuna fish sandwich I ate for lunch." and struggled to my feet.  I slowly plodded upstairs to the gym's front desk.  I laid down on some chairs, eliciting remarks from the tennis kibitzers: "What's wrong with him?  Didja beat him that bad?"  and "Oh, No!  Not the old 'heart attack' routine."
George called the E.M.S. who took me to St. John's Hospital, the best choice for heart emergencies, only two miles away in Detroit.
Dr. Arshad Ali diagnosed my acute myocardial infarction and whisked me to the catheterization lab for a thrombectomy via angiojet (1,2), placement of a stent  and a temporary  balloon pump assist.
The procedure was successful.  It ought to be; I had arrived when the Cardiac Unit was hosting a conference and became one of the exhibits.  Dr. Ali got lots of advice whether he wanted it or not.  Once the blockage in my artery was cleared, I felt immediate relief.  There was minimal damage to my heart.  I was in the hospital for  the past five days.  I'm weak now, but the prognosis is for a full recovery.  Except for a sore groin where they inserted the catheters and psychic abrasions caused by routine institutional abuse and hospital policies, I feel OK.  I should be playing handball and telling tasteless jokes in six months.  Actually, I'm telling tasteless jokes already.

Jim Pallas

(For my young impressionable students, I hasten to add I do not accept gifts from my students, past or current.   Also, I have never used cocaine in any form.  It was just a joke!)