(Find Part One below, or under 2012 in the Blog Archive to the right)
So the technician does the scan of my heart as the dye is taken up by the heart muscle, and when she's all done I ask her what she thinks. She's not supposed to answer questions like that, but she does tell me there is a 'questionable' area on the scan.
They transfer me to a wheelchair, wheel me over to the cardio lab again, and a doctor comes by to tell me that they need to do an angiogram (the 'gold standard' for diagnosing cardiovascular disease). Now this is concerning to me for a couple of reasons. 1) My Dad flat-lined when they did this to him. Apparently he reacted poorly to the dye. 2) I know that statistically this procedure is fatal to about one of every one thousand patients. Being between the proverbial rock and a hard place, I consent to the angiogram.
Nothing remarkable happened during the scan - which is a good thing. Afterwards the same doc that told me I needed the angiogram walks up to me and tells me I'm not going to be able to leave the hospital because I need "emergency bypass graft surgery." It turns out this was - to put it politely - not true. The yardstick that doctors are supposed to use to decide whether "emergency bypass graft" surgery is required is "incapacitating chest pain". I didn't have incapacitating chest pain. My shoulder ached upon exertion, but I was far from incapacitated. Had I known then what I know now, I would have stood up from the wheelchair, walked out of the hospital, and driven home. And then I would have launched into Dr. Caldwell B. Esselstyn Jr.'s program with full force - eating my way to wellness and halting (and potentially possibly reversing) the damage I had done to my arteries by my poor eating habits. But I didn't know about Dr. Esselstyn at the time, and the doctors made my situation sound quite dire. So, once again, I agreed to the surgery.
I'm leaving out all the gory details, but let me just say that having bypass surgery was without a doubt the worst experience of my life. I vowed, while laying in that hospital bed, that I would never consent to having this procedure again. That meant that I'd either beat the heart disease demon, or I'd die. So, I set out to beat it. (The docs don't bother to tell you that once you have this procedure, that you'll be back in 3 - 5 years for another, and another, etc. Same story with stents. Your only hope of getting off this roller-coaster is to implement a complete (and permanent) lifestyle change.)
About six months after the surgery, my wife and I started walking for exercise. Initially, we walked a couple of miles on the paths around our Thornton Colorado home. Each time out we tried to beat the time from the last walk. This kept us improving over time, and eventually we started walking three miles each day. I joined the gym at the university where I worked, and started working out each weekday morning as well. I worked with a personal trainer, and was doing strength training and some light cardio. After a couple of months, my wife expressed an interest in joining a local gym, so I dropped my university gym membership, and we joined the Lifetime Fitness gym in Thornton. Again, I worked with a personal trainer and started on a 12-week fitness improvement program. My wife and I would hit the gym six days a week, and work out for 70-90 minutes each day. I measured my calorie output during these sessions, and I was consistently burning 1200-1400 calories every workout. My fitness level was improving, and I dropped 10-12 lbs of body weight. My wife had similar results.
During my first 12-week program, I became frustrated with the fact that I wasn't losing much weight. It wasn't for lack of exercise! I assumed that I had a 'slow' metabolism, and I just needed to eat less to get the pounds to start dropping off. I had been eating about 1800 calories a day - and was a strict vegan by this time. (I should mention that I had been a vegetarian for about 27 years and was still a vegetarian when I had my surgery. However, being a vegetarian is of little value if you're eating the wrong foods. After all, Twinkies are vegetarian, and so are potato chips and chocolate-chip cookies. More to come on this.)
I decided to reduce my caloric intake to 1200 calories per day. I weighed every morning - waiting to see the pounds start melting away. But it didn't happen. How incredibly frustrating!! I knew I was burning more calories than I was consuming, and the math was saying I should be losing weight, but I wasn't. "Ok", I thought to myself, "I'll drop down to 900 calories of intake per day." And I did.
