I had a heart attack

“You did not have a heart attack,” my friends responded in unison.

We were having our regular breakfast get-together and our conversation had turned to hospitals and doctors and the attitude of healthcare workers in general.

A few months ago I woke up and couldn’t catch my breath. I had some minor chest pains and my heart was beating irregularly. It scared the hell out of me. I called Edith and with her help I was able to get to my doctor who immediately sent me to the emergency room.

“You’re not talking about Edith Vargas?”

“That’s the one, Gary, and she didn’t even have to stop for fried chicken on the way.”

“It was an just an anxiety attack, wasn’t it?” Jerome asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. All they did was rule out that it wasn’t a heart attack. They made no effort to find out what really was the problem.”

“My three-day stay in the hospital was quite an ordeal,” I continued.

“Of course there has to be drama involved,” Gary said.

“It wasn’t just drama, it was my personal Abu Ghraib. I’m sure the staff felt they were just doing their jobs but they just didn’t get it,” I responded to his accusation.

“What do you mean?” Joey asked. “You were admitted to the hospital, you didn’t check into the Ritz-Carlton.”

“Sure,” I said, “I wasn’t expecting a spa weekend but I did expect to be treated for what I came in for and have my questions answered.

“Didn’t you tell me had an angiogram?” Ken asked.

“Yes, I was lucky, they had a cancellation.”

“A cancellation?”

“I didn’t ask any questions. I was thankful I could have it done so fast.”

“I’m confused,” Joey said, “wouldn’t that be considered trying to find out what your problem could be?”

“Okay, I didn’t have a heart attack, but they’re not sure exactly what I had. As far as I know the heart is working just fine.

“Here’s the deal,” I continued my explanation, “what really disturbed me was all the other things that happened. Four different people asked me the same list of questions. Either they didn’t have a copier or they were trying to get me to slip up and give a different answer.

“The worst thing, though, was the waking me every two hours to take my vitals and draw blood. I tried to explain to them that I take Sustiva for my HIV and that it caused sleep issues. You guys know I haven’t slept well in over four years. But that’s okay with me, I deal with it, as long as the drug keeps working. I told them, though, I could be involved in a very intense dream when they came in to wake me and I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“And I bet they just kept on waking you, didn’t they?” Jerome asked.

“Exactly. I don’t think they really understood the big picture of living with HIV. I understand that they may have been trying to treat me like any other patient in the cardiac unit, but I was not just any other patient.”

“You got that right,” Gary said. “But did you try to explain that to them?”

“Not only that,” I added, “no one would or could answer my questions. After I got the results of the angiogram, I asked what was next and no one could answer. They just kept checking those vitals and drawing more blood. I asked what could have caused the symptoms of what I thought could have been a heart attack.

Again, the only response was ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’ The more questions I had to ask, the more stressed I became and I sensed the fact that asking for more definite answers was annoying them.”

“At least they aren’t wearing hazmat suits anymore,” Joey said. “And they aren’t afraid to touch us.”

“That’s so true. Do you think you may have been a little too demanding?” Jerome asked.

Gary jumped in, “I don’t think so. What’s wrong with expecting the same levels of concern and care we get from our HIV doctors when we are being treated for something that’s not HIV related? They just don’t realize the type of relationship we have with our doctors.”

“Right. I’ve fought hard to stay alive this long, put up with all the crap that living with this throws my way, then when something comes up not related to AIDS it’s not wrong to expect some consistency. In a kind of odd way though, I’m kind of glad to have to be dealing with ailments that happens to other folks, not just stuff from HIV and the meds.”

“I think as we live longer our expectations change,” Ken said. “Used to be we just wanted one more day, so we did whatever our doctors told us … we trusted them, believed them, no questions asked. Now with all the information available, we ask more questions and we expect answers. I know I don’t want things sugar-coated. We hold doctors and other health care workers accountable. We want them to be honest with us.”