Pay attention to small warnings

It started out like most Wednesdays. Getting up around 8 or 9 a.m., fetching the News Journal from the doorstep, making coffee and drinking it to the background staccato of "Morning Joe" on MSNBC.

Later that morning, Jeff, my husband (as many of you know), went out to mow the lawn for the first time this spring. I was painting on the other end of the house and I saw him pass by, going back and forth with the mower. It's my wifely duty to ferry him out a bottle of cold water at least once during this activity. It sits at the front of the refrigerator door in a recycled pomegranate juice bottle labeled "Pom," a very fitting name. However, this time, I didn't go out there.

It was noontime, when we usually watch WBOC local news, and Jeff came in and sat down in his armchair in front of the TV, looking a little pale. I resumed my usual chatter. I'm far more talkative than he is. He usually practices male selective deafness by not answering some of the time. He is the yang to my yin. He seemed a little quieter than usual, however.

Finally, he said, "I feel a little funny. I had to stop mowing and sit down several times – many more than usual. I think I'll drive over to the new Beebe Urgent Care facility just west of Milton." He had complained of a racing heart and cold sweat the previous Sunday night. The next day, Monday, we had maids come in to do a thorough house cleaning after quite a long time. It had been an ordeal. I don't really enjoy being a lady of leisure and watching others work around me.

My mother used to love it; she would stand over them pointing her finger and bossing, but not me. Jeff had presided over the cleaning, and maybe it had worn him out even further. "Do you want me to go over with you?" I asked. "No, it's probably nothing," he said, altruistic as usual. Oh no, I thought. I never sent that ambulance protection check to the Milton Fire Department!

While he was gone, I raced down the street five blocks and dropped it in their mail slot. When I got home, Jeff called and said they were sending him to Beebe ER by 911 ambulance! The Sussex County paramedics sped him to Beebe in record time. I thought, oh no, what am I going to do now? I'm a somewhat nervous driver on Route 1 at best.

Not one to be bashful about asking for favors, I ran across the street to the house of the very neighbor whose trash cans I had complained about recently. I knocked on his door, and he came out. The very door where I had plastered a note about the cans a few weeks ago. We had made a peace a week or so ago in the middle of the road in the sprinkling rain. Maybe we would be working things out. This time, when I told him what had just happened to Jeff, Rich Paul said, "You need a ride to Lewes?" "Yes," I said, rather sheepishly for me. He kissed me on the cheek and said, “When you're ready, come over and I'll take you.”

Jeff was in the Intensive Care Unit with a diagnosed heart flutter/racing heartbeat, which turned out to be a mild heart attack. He was there from Wednesday afternoon until late Saturday morning. He had an angioplasty, a procedure in which a small-diameter tube is threaded from his wrist to his heart. Praveen George, MD, is the cardiologist who performed Jeff's angioplasty.

Everyone at Beebe hospital was wonderful! He has already written a thank-you letter praising several of the ones who helped him. One I particularly remember is an ICU nurse from Romania named Olivia who was very knowledgeable and answered many of my questions with drama and grace.

Jeff is home now and feeling much better, thanks to these compassionate and highly skilled professionals. I have had a very high opinion of Beebe since I had a problem with a claim for routine blood work at a Beebe Lab Express a few months ago that should have been covered by Medicare. It was due to a mistake in coding by a previous independent healthcare provider.

I had seen a TV ad for Beebe featuring Dr. David Tam, Beebe Healthcare president and CEO. He also had been feeling a little bit tired one day and was having trouble signing his name. His wary and concerned assistant noticed this. "Oh no, I'm just tired," he said. She replied, "If you don't get this looked at immediately, I'm calling your wife, Rebecca." Knowing what this would mean, he went to the ER and discovered that he had experienced a minor stroke, which was taken care of by the team and saved his life!

I always thought that he appeared to be a soulful and caring person, and said so when I called his office for help with my billing problem. Help for me came soon with a call from a very nice customer relations person.

New and longtime neighbors have been really kind and helpful. The Skudlarks, who have been here in Milton awhile, were waiting to find out how we were doing when I arrived home from a hospital visit Friday night, standing under the graceful branches of our beautiful white Spirea shrub next to our driveway. And neighbor Rich Paul has received kudos as a well-liked friend of many on our street.

The moral of this story is for everyone (of a certain age) to pay attention to the small warning signs that your body communicates to your brain every now and then. Don't assume, like Jeff did, that these little signs are just due to age. Go have them checked out ASAP!