Recently, I have been thinking about starting a health and weight-loss blog. The idea would be to follow both my health and weight as a motivational method of being more conscious of my bodily condition. Without health, all the boons in the world are of no value to a person. About a year ago, I had a health scare. I awoke with an arrhythmia and had to call 9-1-1. It was a very scary experience.
My weight has gone up and down over the years. At the beginning of 2008 it was 245. I got it down to 229 in September but then it went up to 249 in January of 2009. Over the last month, I have got it down to 239. I know this up and down weight fluctuation is bad for the metabolism and being heavy puts a strain on the body and heart. My first goal is to get my weight below 200. After that, I would like to drop to about 175 and replace fat with muscle. I know that for me, losing weight and improving my health will go hand and hand. Anyway, what follows is a description I wrote in March of 2008:
I started praying earnestly to Krishna that He could arrange to make me avoid it. "I will really take care of my health," I promised. But I could not escape the reality of what I was feeling. Now my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to explode out of my chest. The heaviness there was more than ever and there was a distinct pain in the side of my neck and shoulder. I was gradually losing consciousness and my thoughts were becoming increasingly incoherent. "I have to call 911 now," I thought. I knew there was no other choice. It was only a question if I had waited too long.
Back in 1988, my first wife Kirtan dialed those magical numbers during her first week on American soil. It was about 8 p.m. on a cold February night in Connecticut when she tuned into the show "America’s Most Wanted" for the first time. The screen transfixed her. She immediately saw the truth of what was out there in the cities and small towns of America- dangerous criminals on the loose, just looking for a little more action. At the time, I had gone off to the corner store to pick up some things for the refrigerator. When I returned about 45 minutes later, Kirtan told me the story about being scared watching the show and then hearing a strange noise outside. I don’t recall whether the operator dispatched law enforcement to the house or just calmed Kirtan down. When I returned home, we had a good laugh and I assured her that things were not that bad in America.
This call was different. I was really in need of help. When the operator started asking me questions I was a little off kilter. I stated my age wrong and quickly got annoyed at all the myriad of questions the lady was throwing at me. I could barely talk and wanted to save my energy for the essentials.
"How many people live in the household sir?" "What kind of question is that?" I countered. "Just please send someone here as fast as possible." "They are already on the way," she said. "Please cooperate with my questions so we can make this easier for everybody." "Look, I’m going to black out at any second," I responded.
At that moment I realized that no one in my family knew what was going on. When they woke up they would have no idea what happened to me. I could be alive or dead, but I would certainly be gone.
I walked to the closest room and woke up my 15-year-old daughter Radha. I explained the situation to her as quickly and as succinctly as I could and asked her to wait out front for the ambulance. The operator said she had to go and I asked her to please stay with me. At that point, she softened her attitude and became a little more sympathetic. Then I saw the flashing blue and red lights reflected against our big wooden fence. It took them about seven minutes. Footsteps soon followed. I had to surrender to the experience.
Calling 911 was not an easy thing for me. As I said, I am not a big fan of the whole procedure you have to go through when going to the hospital. The suffering all around, the room shuffling, the waiting, and the possible arrogance of some of the health care practitioners. It wasn’t before long, though, that I realized I had done the right thing.
I grabbed the phone and headed out to my porch. Sitting down on the couch, I punched the numbers I had heard all my life but never dialed: 9-1-1.
I grabbed the phone and headed out to my porch. Sitting down on the couch, I punched the numbers I had heard all my life but never dialed: 9-1-1.
Back in 1988, my first wife Kirtan dialed those magical numbers during her first week on American soil. It was about 8 p.m. on a cold February night in Connecticut when she tuned into the show "America’s Most Wanted" for the first time. The screen transfixed her. She immediately saw the truth of what was out there in the cities and small towns of America- dangerous criminals on the loose, just looking for a little more action. At the time, I had gone off to the corner store to pick up some things for the refrigerator. When I returned about 45 minutes later, Kirtan told me the story about being scared watching the show and then hearing a strange noise outside. I don’t recall whether the operator dispatched law enforcement to the house or just calmed Kirtan down. When I returned home, we had a good laugh and I assured her that things were not that bad in America.
This call was different. I was really in need of help. When the operator started asking me questions I was a little off kilter. I stated my age wrong and quickly got annoyed at all the myriad of questions the lady was throwing at me. I could barely talk and wanted to save my energy for the essentials.
"How many people live in the household sir?" "What kind of question is that?" I countered. "Just please send someone here as fast as possible." "They are already on the way," she said. "Please cooperate with my questions so we can make this easier for everybody." "Look, I’m going to black out at any second," I responded.
At that moment I realized that no one in my family knew what was going on. When they woke up they would have no idea what happened to me. I could be alive or dead, but I would certainly be gone.
I walked to the closest room and woke up my 15-year-old daughter Radha. I explained the situation to her as quickly and as succinctly as I could and asked her to wait out front for the ambulance. The operator said she had to go and I asked her to please stay with me. At that point, she softened her attitude and became a little more sympathetic. Then I saw the flashing blue and red lights reflected against our big wooden fence. It took them about seven minutes. Footsteps soon followed. I had to surrender to the experience.