When the 12-week fitness program evaluation took place, my level of fitness had - by every measure - declined. The personal trainer - who I saw pretty much daily - who knew I had been working out regularly and consistently - was dumbfounded. Eventually, she started probing for the cause - getting around to diet before too long. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her what I was eating! "Go home" she told me. It was my turn to be dumbfounded. "Go home and start eating" she said. "You will not be allowed back into this gym for at least one week, and not even then unless you can tell me that you're consistently eating 3000 calories per day. You're literally starving to death, and you're putting yourself at serious risk for major health problems. I'll arrange for you to talk with our dietician, and you should get a basal metabolic rate (BMR) test done soon."
So, I went home - more depressed than ever. My cholesterol wasn't dropping - it was still very near 190 mg/dl - which is about where it was when I had my surgery. My blood glucose was still at borderline diabetic levels, my blood pressure was only marginally better. And now I had to go home and eat 3000 calories per day? I know what would happen - I'd do the Goodyear Blimp imitation and would be back in the hospital with more heart problems inside a year. Reluctantly, I started eating 3000+ calories per day. I went back to the gym after a week, met with the dietician, had the BMR test, and it turned out that I needed to be eating 3600 calories per day just to break even!
Shortly thereafter, I came home from the gym frustrated and depressed. After dinner, my wife and I turned on the TV to watch 3ABN. Dr. Hans Diehl was a guest on 3ABN Today LIVE!, and he had brought another guest with him - Dr. Caldwell B. Esselstyn Jr. M.D. The topic of the program was preventing and reversing heart disease. This obviously caught my attention in a big way - but I was a professional skeptic - and so I waited to find out what magical potion, pill, or elixir Dr. Esselstyn was going to be pushing. But the 'pitch' never came. Instead, he detailed the remarkable results he had seen in his patients when they adopted his recommended dietary changes. I was intrigued. I had tried everything I could, and the results weren't forthcoming. "We need to do this" I told my wife. (She was livid. She had, in her mind, already exceeded all the "lifestyle change" units she had been allotted. She went to bed angry, but claims she was OK with the idea by the next day, but I think it took a little longer for her to cool down.)
We bought Dr. Esselstyn's book, and immediately adopted his recommendations. 10 days later I had my blood drawn. A day later I had the results. I had tears in my eyes as I read the lab results to my wife over the phone. My cholesterol had dropped to 117 mg/dl. My glucose was down to 80 - normal for the first time in years. The next time I had my blood pressure checked, it was 120/80 - lower than it had been in years. All this as a result of changing what we ate (and more importantly - what we didn't eat).
Since that time, my wife has lost nearly 100 pounds, and I've lost 75. That's like losing a third family member! Our energy is terrific, our minds are sharp and clear, and aches and pains that plagued us have disappeared as well.
So what's the key? Here it is: We eat a plant-based diet, with no added oils or fats, and with an absolute minimum amount of processed (white flour, sugar, etc.) food. In my case, since I've been diagnosed with cardiovascular disease, I also abstain from nuts, and avocados - since they contain saturated fats. I take one baby aspirin a day - but no other medications. I also take 1000 mcg of B12 once or twice a week. My wife - having had partial thyroidectomy - is required to take a thyroid supplement - but no other medications or supplements.
In subsequent blog entries here, we'll give recipes, and present more information about how and why this lifestyle works, and about the amazing results we see consistently when people adopt the lifestyle. Remember, there are no pills, potions, special meals, or anything else to buy. We're not selling anything. Period. I hope you consider trying this for just two weeks - you'll be astounded at the results!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Friday, November 30, 2012
Why "Fat Free Freedom" ?
Part One, or, Fat Free Freedom - what a name!
It has special significance to my wife and I. If you read my profile along the left side of the page, you'll discover a little bit about why my wife and I are on this journey. Allow me, in this first blog post, to give you the first half of the story. I'll post the second installment tomorrow, and once that's behind us, we can get to the fun stuff - like eating! (It's a sad commentary perhaps, but meals are still the high points of my day.)
