Today marks the one year anniversary of the phone call notifying me to the event that no new bride wants to hear. My mother-in-law called me while I was at work.
“You might want to get down here,” she said. “Dylan’s having a heart attack.”
I work 46.5mi north of our little town. It takes me an hour to get to work. The closest hospital to our house is 11-ish miles south, and takes about 15min to get to on it’s own. From the time I got that call, it was maybe 45 or 50min until I reached the hospital.
He suffered a massive heart attack. 100% blockage in a coronary artery. The “Widowmaker” it’s been nicknamed. Dylan was damn lucky. The artery didn’t rupture. No permanent damage to the heart. The EMS crews acted fast. Aspirin. Nitro under the tongue. Dylan swears they didn’t touch the ground as the ambulance transported him to the hospital.
Once he arrived, he says there were about a dozen people waiting for him, and it wasn’t but a moment before they wheeled him into the cath lab and the cardiologist was sending a balloon into his artery and placing a stent.
He came out soon after I arrived, maybe fifteen minutes. We talked to his cardiologist, who told him that he was very lucky and he was too young to be having these problems. He also said, in no uncertain terms, that Dylan had to stop smoking. I threw away his brand new pack of cigarettes that night, and he hasn’t touched one since.
It’s been a tough year, with unique challenges that most newlyweds haven’t had to go through, but we’ve made it, and tonight we went out to a nice dinner to celebrate. One year without smoking.
That’s an accomplishment that anyone would be proud of.