I am 77 years old, and luckily for most of my life I have been medically holding my own. No major surgeries, no ongoing “conditions.” I thank my parents for that since they both lived to be 100 with only a few bone replacements, but nothing major.
I’ve been a vegetarian most of my life, and while friends were taking drugs and LSD in my formative years, I would try to do a week of juice fasts or attend breathatarian retreats to get high. Later I became a “health columnist” for Self magazine and I remember Vogue sending me for a month to do a stay at the Pritikin Institute in Santa Monica in 1973. It was the first resort/medical center based on Nathan Pritikin’s exercise and eating program. He was passionate about wiping out heart disease, diabetes and obesity via a strict routine of diet and exercise. Pritikin Center became the “Lourdes” of cardio. It was tough to get in.
My Pritikin dining partner at the time was actor Lorne Greene (Bonanza). We endured meals of dry salads (only vinegar dressing) and baked potatoes (no butter) and soups (dishwater taste). He was there for two months and proudly showed me his neck-to-belly-button zipper scar of his recent open-heart surgery.
Those were the days when a month at Pritikin on a strict no-fat diet and five sessions a day of 30-minute treadmill walking was all you needed to change your blood cholesterol level and your heart rate — for life!
Pritikin ended up opening facilities around the country and then it disappeared completely. Ironically Nathan Pritikin died at 69 in 1985 of suicide, but his autopsy report showed his arteries clear, and his heart was perfect.
While covering the health scene in 1971, I remember being in the audience of The Dick Cavett Show when he interviewed famed organic food diet expert J.I. Rodale. Rodale stood up in front of Cavett clicked his heels and pronounced how fit and well he was on his regime. Then immediately keeled over dead of a heart attack. The show was never aired but the memory lingers on.
I’ve been through the mill with health fads, running 5 miles a day (destroyed my knees), hot yoga retreats (wrecked my back and shoulders), and all the while consuming eating disorder diets that left my bones more fragile. And … “I’m still here” watching friends and family now go through the typical aging hospitalizations. I heard that after 70, each medical “episode” becomes a “situation.” Your recovery gets harder, and in a way, you take a permanent hit. But, this had not happened to me … YET!!
Twelve years ago, my healthy brother Steve got hit with brain cancer and died in two years at the age of 68. I truly felt my heart break at the time, and noticed a strange constant loud “lub dub” in the middle of my chest. But I was born with a heart murmur, so I never took it seriously. Besides, my annual blood work was decent, and I continued to exercise daily. Who knew heart issues were THE silent killer for most women.
By 75 I was aware of many of my friends suffering through joint replacements, bouts of cancer and of course dementia. Obviously, age is going to get you in spite of all the Botox you do to counteract the passage of time. Late in life health issues change you — they say for the better. Everything becomes a “wake up” call about your mortality. Well … I hate change, and my “wake up” alarm was on “snooze.”
Last year I started to notice I was breathing harder on my two-mile flat hikes, my sleep was horrible and a vague persistent fatigue made me feel like my “mental” elevator wasn’t reaching the top floor.
I didn’t blame the brain fog on COVID vaccines and by the way, I am still a novid!! My primary doctor scheduled me for a full heart workup which I tried to delay, and thought was not important. Then I had a 2:00 AM incident where my “lub dub” sent me to urgent care where I was diagnosed with AFib. I felt like Bugs Bunny when his heart was beating outside his chest. Except this wasn’t about love, this felt scary.
I soon learned everyone seemed to have AFib. What hypoglycemia was in the ’60s, and maybe Epstein-Barr was in the ’70s, now AFib (irregular heartbeat) is THE condition to have. I noticed all the TV ads were about blood thinning/heart monitoring drugs.
I cringed at the thought of going through the assembly line of finding the right cardiologist. Meanwhile, everyone around me was getting stents, pacemakers, and Watchman devices installed in their chests like getting a cavity filled. I wanted none of that.
I went to my first set of cardiologists last February. They revealed I had a strong heart but a leaky mitral valve — thus the “lub dub.” I immediately started going down the deep rabbit hole of cardio hell. Lots of different drugs were given to me that made me dizzy and strange. I remember walking my dog for 5 minutes and thought I would collapse with heart failure. Nowadays, nobody tells you that much about heart attacks — it’s all about strokes. And imagine I used to do 10,000 steps daily. No problem. Now I could barely do 10. My daily exercise routine was reduced to a “baby Pilates stretch session.”
I knew I needed the valve fixed, but it’s a process to get a thoracic surgeon first to give you the OK to do it via catheter or open-heart surgery. Open heart surgery? I could barely deal with an ingrown toenail, let alone the most invasive surgery there is.