In 2007 my wife and I moved from Walnut Grove, Minnesota (yep - THAT Walnut Grove - Little House on the Prairie, On the Banks of Plum Creek, etc.) to the northern suburbs of Denver, Colorado. I had accepted a position at the University of Denver, and usually started my days early in order to beat the brutal I-25 rush-hour traffic. My office was on the second floor of an older building on campus, so I'd climb the stairway every morning, arriving winded at the top. After about six months at DU I registered for a winter quarter math class - Differential Equations (don't ask). The class was on the opposite side of the campus from my office, so I had the opportunity to hike across campus each weekday morning. I had noticed that as the weather got colder an ache developed in my left shoulder as I made the trek to the Math building. I had been a firefighter, an EMT, and had worked in the ER of a busy county hospital, so I was well aware of the symptoms of angina pectoris - pain resulting from insufficient flow of blood (and hence oxygen) to the heart muscle. But this was just a shoulder ache. No sweating, no shortness of breath, no crushing sensation in my chest. It was just a shoulder ache.
I had been seeing an electrophysiologist since my arrival in Colorado. I had developed heart rhythm issues while living in Minnesota, and my doctor in Colorado had me on meds to keep my rhythm regular. I called him up, and asked him about the shoulder ache. "Don't worry about it." was his reply. "I don't know what's causing it, but it's not your heart, because your treadmill test was clean."
Fine, I thought. Except for one minor, nearly insignificant little thing; I hadn't had a treadmill test in years, and my Colorado doc didn't have those records. He was confusing me with another patient!
I called him back and told him I hadn't had a treadmill test. "Oh!", he said. "So you want to schedule a treadmill test then?" Caught off guard, I answered in the affirmative. But I recall thinking that it was sort of pointless, because I just had a shoulder ache. It wasn't a heart problem.
A week later I'm on the treadmill. I'm wired up to a computer that's displaying my heart rhythm, and there's an IV in my right arm. On the other end of the IV is a nurse with a syringe of radioactive dye. She will inject the dye into the IV tubing once my heart rate hits 140 beats per minute. It doesn't take long for me to get to that point, and she's about to push the plunger when I suddenly feel light-headed, and about to pass out. The computer starts screaming. The other nurse yells, "he's in V-Fib!!!" (Wrong. It was ventricular tachycardia. I could read the EKG even through the mental fog.) They hit the kill switch (what an appropriate name!) on the treadmill, as I collapsed to my knees. They maneuvered me to a gurney, and at some point in that process my heart rhythm returned to normal. The room was now buzzing with doctors, nurses, and technicians. How embarrassing! And how scary.
After some time, one of the physicians in attendance spoke. "We'd like you to continue the test."
I'm thinking to myself, did I end up at the mental hospital by accident? Is this guy nuts? I politely declined the opportunity to get back on the treadmill.
He responded, "No, not the treadmill. We'll use a chemical to stress your heart, then we can inject the dye and see what kind of blood flow your heart has."
"No way", I said, "not if there's a chance that I have to go through anything like what I just experienced."
"No, I think it'll be OK", he answered.
Oh goody. That made me feel SO much better. He "thinks" it'll be OK. The eight or so people in the room, surrounding my gurney, waited silently for my response. A nurse was holding my hand. Having just experienced a potentially fatal arrhythmia, brought on, I was sure, by the physical stress to my heart, I made the only logical decision I could make. I let them do their chemical stress test. I figured I was surrounded with people that could bring me back if I checked out. Much better to have problems in the hospital than on the freeway, I reasoned. However, I can say, without the slightest hesitation, that I'll NEVER let them do that to me again. It's a horrible sensation - one I can't even put words around. But, I got through it without any weird arrhythmias, or dying, and they injected the dye as planned. So off we went to radiology so they could scan my heart while the dye was active.
That's when things took a turn for the worse.
(I'll wrap this up in my next post.)
It has special significance to my wife and I. If you read my profile along the left side of the page, you'll discover a little bit about why my wife and I are on this journey. Allow me, in this first blog post, to give you the first half of the story. I'll post the second installment tomorrow, and once that's behind us, we can get to the fun stuff - like eating! (It's a sad commentary perhaps, but meals are still the high points of my day.)
