I shall not die, but live, and
declare the works of the Lord.
Psalm 118:17
It was three years ago today when I suffered a heart attack…
declare the works of the Lord.
Psalm 118:17
It was three years ago today when I suffered a heart attack…
It began shortly after lunch. I started to have a feeling of being squeezed around my shoulders, and I was experiencing shortness of breath, as well. I didn't feel any pain, and I was fully alert. I thought that, if anything, I had a bad case of indigestion, which is quite common in prison when one considers the quality of the food.
However, when the inmate who was doing custodial work saw me and asked if I was okay, I told him yes. But looking out for my interest, he told the officer who was on duty in the housing area. The officer called the Infirmary, and despite my protests that I was fine, I was ordered to go down to the infirmary to get checked out.
I was given the standard EKG test, but when the facility's doctor looked at the results, he abruptly turned to the nurse and said, "Call for an ambulance." I couldn't believe it. "An ambulance? Me?"
Out I went on a stretcher. Feeling reasonably well, I told the EMT that I was fine. She was kind, but firm. The monitor I was hooked up to, she said, told a different story. She insisted that I was showing signs of a heart attack. But I was in denial.
Now having arrived at the hospital, tests revealed that my arteries were clogged, a couple of them had one hundred percent blockage. The cardiologist who was assigned to me said, "Mister Berkowitz, you need bypass surgery."
"Bypass surgery? Me?" And that's what happened. On December 18, 2017, I went under the surgeon's knife. Complications arose and I almost didn't make it. Then, returning to the prison after being in the hospital for about thirty-five days, was a big adjustment.
I was anxious to return to my friends. I missed the holidays of Hanukkah and Christmas. I missed the fellowship I had back at the prison. I didn't miss the prison, however, only my friends who were in it.
Upon my return, however, I was placed in the prison's Infirmary, where I was kept under observation. The facility's medical staff checked on me daily. Having received a quadruple bypass is no small thing. But after two weeks I was allowed to return to the general population. It was good seeing my friends again. I was eager to rejoin them in the chapel.
But I had a lot of trouble breathing. There were intense bouts of shortness of breath. Then, on my way to the chapel for the first time in what had now been almost two months, I passed out. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I collapsed and was unconscious. When I awoke, I found myself strapped into a gurney. My face was bloody, The nurse kept telling me to remain still and stop moving around. I was in a state of disorientation. "Where am I? What happened?"
Once again, I found myself being loaded into an ambulance. Off I went to the same hospital I had surgery in only two months before. Tests showed I had "Pulmonary Edema." My lungs were filling up with fluid, and I was slowly drowning as a buildup of fluid was replacing the air I had to breathe in order to live. My lungs needed to be drained. I remained in the hospital for about two weeks until I fully recovered.
Then it was back to the prison to resume where I had left off. It was a close call. My bout with Pulmonary Edema would've killed me if I had not passed out and ended up in the hospital.
Weeks had gone by since my last hospitalization. I was making progress, albeit slowly. However, unbeknownst to me, another medical emergency was ahead. I was about to undergo my third "emergency" trip back to the hospital in the city of Albany.
Weeks after my hospitalization for Pulmonary Edema, I awoke one night with an intense pain in the back of my left shoulder, and all the way down the left side of my back. It was so painful that I had to sit upright on my bunk for much of the night. Sleep was impossible.
Around 7 o'clock, I had the opportunity to go to the Infirmary to pick up my medications. When I got to the service window, I showed the nurse my now hideously swollen back. I told her about the pain I was in. Without any hesitation, she ordered me to go to the entry door of the Nurse's station. From here she marched me right into the doctor's office.
The doctor ordered an immediate x-ray. Looking over the results, he quickly turned to me and said, "I'm sending you to the hospital." I thought to myself, "Oh, no! Not again." But yes, I was on my way. Another long ride in handcuffs and shackles, and in constant pain.
Another battery of tests. The diagnosis? Internal bleeding. Apparently, a blood vessel, either in or near my left kidney, burst. I had been on a high dose of blood thinners since my initial surgery. The thinners somehow caused the leakage. My chest cavity was filling up with blood. In medical terminology, it was a case of "Hematoma."
One of the doctor's immediately took me off my blood thinners, and after about a day or two, the bleeding stopped. I had to get a transfusion to replace what I lost. But had they not been able to stop the bleeding, I could have died.
Another ten days stuck in the hospital. Yet I was still alive. Another brush with death. But again, I survived. Therefore, if anyone has the right to thank and praise the Lord, it is me.
