3 Heart Attacks

And no funerals

My Mom and I

I’ve always had a tight bond with my mom, the kind where we both dial each other simultaneously. Our conversations usually start like this: “Hey, I was just thinking of you!” or “You know what? I was just about to call!” I don’t buy into cosmic connections, but I do believe that like-minded people tend to think alike. My mom and I are cut from the same cloth. We share both our virtues and vices, like early birds who hit the sack and rise with the sun. We’re also card-carrying members of the neurotic and worrywart clubs. So when the news hit that she’d suffered a heart attack, it was a gut punch.

A Busy Night in Spring

This all went down in April 2019, right when I was gearing up to direct a production I’d penned for my fourth graders. I’d been grinding away at a fancy school in Turkey for a while, and they’d entrusted me with the mammoth task of putting on a show for the parents. The performance was slated for around 7 p.m., and at about 5, I slipped out to the teacher’s designated smoking spot, tucked beneath a jerry-rigged roof and a cluster of trees. I was already a bundle of nerves—after all, I’d not only written the damn thing but was also in charge of lights, curtains, and sound, all in real time. As I inhaled my Camel, gazing at the Anatolian sky, my phone rang, and it was none other than my mother.

Heart Attack Number 1

My heart plunged into my gut. She knew I was swamped with work and never rang at this hour unless Armageddon had struck. “Hey, Petes. I don’t want you to worry, but I had a little heart attack,” she whispered. Her voice was frail, and my world crumbled. I stubbed out my cigarette and sought refuge in a secluded corner of the garden to digest the news and learn more. Apparently, it was a silent heart attack, and she’d pull through. I made frantic calls to my father and brother, who assured me it wasn’t as dire as it sounded—still bad, but not a death sentence. She was in good hands. I told my dad that I’d catch the first flight home, but he knew it wasn’t possible—in Turkey, they only grant extended leave if someone actually passes, for a meager three days. A lousy three days for grieving! Mom was alive and on the mend, though. If I made a run for it without proper authorization from the Ministry of Education, they’d take my permit and wipe out my livelihood. Dad and my brother managed to talk some sense into me, convincing me to stay put and that she’d be alright. So, I reluctantly returned to school, dove into a restroom, shed a few tears, splashed water on my face, and went on with the show.

Birth of a Monster

It’s the most significant regret of my life — allowing myself to be a pawn in a system that would axe me for tending to my ailing mother. It was the birth of my health anxiety, and I became dead certain my heart was about to explode.

A&E&ME

The show went off without a hitch, but in the weeks that followed, I’d find myself in the classroom, convinced I was a heartbeat away from checking out. Teaching fourth graders while my internal monologue screamed, “You’re a goner!” As soon as work was over, I’d bolt to the hospital.

All Negative

The doctors threw everything but the kitchen sink at me—scans of the heart and lungs, blood tests, a stress test, and even a 24-hour heart monitor. The verdict was always the same: no blockages, top-notch lungs, textbook heartbeat, and an A+ on the stress test. I was, medically speaking, the poster child for good health. It would calm me for a few days, and eventually, the panic attacks stopped. But then the pandemic reared its ugly head.

Pandemic and friends

I’ve written about my pandemic exploits before, but in a nutshell, I thrived during that time, as did my mother. But not everyone shared our luck and love of solitude and walks. My two best friends, Harrison and Freeman, had turbulent relationships with the pandemic. Harrison, who was just a year older than me, hated it.

Freeman, older than both of us at 49, had more of a love-hate thing going with the pandemic. Well, more of a love-hate relationship, especially with the draconian rules. He lived in the city, and during the limited hours he was allowed outside, there was no decent place for him to get his exercise fix. I suggested he hit the gym like me, but Freeman reckoned it wasn’t worth the coin, given our mere two-hour daily outdoor allowance. I’d spend one hour in the morning climbing mountains and the second at the gym, but Freeman and Harrison remained homebodies, even when restrictions eased. This turned out to be their undoing.

Heart Attack Number 2

About four months into the pandemic, Harrison had a heart attack. This was pre-vaccine. I won’t pin it on the vaccine; I have no interest in that. Not my concern. What truly sucked was that I couldn’t visit him due to the damned restrictions. The mental image of his wife and their newborn waiting outside the hospital tore at my insides. Harrison and I were practically doppelgangers, same age and all. How the hell did he end up with a heart attack? It boggled my mind, and panic crept in once again, that nagging voice whispering, “You’re next!”

Harrison bounced back and soon hopped back on the horse of life without much complaint. I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck.

How Harrison’s Heart Stopped

During a group Zoom call, he spilled the beans. Smoking, lack of exercise, and mountains of stress—that was the concoction that landed him in hot water.

One day, he’d attempted a cardio workout from a YouTube video, sans warm-up.

He said that a couple of minutes in, a heavy pain clamped down on his chest. He brushed it off as poor fitness.