Three paramedics conferenced around me on the porch. A muscular white bald man in his thirties, who seemed to have shaved his head out of some kind of masculine statement; an upper middle-aged tough-looking woman with spiked hair; and a younger guy, probably in his early twenties, who kept saying he didn’t have enough sleep, all said hello and started hooking me up to a myriad of wires. As they did this, they also walked back and forth bringing various pieces of equipment and machines. "Team Rescue" had arrived.
First they took my blood pressure. It was high; about 190 over 121. My pulse was about 200 beats per minute. "Hello!" I thought. Next, they gave me oxygen and started asking all kinds of annoying questions. I knew that paramedic’s training only went so far and thus wanted to proceed to the hospital. Their job, I thought, was to get me there in one piece as quickly as possible and perform any emergency procedures necessary, if need be, God forbid.
They hooked me up to a portable EKG machine. "Now we’re talking," I said. Soon after they turned the machine on, however, it broke. "We’re having a little problem Mr. Allard, just stay patient." They went out to get another machine but it would not turn on. Uncharged battery. Then they decided to draw my blood. The young guy looked for an appropriate vein and kept announcing that he was hungry and if there was any place still open where they could get something to eat. "You can look through my refrigerator, if you want," I said half-sarcastically and half-seriously. I just wanted this character away from me. "Let’s give the hulky woman a try," I thought.
"You’re blood pressure is very high," said the tough-looking guy. "Okay, Rambo," I thought. "Get me to the f-ing hospital then." "There’s only so much we can do out here," said Rambo in his best John Wayne voice. "We’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to the hospital." "Fine," I answered. "But I’d like to walk into the ambulance, thank you." "Okay, but be careful."
I was still very dizzy but I wanted to walk in case the hungry man accidently tipped me over if his stomach started to growl or something. Besides, I was feeling nauseous and didn’t want to lie down on the thin mattress and be tottered across my driveway.
On the way there I asked Rambo several questions about what I could be experiencing. He didn’t have much in the way of answers. He tried to hook up an I.V. but wasn’t having much success either. When we arrived at the emergency door, I asked if I could walk in. "You could but we might get in trouble." "Okay, we wouldn’t want that," I answered and resigned myself to lying down on the plank.
First they took my blood pressure. It was high; about 190 over 121. My pulse was about 200 beats per minute. "Hello!" I thought. Next, they gave me oxygen and started asking all kinds of annoying questions. I knew that paramedic’s training only went so far and thus wanted to proceed to the hospital. Their job, I thought, was to get me there in one piece as quickly as possible and perform any emergency procedures necessary, if need be, God forbid.
They hooked me up to a portable EKG machine. "Now we’re talking," I said. Soon after they turned the machine on, however, it broke. "We’re having a little problem Mr. Allard, just stay patient." They went out to get another machine but it would not turn on. Uncharged battery. Then they decided to draw my blood. The young guy looked for an appropriate vein and kept announcing that he was hungry and if there was any place still open where they could get something to eat. "You can look through my refrigerator, if you want," I said half-sarcastically and half-seriously. I just wanted this character away from me. "Let’s give the hulky woman a try," I thought.
"You’re blood pressure is very high," said the tough-looking guy. "Okay, Rambo," I thought. "Get me to the f-ing hospital then." "There’s only so much we can do out here," said Rambo in his best John Wayne voice. "We’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to the hospital." "Fine," I answered. "But I’d like to walk into the ambulance, thank you." "Okay, but be careful."
I was still very dizzy but I wanted to walk in case the hungry man accidently tipped me over if his stomach started to growl or something. Besides, I was feeling nauseous and didn’t want to lie down on the thin mattress and be tottered across my driveway.
On the way there I asked Rambo several questions about what I could be experiencing. He didn’t have much in the way of answers. He tried to hook up an I.V. but wasn’t having much success either. When we arrived at the emergency door, I asked if I could walk in. "You could but we might get in trouble." "Okay, we wouldn’t want that," I answered and resigned myself to lying down on the plank.
It turned out, after the results for a battery of test came in, that I had low cholesterol and no blockages to my heart. I had experienced an episode of arrhythmia and was told to stay off of caffeine. I took my health seriously for a month or so but then slacked off a little.
Lately, I've been doing better but have a long way to go. I'm exercising regularly, eating light at night and trying to be careful about what I put into my body. I want to live a long, healthy and productive life, as much as is in my power. I want to have energy and look good as well. I have to take care of the body because it is a temple of the Supreme.
I feel I'm on the right track now. I don't expect to have all good days. I have bad days but then I refocus. But the majority of days has to be good. I never want to go back to that image posted in this blog of me in the hospital bed. It's embarrassing to post, as are all pictures when I'm overweight. But if I don't face the truth of the matter, I will never get over the failure.
I'm going to try to post a weekly blog about my progress with the battle of the bulge and my health in general. I'll let you know when it begins, if anyone is at all interested.
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3 comments:
Good luck with the weight loss, I need to lose a few pounds myself.
Wow Gargs! That was an amazing read... The details you described really brought your brush with death to a point where I felt your trauma as if it were happening to me. I hope the clarity of that experience gives you strength. Thanks for sharing...
I applaud your clarity on your health needs. I work on the adult heart failure/transplant team and see men your age and size all the time, who failed to take care of their weight, diet and heart. Now they can't breathe or walk a few short steps; they wait for a new heart but some will die waiting, because there are more overweight men than new hearts. Oh, and my doctors told me also, "Lose those extra pounds you put on since your last visit." It's hard but gotta do it.
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