Stress I Guess

Last week I was struggling over several important decisions. I wasn’t exactly worried over which decisions to make; I’d already made them and was concerned as to whether or not I had made the right choices. My concerns weren’t about those choices, but what would the outcome be because of my decisions. I felt sure they were correct, but there was sometimes the niggling, uneasy, queasy feeling that lingers in the pit of the stomach.

When the weekend rolled around, I began to experience intermittent bouts of chest tightness. I knew it wasn’t muscular. The feeling of pressure didn’t change with movement or with a deep breath. The pressure wasn’t steady and was just a nuisance and like any good nurse, I ignored it.

Monday evening, I was told that a great friend, Pastor, professor and missionary, Dr. Norman Johnston had died. Although he wasn’t living nearby, we kept in touch, sharing stories and a rich history of birthdays, books, and families. His wife Joy and my wife Cindy were best friends. Our families drew closer during the various camping trips out west, to North Carolina, and through New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Labrador.

His passing hit me fairly hard. I settled into a funk. Not quite a depression because I could still function, but my emotions and throat were raw. I made it through Tuesday and Wednesday work day at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society with a continuation of the recurrent episodes of chest tightness.

Wednesday evening while sitting in prayer meeting, I felt a burning sensation in the right side of my chest with some numbness of the fingers of my left hand. This scared me. It brought my symptoms to a head and I decided I needed to be checked. It wasn’t sympathy pains from Pastor J’s heart attack, they were my own. Worried, I drove myself to the hospital.

The EKG and the MI enzymes came back normal, but with my risk factors, the ED doctor decided to keep me for a second EKG, a second set of MI enzymes, and a stress test in the morning. I didn’t get much rest. The ER “hold bed” was a room that easily could have been a meat locker. One or two degrees lower, I would have been able to see my breath. I did catch a few winks, hiding beneath a couple of thin cotton blankets. I am still among the living and out of the hospital. I passed my stress test. It feels good that it isn’t my heart, but I am still having occasional bouts of tightness.