It’s Wednesday lunchtime and I head out with husband for a bite to eat. Suddenly he says he feels strange and needs to walk slowly. I ask if we should go back, but no he insists he wants to eat out. We sit down at a table. Luckily he has an Apple Watch and he starts taking ECGs. His heart rate is way too high, but he still manages to gobble down his pasta. He says he feels dizzy. We rush out of the café and head back to work.
At this stage I’m still not sure how concerned I ought to be. After all, he is a man and a) communicating how he feels is not one of his strengths and b) he might be exaggerating.
‘What should I do?’ he asks.
‘I think you need to lie down and see a doctor ASAP,’ I reply.
We speak to two doctor friends on the phone and ask for advice. The response is unanimous: call 112. It's probably not a heart attack, but there is a risk he might faint.
Husband hesitates: ‘I’m just going to wait for it to go away.’
‘No, we are calling the emergency services.’
First we hear a message in German and in English asking us to hold the line. Then we speak to a woman. The first thing she asks is: ‘Where is the emergency?’. We explain the situation and she says she will send someone straight away. The ambulance turns up with flashing lights and I wave for it to stop. Two men come out: one is young, has blue eyes and a friendly face, the other one looks like Spud out of Trainspotting. I decide to address young guy, as Spud is rather intimidating.
Husband is taken into ambulance for various checks, or so I assume, while I’m left outside to pace the pavement. There’s a nasty wind blowing and I’m feeling cold. I wrap my scarf tightly around my neck and pull my woolly hat down over my ears. Various people walk by. There’s a man talking and gesticulating on the phone in Turkish; he seems rather agitated. On the pavement opposite another man is taking pictures of a parked white van, while a woman in a headscarf supervises.
Meanwhile, I get a call from eleven-year-old to say he is going home from school. I try to keep a cheerful tone and ask him to call me as soon as he gets home, because I’m still at work (actually I’m just outside work, but I don’t want to worry him). I stress several times that he must keep his phone on in case I need to reach him.
The ambulance starts shaking and young guy comes out without saying a word. He then disappears into the ambulance for several more minutes. I continue to pace the pavement. Eleven-year-old calls back after twenty minutes to say he is home and I stress once again that he must leave his phone on.
After what seems like forever, young guy appears and asks if I’m the Lebensgefährtin, which literally translates as “life companion”. Somehow this word reminds me of an imprisonment sentence: ‘What did you get?’ ‘Life’.
Anyway, having confirmed who I am – So you’re the wife – he informs me that there is indeed something wrong with the heart, but it’s not life-threatening. A cardiologist is on his way, and as soon as he arrives, they will drive my husband to the hospital. A second ambulance with blue lights shows up and two men walk out looking like Ghostbusters. They are also swallowed up by the first ambulance, which by now I suspect is not really an ambulance but a black hole.
Finally, the first two paramedics come out and tell me the name of the hospital, which I've never heard of. Young guy repeats it and then Spud asks if I’m a work colleague.
‘There’s not much point in going there straight away though, you’ll be hanging around for hours,’ he adds.
By now I'm starting to feel desperate and I don't know what to do. If we had grandparents nearby I would ask them to look after eleven-year-old. I have a quick consultation with my colleagues, who are also rather worried. I decide to go home and call an Uber. I wait once again in the cold. My driver is five minutes away. While I follow his progress on the app, I learn that his name is Bobby and apparently he is “great at conversation”. In the 50 minutes it takes him to drive me home, Bobby doesn’t say a word, except for ‘Hi’ when I say hello and when I ask:
‘Weren’t we here a few minutes ago?’
To which Bobby replies: ‘The sat nav didn’t know the road was closed.’
Anyway I’m not in a chatty mood myself, as I have other things on my mind, such as, is my husband having a heart attack?, what am I going to do about my son?, am I having a heart attack? and I should wear warmer clothes. Bobby doesn’t seem to have the heating on and my hands are still icy.
I'm almost home when I receive a text from husband:
“All better. Just waiting for results.”
I start breathing again.
A few minutes later:
“Feeling normal now.”
“So it’s not a heart attack?”
“No.”
He uses some medical term I've never heard of.
The strange feelings in my body are starting to disappear so I'm not having a heart attack either.
About an hour later:
“I’m coming home. I feel fine and I don’t need picking up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I finally start to relax when a thought crosses my mind: I gave Spud my phone number so that they could keep me posted. I never got a call from Spud, and I hope he deletes my number. Moreover, I hope I never need Spud's help again.
So all's well that ends well and I can laugh about it now, but I can assure you it wasn't funny at the time. In case you ever have a rapid heart rate while resting that doesn't go away, call the doctor or go to the hospital.
*Photo by Jonas Augustin on Unsplash