I “shopped” cardiologists the way some people speed date. I learned how to use a “portal” on the computer to communicate with physician assistants. I sat in waiting rooms filled with people who looked older than me (in sad stained baggy sweat suits and holding walkers), but they were all younger than me. I refused to believe I was now a “heart patient.” This was not my tribe.
I drove my friends crazy with my daily cardiologist search. Most of the cardiologists I met seemed like plumbers. But I wanted a heart “connection,” not just a mechanic. I remember one doctor didn’t even know or care when I mentioned Pritikin. He assured me food and diet still counts, “but a good open-heart surgery would make you stroke free for the rest of your life.” Another surgeon ended a consult with; “Gurl, I can give you a new life with open heart surgery.” First of all, I am not a “gurl.” And who wants a used car salesman cutting into your chest?
I was drowning in my quest for the mitral valve expert when my assistant’s sister (an urgent care nurse) insisted I see intervention cardiologist Dr. Timothy Byrne in Phoenix. He managed to save her father’s life by giving him a new valve via catheterization.
It took me a month to get in as getting a cardiology booking is not like scheduling a mani/pedi. Everyone is booked and everyone is a rock star.
I met Doctor Byrne in June, and he instantly gave me hope and passed me on for a final approval to Dr. Merick Kirshner (thoracic surgeon) to OK my catheterization procedure. Dr. Kirshner immediately “connected” with me because he was a huge fan of my brother Steve and dad Ed of NFL films. With Kirshner and Byrne, I found my dream team. It only took a year!
I had to wait an anxiety filled month for my overnight procedure at Abrazo Heart Hospital in Phoenix.
I cleared the date with my astrologer since it was Mercury Retrograde, but apparently fixing old issues is OK “in retch.” I was sick of hearing from friends how the procedure was a “no brainer.” There is no such thing as a “no brainer” surgery after 75. Besides, it’s not the procedure — but the recovery that becomes dicey.
Cardiology is now a big world of business; and you have to be lucky. Cardio technology is vast and accomplished, and it seems they can move a lot of people through surgeries fast and furious. I marveled at their technical skills and expertise in a time when our country’s medical health system is basically broken.
So I was admitted for my overnight “repair” and my first hospital experience. When it comes to hospitals, you really want to get out as fast as possible. And since COVID, many of the hospital staff are underpaid, overworked and sparse. I learned it’s a lot of “hurry up and wait.” I didn’t experience any gurney gridlock, but I learned you have to be patient to be a patient. After all, everyone is on “red alert” as a modus operandi. Especially in a Heart Hospital.
Overnight in a hospital felt like a year. But Byrne’s team was terrific. His anesthesiologist assured me I wouldn’t go into dementia or vomit post-surgery from his “cocktail.” I remember being rolled into an ice-cold white operating room and all the assistants talking to me about football and films … I think.
I recall after a previous pre-op hour of getting bad blood draws (my veins roll), I was impressed with Byrne’s nurse who didn’t multiple prick me and got it on the first insertion. I learned blood draws are an art form (and should be taught as such). I didn’t feel I was in a MASH unit in Afghanistan. I felt surrounded by pros.
The less I knew about the procedure, the better I would be. I didn’t want to know that a tiny tube was being inserted in my groin and snaked up to my heart valve for a double clip. I didn’t realize an intubation tube was going down my throat for two hours that resulted in me having a post-op attack of Gerd. Small price to pay for a fixed heart.
When I came to, I was in a dark hospital room and crash landed into the worst bed I have ever felt. I had to lay flat for six hours but managed it with the “cocktail” residue I received pre-op. I now get why Michael Jackson was addicted to Propofol.
When I got up the next morning to leave, I realized that my hospital overnight was the first trip I made anywhere in five years (since COVID). I used to travel six times a year. So this is how I broke my COVID travel pause!
In my second week of recovery I still have at least two months to go to “get back” to my old self. Actually not “back” but onto a “new and improved” age-appropriate regime. Whatever that looks like. Speed and scores are not important. Basic movement is!
Also not to get into doctor deification, but it dawned on me that no man in the last 16 years has gotten inside or as close to my heart as Byrne did. I ordered him an NFL films T-shirt for that! The biggest reveal is I have no more “lub dubs” blasting through my chest. I can stop the anxiety meds!
Last week I learned that Mick Jagger had a valve replacement three years ago (at 78) via catheter. Six weeks later he was back rehearsing. And in three months he was back on the road touring, running 12 miles a night on stage. I have to hand it to him — at 81 his face still looks like a craggy Don Knotts, but he wears his skinny jeans and skintight T-shirts like nobody’s business. And he’s still gallops and struts his stuff three hours a night on stage.
Surely his song “Start Me Up” is now a dedication to his cardiologist.
If you start me up
If you start me up I’ll never stop
You make a grown man cry
Ride like the wind at double speed
I’ll take you places that you’ve never, never seen
Start it up!
I can only hope to feel the same!
