Good Lovin'

 Week Thirty-six: Good Lovin’


I was feeling so bad

I asked my family doctor just what I had

I said Doctor

Mr. M.D.

Now can you tell me what’s ailing me?

He said yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah


—The Young Rascals, Good Lovin’, from the album Young Rascals


On Sunday July 15, 1984, just eleven days after my fortieth birthday, I had a heart attack. I didn’t exactly know it was a heart attack. My decisions in the initial, critical period of time would indicate so. I’ll explain.


I started to make pancakes, but the indigestion that I had experienced for the past seven days made eating seem like a revolting idea. I tried anyway. Taking a break and sitting alone in the living room, I heard our 10 year old daughter tell her mother that “Dad is overreacting.” Ordinarily that would have been more than likely the case, but in this instance I was just trying not to spit up.


Deb suggested we go to the emergency room, which in hindsight would have eliminated most of the really bad choices I made in the next few hours. My chest was constricted and I became breathless, so I did the only thing I could think of: I tested the seriousness of my condition by going up and down the stairs to the second floor a few times. That seemed to make things worse. Worst case of indigestion I ever had, but no one needs a hospital for indigestion; right?


The emergency room was suggested again, and this time I agreed. As we rode toward the hospital I felt better. I was a bit embarrassed that our daughter had been right about my response to indigestion, so I did the only logical thing I could think of…I convinced Deb to take me to the grocery store. (As bizarre as that sounds, and as things turned out, as ridiculous as it was, I always shopped for groceries on Sunday mornings, so because I was feeling better and we were close to the store, why not get the groceries?)


The timeline is a bit fuzzy after 30 years, but I do remember that as we shopped my chest constricted and my left arm and hand became numb. I remember telling Deb that I needed to vomit. At that point I made another inexplicably bad decision. I went into the men’s room. Alone. I remember the look on her face when I finally came back and told her to leave the cart full of groceries, and that we had to go.


Everyone knows that the magic word is “abracadabra,” but from my experience the phrase “I’m 40 years old, and I’m having chest pains” works really well, too. Many thanks to the dedicated professionals who took over making decisions for me that day.


That’s the end of my story for July 15, 1984, despite my doing almost everything I could to make sure that day would be my last. 



The Rascals - Good Lovin'

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