by Nick Jacobs

This is a personal medical journey meant to demonstrate the fact that "medicine is not a science. It is truly an art." It also demonstrates accurately why we use the term "practice" when we refer to physicians.

The date is 1996. After having suffered with tightness in my chest after meals which had been diagnosed as GERD for about six years, I went in for a physical. Now, don't get me wrong, I'd gone in for a physicial every year for the past ten. It was a great physicial. I ran on the treadmill for about 14 minutes, no discomfort. Everything was great. Two days before Christmas, my doc was at the front door of my house. He'd never been to my house before.

His visit? "Nick, you need to get a heart cath. I think your scan was one of the 30% false positives because I exercised you too hard, but you won't know until you get a cath."

The cath was positive and it resulted in the opening of three blockages 60, 80, and 90%. All in the right main coronary artery. They were opened by two uncoated stents and a balloon angioplasty. It was then that I started on the Dean Ornish Program. Two years later, chest discomfort and two more stents.

This time they were on the corner of the right descending coronary artery, and, according to some of my cardiologist friends, it was from the damage caused by the first cath. Because it's a blind procedure, the docs sometimes push too hard on that corner. The after affects of that cath was an ancient torture device applied to my inner thigh that required me to take morphine while it was being used.

Six years later, 16 Slice Pet CT shows a blockage in the area of my first non-medically coated stents. Sure enough, it was the body's protective mechanism growing to cover the stents with tissue. Kind of like when they can't get the bullet out. Thank God, they have medically coated stents that should protect me for three years. Since I lasted six years the last time, it seemed like a no brainer.

A little complication this time. After the 30 minute cath where two more medically coated stents were inserted inside the old stents, life was on its way to being good again. Except for one small issue. Because I had complained about the ancient torture device, the doc came to my bedside and held the incision for about 20 minutes. As he left the room he told the male nurse to continue to work out the gel that he could still feel. The nurse put a wedge bandage in place and left. The second male nurse came into my room every hour for the next seven hours and checked the pulse in my foot. He NEVER checked the site of the incision. At 7:30, the night shift nurse came in, lifted the sheet and called the cath lab with these words, "Houston, we have a problem."

Four nurses came crashing into my room and began to push the massive hematoma (blood clot) into a sacred part of my body that I've tried to protect since I was a little boy. I went into shock. My blood pressure dropped to 60/30, and I started trying to remember exit prayers. It was the worst pain of my life, and it went on for 45 minutes. Then the aftermath lasted for nearly a month.

Obviously, I was thrilled to read a few weeks ago that coated stents now are resulting in deaths from throwing off blood clots. My recommendation to all of you? Avoid trans fats, exercise. meditate, and don't trust the for profit companies who are anxioius to make up their R & D funds before there's been enough time for discovery.

Oh, yeah, and say a little prayer for your doctor.