In 2007 my wife and I moved from Walnut Grove, Minnesota (yep - THAT Walnut Grove - Little House on the Prairie, On the Banks of Plum Creek, etc.) to the northern suburbs of Denver, Colorado. I had accepted a position at the University of Denver, and usually started my days early in order to beat the brutal I-25 rush-hour traffic. My office was on the second floor of an older building on campus, so I'd climb the stairway every morning, arriving winded at the top. After about six months at DU I registered for a winter quarter math class - Differential Equations (don't ask). The class was on the opposite side of the campus from my office, so I had the opportunity to hike across campus each weekday morning. I had noticed that as the weather got colder an ache developed in my left shoulder as I made the trek to the Math building. I had been a firefighter, an EMT, and had worked in the ER of a busy county hospital, so I was well aware of the symptoms of angina pectoris - pain resulting from insufficient flow of blood (and hence oxygen) to the heart muscle. But this was just a shoulder ache. No sweating, no shortness of breath, no crushing sensation in my chest. It was just a shoulder ache.
I had been seeing an electrophysiologist since my arrival in Colorado. I had developed heart rhythm issues while living in Minnesota, and my doctor in Colorado had me on meds to keep my rhythm regular. I called him up, and asked him about the shoulder ache. "Don't worry about it." was his reply. "I don't know what's causing it, but it's not your heart, because your treadmill test was clean."
Fine, I thought. Except for one minor, nearly insignificant little thing; I hadn't had a treadmill test in years, and my Colorado doc didn't have those records. He was confusing me with another patient!
I called him back and told him I hadn't had a treadmill test. "Oh!", he said. "So you want to schedule a treadmill test then?" Caught off guard, I answered in the affirmative. But I recall thinking that it was sort of pointless, because I just had a shoulder ache. It wasn't a heart problem.
A week later I'm on the treadmill. I'm wired up to a computer that's displaying my heart rhythm, and there's an IV in my right arm. On the other end of the IV is a nurse with a syringe of radioactive dye. She will inject the dye into the IV tubing once my heart rate hits 140 beats per minute. It doesn't take long for me to get to that point, and she's about to push the plunger when I suddenly feel light-headed, and about to pass out. The computer starts screaming. The other nurse yells, "he's in V-Fib!!!" (Wrong. It was ventricular tachycardia. I could read the EKG even through the mental fog.) They hit the kill switch (what an appropriate name!) on the treadmill, as I collapsed to my knees. They maneuvered me to a gurney, and at some point in that process my heart rhythm returned to normal. The room was now buzzing with doctors, nurses, and technicians. How embarrassing! And how scary.
After some time, one of the physicians in attendance spoke. "We'd like you to continue the test."
I'm thinking to myself, did I end up at the mental hospital by accident? Is this guy nuts? I politely declined the opportunity to get back on the treadmill.
He responded, "No, not the treadmill. We'll use a chemical to stress your heart, then we can inject the dye and see what kind of blood flow your heart has."
"No way", I said, "not if there's a chance that I have to go through anything like what I just experienced."
"No, I think it'll be OK", he answered.
Oh goody. That made me feel SO much better. He "thinks" it'll be OK. The eight or so people in the room, surrounding my gurney, waited silently for my response. A nurse was holding my hand. Having just experienced a potentially fatal arrhythmia, brought on, I was sure, by the physical stress to my heart, I made the only logical decision I could make. I let them do their chemical stress test. I figured I was surrounded with people that could bring me back if I checked out. Much better to have problems in the hospital than on the freeway, I reasoned. However, I can say, without the slightest hesitation, that I'll NEVER let them do that to me again. It's a horrible sensation - one I can't even put words around. But, I got through it without any weird arrhythmias, or dying, and they injected the dye as planned. So off we went to radiology so they could scan my heart while the dye was active.
That's when things took a turn for the worse.
(I'll wrap this up in my next post.)
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