OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND....:

I have been out of touch lately, a victim of my own inattention to what my body was telling me. I'm not really back at full speed but wanted to let you know what has been going on, essentially to encourage you to pay attention to health symptoms and to take appropriate action (yeah, I know; do as I say do, not as I do). I wrote this yesterday and thank God for the abilities and peace He has given to me:

Today, December 15, 2003, I walked out of the hospital a new man!

Not long ago I had begun to lose contact with what I considered good, healthy feelings; somewhere in my busy life they had begun to slowly deteriorate. I had not totally recognized the downward slide, but I began to notice subtle changes and complained of minor irritations in mood and physical abilities.

I've always been an over-achiever, over-active for my own good, but learning to live that way I went forward, usually with little personal down time.

When I began to experience increasing lightheadedness while climbing the stairs in my home, I compensated by taking it slower, but that later progressed to a more noticeable symptom, even with three or four treads, like from my garage to the kitchen hallway.

One night while returning from work on my rather heavy motorcycle, the fatigue of donning all the riding gear, mounting the bike, moving it off the center stand, and maneuvering it out of the parking lot produced a "final straw" symptom that told me something was wrong. I was not totally connected with the traffic situation during the forty-mile trip to my home.

The next morning I made an appointment to see my doctor. Like me, he first thought of a lung related problem, so his reasonable treatment course was to order an x-ray and a pulmonary function test. Both test results came back normal, but I still had those strange periods of dizziness, whenever I exerted myself, as if an injection of a strong drug had briefly occurred. As I left the doctor's office, I made an appointment to see him again the following Monday.

During the weekend, I discovered that over the next three days it would be a cool but nice weather-free ride down to South Georgia, during December 1-3. So I canceled the appointment, and I rode down to Valdosta and Jasper, Florida, to see my sister, who was in recovery from an operation to remove her spleen and gall bladder. I stayed only one night, with another sister, visited several hours with my ill sister, and rode back to Jackson, Georgia, and stayed overnight with my aunt. It was 34 degrees as I left my aunt's home, but I was protected with a lot of nice riding gear. As I passed through Atlanta (traffic was heavy), I stopped to visit with a friend recovering from a motorcycle accident (Chuck). I rode home in cool weather that lasted well into the afternoon. I felt physically challenged, with a few dizzy spells along the way. Still, the 1025-mile trip was something I wanted to do and had promised others I would do, making it a pride issue, sort of. I had the good sense to slow down going over the mountain northwest of Chattanooga, but I left the interstate in favor of the slower paced two-lane highways when I could. I got home just as a cold rain set in.

During the following three days I rode my bike to work, and the Sunday morning ride was especially cold, but I had on electric riding gear. I had no further symptoms, until about twenty miles south of Nashville, on my way home. The dizzy spells returned, so I slowed down and got off the Interstate, again, in favor of the slower two-lane roads. I went to church that night and tried to sing with the choir. My breath was too short, I got dizzy when I stood to sing, so I faked it. I decided to drive my automobile to work, at least until the dizzy spells passed I worked a 10-6 shift the next day and was off for the next two.

Very early the next morning, while getting back to my workshop bench and shelving project, I walked across the street to a job site where a crew was putting the finishing touches on the roof, minus the shingles. There were half sheets of leftover fifty-year flooring out next the construction dumpster, so I asked for permission to take them back to my home (they make great shelves and bench tops). There were two good ones left, which I was given, almost perfectly split down their eight feet length, and in my haste to get them to my shop I decided to pick up both at the same time. Funny, I could not manage to lift them to my shoulders, a simple feat in the past! So, I dropped them and picked up only one of the half sheets, hoisted it to my right shoulder and started across the road to my garage, a distance of about fifty yards.

By the time I had walked two-thirds of the way, my body felt like it was on fire, but I kept on going in a wobbling, weaving manner, strengthened by pride alone. Inside the garage, I sat the board down on its end, turned around and walked out the garage door. As I stepped back into the cold air, I lost my breath and almost my balance, my head was throbbing, and my lungs felt like they had collapsed. I placed my elbows on my knees, lowered my head to a point between my knees, sucked in air, and rested in that position for about five minutes.

Then, I had the unremitting gall to cross the road, again, and to secure the second piece of flooring, slower this time, but with the same end results.

In the solitude of my garage, among my tools and bikes, and a work project that was almost finished, I promised myself that I would call for another appointment the following morning. I made it up the flight of stairs that leads from the basement to the first floor, but my head was dizzy, and I had a strange sense that I was on some powerful drug. I walked into the den, sat down, and stayed put for about fifteen minutes. Then I went upstairs to my office and called the doctor's office, not wanting to wait another day. Of course, I had to sit in my office chair for a few more minutes before I could speak on the phone. That was early on a Tuesday morning.

My doctor's secretary stated that he could see me the following morning, if I could get there by 10:30. I was off the following day, anyway, so I could take my time and drive myself to the doctor's office. Upon consultation with my doctor, and relating my symptoms of the last few days, he immediately called a cardiology doctor at Summit Medical Center, who agreed to see me, briefly, at 1:00 PM that same afternoon. After lunch and some light shopping, I showed up at his office.