He had been griping about chest pains during his walks to work for about 6 months.

My anxiety surged as I recalled my own chest pains. My hand trembled as I thought, ‘Why am I so special? If it could happen to him, it could sure as hell happen to me.’ But that’s anxiety for you—it skews your judgment and memory, transforming every moment into a new nightmare. I promptly forgot about my two-a-day exercise routine, healthier eating, and my smoking reduction from 15 to a mere 5 cigarettes a day. I even had the audacity to second-guess the doctor’s findings! I reached for my keys, ready to rush to the hospital for another heart check, but I couldn’t. The blasted restrictions!

What if it was just anxiety? I’d be swiping a bed from a COVID patient. What if I caught the virus myself?

That’s the silver lining of the pandemic—it made me ponder the consequences of my actions and think of others. So, I poured a cup of tea and found my calm. Well, I actually lay in the darkness, waiting for death and for my friend to stop talking about his heart.

Back to normal

Well, as you’re well aware, the pandemic eventually waved goodbye, and it was time to trudge back to the grind.

I detested it.

Everywhere felt suffocatingly crowded, and the morning commute with Freeman was a particularly loathsome affair. We’d hop on the same school service bus, shoot the breeze, and commiserate.

Heart Attack Number 3

One gray morning, things were different. Freeman, perched in his usual seat, sat there like a statue, clutching his bag, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with terror. He leaned over and muttered, “I need to go to the hospital.” He said it like he was asking for a cup of coffee, calm as you please. “Sure,” I stammered, both bewildered and terrified. I alerted the bus driver, who needed some coaxing. When he finally turned to glimpse Freeman’s condition, he hit the gas.

“Freeman, what do we tell them?” I asked as I yanked his tie, drenched in sweat. Panic was gnawing at me. I couldn’t see through the foggy windows and had no idea how far we were from the hospital. It was all a blur.

“Heart attack,” Freeman mumbled, clutching his bag. Another damn heart attack? Jesus, I’m cursed!

We made it to the hospital just in time, saving Freeman’s life. I stuck around as long as I could, but after 24 hours, duty called, and I had to return to work. Freeman took a month off but eventually made a full recovery. Our coworkers all sent him flowers, but the big school made sure to dock his pay.

3 Heart Attacks

Now, both my closest friends and my mom were on heart medication. My anxiety was through the roof.

Was I next?

Why not me?

During my darkest moments, my mind would drift to a childhood friend who met a tragic end in a car accident. He was a beautiful soul, full of love and life. Why did he have to go so soon? Surely his future was brighter than mine! Yet here I was, still standing. It just didn’t add up. So, I reached out to my father, and this is how that conversation went down

Me: Hey, Dad!

Dad: Well now, Pete! How are you?

Me: I’m grand now. I’m on the balcony having a drink, and I said I’d call you.

Dad: Oh, good man! How’s work? Things are fully back to normal here.

Me: You know yourself. Same. Here, come here to me, am, what was your best friend’s name who died?

Dad: Mark.

Me: Yeah, Mark. Sorry, I should’ve remembered. How old was he when he had his heart attack?

Dad: Oh, he must’ve been in his early 30's.

Me: Did you ever worry it would happen to you? Because Mark was so young, like?

Dad: No. Well, initially, but you just get on with it. You mourn the person and try to keep yourself fit. Are you worried about yours?

Me: Sometimes.

Dad: Well, in fairness, Pete, you had a triple whammy with your mother and your friends. Just keep yourself busy and eat well. Go to the gym and do walks. Sure, you do that anyway. There’s nothing to worry about.

And that’s how it went down. I felt better after our chat. My father had no inkling of my crippling anxiety, but his advice was solid—eat well and stay fit. Simple yet effective.

But I couldn’t help but dwell on the finer points of it all.

It felt like my mind was latching onto other people’s afflictions and making them my own, like some sort of empathetic copycat clamoring for the limelight.

A real “me too” guy who just wanted in on every ailment,

Chest pains? Yep, Peter’s got ’em.

Heart trouble? Peter’s on it!

Thank the heavens; I don’t know anyone who’s had their, ahem, equipment fall off. Now, that would be something. “Hey guys, I think my dick is going to fall off!” Jesus, I wouldn’t put it past myself!

A Sort of Conclusion?

I’m not entirely sure what this piece is about.

I reckon it’s a glimpse into anxiety’s clutches and how we grapple with adversity.

It’s about coping or at least trying to.

Maybe I should not model myself on other people's illnesses but instead on their bravery in the face of such illnesses.

Did my dad turn into a health fanatic when his friend passed?

Did Harrison’s wife start fearing for her own health?

Nope! They soldiered on.

Mom, Harrison, and Freeman—they're all doing just fine. They were the victims, and they’ve moved on.

Meanwhile, I’m still huddled in a corner, waiting for my turn.

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Peter