“SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK”

The correct – but incorrect – answer is “C”

Quick quiz:  When in a party of two or more, one person, experiencing chest discomfort, stops, sits and most likely says what?  Is it:

A)        “I’ve had enough for today.  I’ve got to turn around,” or

B)        “Whale.  Oil. Beef.  Hooked.  (For maximum impact, practice saying that really fast.)  I think I’m havin’ a coronary,” or

C)        “You guys go ahead.  I’ll wait here.  Maybe I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Conrad, Suzie and I had just left the parking area for our second little high-country hike of the day.  The first jaunt found us on a steep trail wading through foot-and-a-half deep snow remnants to a magnificent view of the High Sierra.  

Worsening trail conditions turned us back and after lunch-with-a-view and a short drive on a dirt road, we arrived at a second, slightly lower in elevation trailhead.

Just past a sign indicating we were entering a designated wilderness area, and after what seemed like a pretty easy uphill stretch, Conrad plopped down on a rock or a stump and while not exactly clutching his chest said, “I’m feeling some pain here,”

Conrad didn’t look his normal self, but I knew he wanted to see what was over the next rise or around the next bend.  It’s in his DNA.  So is heart trouble.  His father, at about the same age didn’t make it to church to preach one Sunday, rather he made it to the ER a few blocks away.

Our closest ER would be forty-plus forest road miles away and cell phone coverage?  What’s that?

“You go on,” Conrad said.

“Nope, I’m stayin’ here.”

Eighteen years before, while serving as a school principal, Mrs. Nelson, a teacher, was called upon to drag me from my office to a nearby building where staff was feting me with cake and ice cream for Bosses Day.  (Oh, how I hated Bosses Day!)  A few feet out the door, it felt as if someone had taken a swing at my chest with a sledge hammer.  Staggered a bit more than I’d like to admit, I diverted to the multipurpose room, across the breezeway, saying, “I need to sit down for a moment.  You go ahead.  I’ll catch up in a minute.”  Unfolding a chair, I sat in the dark.  Mrs. Nelson touched her palm to my clammy forehead and chose not to leave.

Suzie had trekked up the trail perhaps fifty yards, up and around a switchback to a point where she could look down upon us.  She held of the same Gotta-Explore DNA as her brother.  Conrad sat on the stump/rock.  Amidst some small talk, I ascertained that Conrad thought perhaps he’d eaten too much lunch; that a physical ten or twelve years ago uncovered a restricted artery; that this happens every once in a while; that he hadn’t had a comprehensive physical in he didn’t know how long; and that, at 59, he was about the same age as this father when Dad had had an incident.

Shadows across the trail somehow prevented my eye contact with Suzie.  Foolish discretion about not wanting Conrad to feel badly about truncating a hike kept me from saying anything to Suzie.  Ultimately, Conrad decided to soldier on, first at a very reserved pace, then at a much sloggier gate than his usual.  I followed, all the time thinking, “The further he goes, the further I’m going to have to carry his ass out.”

After about two-and-a-half miles – these with no stunning view – we turned back around.  Downhill was easier.

That night at the cabin, over some shared Knob Creek, we conversed.  He began, “I think it’s just part of getting older.  You know, like you and your bad knee.”

“If I blow a knee out on a trail, I suspect I’d survive.  I’ll whine like a baby, but I’ll probably survive.”  Then I asked, “When was the last time you had an EKG?”

“Ten, maybe twelve years ago,” he confirmed, adding what he’d found out with that exam.

“Maybe you should see about getting a fresh one.”

An eye was not batted as he said, “It’s just part of getting older.  Besides, with a $5,000.00 out-of-pocket insurance policy – silver level they call it – I can’t afford to go in for the test.”

So, there you have it, I thought.  Conrad could expire on the trail because he doesn’t feel he can afford the care needed to, perhaps, mitigate the problem.

“Well, pal,” I said, “You need to know that, in the future, if you have a heart attack out there on the trail, I’m probably not gonna drag your ass back to the car.”  I raised my whiskey glass.  “I’ve got a bad knee.”

o0o

Notes and a plea:  The incident at school proved not to be life-threatening.  It was a simple transient ischemic attack according to the folks at the hospital.  But Mrs. Nelson didn’t know that.  She just stayed with me.  To this day, I embarrass her by reminding her that she saved my life.  

Mrs. Nelson knew not to leave the victim because of Red Cross (or similar) CPR/first aid training she received every other year sponsored by our school district.

If you haven’t renewed your card, do so.  Please enter “CPR Training” or “First Aid Training” in your browser and sign up for a refresher near you.  I may be riding through your town and need your assistance.

Know that I’ll be renewing mine…

… in case you should ever need me. 

© 2018

Church of the Open Road Press