It has now been a little more than three years since my initial heart attack, and three years since bypass surgery. My health has returned. I'm doing reasonably well. Why? I believe the Lord has more work to me to do. My mission is not finished yet.
D.B.
However, when the inmate who was doing custodial work saw me and asked if I was okay, I told him yes. But looking out for my interest, he told the officer who was on duty in the housing area. The officer called the Infirmary, and despite my protests that I was fine, I was ordered to go down to the infirmary to get checked out.
I was given the standard EKG test, but when the facility's doctor looked at the results, he abruptly turned to the nurse and said, "Call for an ambulance." I couldn't believe it. "An ambulance? Me?"
Out I went on a stretcher. Feeling reasonably well, I told the EMT that I was fine. She was kind, but firm. The monitor I was hooked up to, she said, told a different story. She insisted that I was showing signs of a heart attack. But I was in denial.
Now having arrived at the hospital, tests revealed that my arteries were clogged, a couple of them had one hundred percent blockage. The cardiologist who was assigned to me said, "Mister Berkowitz, you need bypass surgery."
"Bypass surgery? Me?" And that's what happened. On December 18, 2017, I went under the surgeon's knife. Complications arose and I almost didn't make it. Then, returning to the prison after being in the hospital for about thirty-five days, was a big adjustment.
I was anxious to return to my friends. I missed the holidays of Hanukkah and Christmas. I missed the fellowship I had back at the prison. I didn't miss the prison, however, only my friends who were in it.
Upon my return, however, I was placed in the prison's Infirmary, where I was kept under observation. The facility's medical staff checked on me daily. Having received a quadruple bypass is no small thing. But after two weeks I was allowed to return to the general population. It was good seeing my friends again. I was eager to rejoin them in the chapel.
But I had a lot of trouble breathing. There were intense bouts of shortness of breath. Then, on my way to the chapel for the first time in what had now been almost two months, I passed out. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I collapsed and was unconscious. When I awoke, I found myself strapped into a gurney. My face was bloody, The nurse kept telling me to remain still and stop moving around. I was in a state of disorientation. "Where am I? What happened?"
Once again, I found myself being loaded into an ambulance. Off I went to the same hospital I had surgery in only two months before. Tests showed I had "Pulmonary Edema." My lungs were filling up with fluid, and I was slowly drowning as a buildup of fluid was replacing the air I had to breathe in order to live. My lungs needed to be drained. I remained in the hospital for about two weeks until I fully recovered.
Then it was back to the prison to resume where I had left off. It was a close call. My bout with Pulmonary Edema would've killed me if I had not passed out and ended up in the hospital.
Weeks had gone by since my last hospitalization. I was making progress, albeit slowly. However, unbeknownst to me, another medical emergency was ahead. I was about to undergo my third "emergency" trip back to the hospital in the city of Albany.
Weeks after my hospitalization for Pulmonary Edema, I awoke one night with an intense pain in the back of my left shoulder, and all the way down the left side of my back. It was so painful that I had to sit upright on my bunk for much of the night. Sleep was impossible.
Around 7 o'clock, I had the opportunity to go to the Infirmary to pick up my medications. When I got to the service window, I showed the nurse my now hideously swollen back. I told her about the pain I was in. Without any hesitation, she ordered me to go to the entry door of the Nurse's station. From here she marched me right into the doctor's office.
The doctor ordered an immediate x-ray. Looking over the results, he quickly turned to me and said, "I'm sending you to the hospital." I thought to myself, "Oh, no! Not again." But yes, I was on my way. Another long ride in handcuffs and shackles, and in constant pain.
Another battery of tests. The diagnosis? Internal bleeding. Apparently, a blood vessel, either in or near my left kidney, burst. I had been on a high dose of blood thinners since my initial surgery. The thinners somehow caused the leakage. My chest cavity was filling up with blood. In medical terminology, it was a case of "Hematoma."
One of the doctor's immediately took me off my blood thinners, and after about a day or two, the bleeding stopped. I had to get a transfusion to replace what I lost. But had they not been able to stop the bleeding, I could have died.
Another ten days stuck in the hospital. Yet I was still alive. Another brush with death. But again, I survived. Therefore, if anyone has the right to thank and praise the Lord, it is me.
It has now been a little more than three years since my initial heart attack, and three years since bypass surgery. My health has returned. I'm doing reasonably well. Why? I believe the Lord has more work to me to do. My mission is not finished yet.
D.B.