The conversation with a sharp clinical secretary, with a lot of personal history questions, and then with a keen, young cardiology specialist lasted only a short period. My blood pressure, pulse rate, and other body readings were normal, but my family history influenced the doctor, who agreed I was a good candidate for a cardiac stress test, with nuclear medicine imagery, He instructed his secretary to work me in on Friday at one o'clock.

I was scheduled to work at 1:00 o'clock that afternoon, so it was necessary to take sick leave, and I showed up about thirty minutes early. The doctor was free in about forty-five minutes and introduced me to his nuclear imagery specialist. She explained the scanning procedure and shot me up with the nuclear material. With the room darkened, she strapped me onto a comfortable table. The scanner rotated 360 degrees, taking an image of my heart. It was very relaxing, because she played Tony Bennett's music during those twenty minutes.

With that test done, I stepped into the next room and met a very friendly nurse, who knew all about stress tests. After her very good explanation of what was to occur during the test, I was hooked up the those cold patches and electrodes, and we began the treadmill test.

I had a clear view of the computer display and watched the heart rate figure rise and fall, in the range of about 75-80, as she completed the program settings. She asked me to step on the treadmill, feet to each side, and to expect an easy startup, until I got used to the machine. The machine started, and I stepped on and began to keep pace with the slowly moving tread. After about fifteen seconds, I watched as my heart rate lowered quickly down to 45, then 42, and I was pulled off the machine as she yelled for assistance. Apparently, she had said something to me, which I ignored or could not comprehend, and she terminated the test. As an assistant arrived, she told me I had failed to respond to her questions.

Holding my arm for support, she asked me if I felt anything. "Yes," I said. "Those are the dizzy feelings I have experienced for several months. It's like a shot of strong drug being shot through my veins, and I feel weak," I added. She left me with the assistant and went to find the doctor, who showed up immediately. After a recount of what had happened, the doctor asked me to remount the machine so that he could observe. The same thing happened; my heart rate dropped to 40, and I was on the verge of passing out. That is when he informed me that I had a heart blockage, of that he was certain, probably electrical, perhaps from other causes as well. I was to be admitted to the hospital.

This doctor began a series of phone calls and consultations that lead to an immediate surgical prep where a catheter tube was inserted into my groin area, dye injected. In full view of my eyes, I saw the clear veins and arteries, so the only medical explanation to the problem was an electrical short. Then, he went further on into the second planned part of the operation and inserted an external, temporary pace maker, which immediately placed my heart in correct rhythm. This took about an hour and a half, and I was unconscious. The electrodes of this external unit was inserted at my right jugular vein, making it a very uncomfortable appliance to content with for the next two days. A permanent pacemaker was scheduled for installation Monday morning.

The initial setting was set too high, at 80, so I felt hyper during the next several hours. Another young cardiology specialist who made the rounds on Saturday at midmorning lowered the setting to kick in when my heart rate dropped below 55. That setting was much easier to handle. Another bit of good news was passed on by that another doctor, a noted specialist names J. David Amlicke. He was to implant the permanent device on Sunday morning. I took that news with a big grin. My wife had been with me all that time, watching over everything that was done and administered. She was an excellent source of strength and comfort all the way.

I slept a little for the first time that evening, and Sunday morning at 7:30 o'clock Doctor Amlicke made me an official card-carrying member of the Medtronic Keppa® DR 900 Series Pacemaker. The operation took two hours and forty minutes to remove the temporary unit and to install the permanent unit, but I was too drugged up to know any of what was going on.

The pacemaker works fine, can be computer regulated and set, and I feel much better than during that last several years. Just before being released from the hospital, a technical representative from the Medtronics Computation came to my room, attaché case in hand, from which she withdrew a sleek computer. She let me know that her purpose for being there was to run a diagnostics test on the pacemaker and proceeded to set up on a table next to my bed. She placed a device over the implanted pacemaker and began to run a series of tests, which included checking out the battery strength, the full functionality of the unit, and printed out a report which came out the side of the computer. Sleekest thing I ever witnessed on earth. During the process, she told me I would experience certain sensations as she raised and lowered the heart rate via instructions from the computer, and I did. As she lowered the heart rate to about 45, I relived the sensations of the past several months, and I also felt the rush of a higher heart rate setting. The pacemaker and the computer were both amazing. I thank God for all the excellent doctors and medical support personnel who took very good care of me at Summit Medical Center, Nashville, Tennessee. Doctor Carl Rouch was the keen, young doctor. He implanted the temporary pacemaker.

I offer my favorite prayer of comfort for any who must meet a challenge along the way:

http://www.interviewwithgod.com/psalm23.htm

I already have my Christmas present, and I shall certainly remember the reason for the season.

Merry Christmas, and may God bless you as He has me....

Donald M. Ricks
Spring Hill, Tennessee
"The Bionic Catkiller"

Number of visitors to this site:

Click here to go to Catkiller Home Page

Back to Photo Page

Back to Newsletters Page

E-mail Newsletter Editor