Category Archives: Summer in the Waiting Room

Summer in the Waiting Room: The Day That Changed My Life – Part 6 (excerpt #37)

Summer in the Waiting Room, , , ,
Image by share.kaiserpermanente.org (click on image to read past excerpts)
Image by share.kaiserpermanente.org
(click on image to read past excerpts)

Author’s note: The following passage from Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life is the 6th of nine parts that details June 7, 2010, the day that a massive heart attack forever changed my life.

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All of a sudden, the slow-motion movie turned into a full-speed action flick. As I was laying on a gurney, the medical team pushed me out of the emergency room and rushed through the wide hospital hallways to surgery. Doorways and the art on the walls appeared to be flying right past me in reverse as I could hear the squeaking of rubber-soled shoes against a polished floor coming from the hurried footsteps of those maneuvering the gurney.

I remember very little after the race to the operating room. My last memory was of Dr. Wong, wearing a white cap and a mask that covered his mouth and nose, standing over me explaining without emotion what he planned to do next. This was the first time during the entire day I felt extreme, unbearable pain.

Dr. Wong, in a clear monotone voice, advised that my heart was badly damaged and the prognosis for surviving the procedure was grim, 50/50 at best. When he was done with the explanation, he gave me a clipboard and pen to sign the consent form. I remember saying, “doctor, please put me to sleep, my chest hurts.”  Everything went dark.  It was 7:59 PM.

The first step in the procedure required a small incision in the right thigh near the groin. The surgeon inserted a narrow tube through a vein that led to an artery in the heart. He then maneuvered the tube through the artery under the guidance of a tiny scope that followed the path on a computer monitor.

Once the tube was in the heart, dye material was injected into the sheath so the doctor could determine exactly where the blockage or blockages were located. The image on the computer monitor left no doubt that the Left Anterior Descending Artery (LAD) in my heart was completely blocked.

This is one of the most important arteries in the whole system, and once blocked causes irreparable damage to the heart. The way it works is that oxygenated blood leaves the lungs and enters the upper and lower left chambers of the heart. The LAD delivers blood to the muscle over the lower left chamber that pumps oxygen-rich blood into the body.

When the LAD is 100% clogged, as mine was that night, the muscle under the LAD stops pumping the blood needed to oxygenate the rest of the body. Doctors have 15 to 20 minutes to dissolve the blockage before other critical organs like the lungs and brain begin to shut down due to lack of oxygen. As a result, the LAD is more commonly known as “the widow maker,” a term that Dr. Wong shared with Sandra later that evening in a matter-of-fact manner.

In the operating room, the surgeon prepared to perform a procedure that he had successfully executed several times a day for many years. Sandra sat alone in the surgery waiting room stunned by what was happening. In the small circular space adjacent to the operating room, she felt like a lonely insignificant being in a vast tube. As the wonderful life she meticulously planned for us suddenly and ruthlessly began unraveling, she turned to her unconditional faith in God.

As she prayed and tried to make sense of the surreal nightmare, Sandra started to call the support system that had carried her through every up and down of her life. At the advice of an emergency room nurse, Sandra’s first call was to her sister Shelley’s house to let Marisa and Erica know what had happened.

The girls had just returned to Shelley’s house from swim practice. Tía Shelley was making tacos, rice, and beans for dinner. They all came to the table to eat, as Pancho, ever the sports fan, glanced at the TV from time to time to catch a glimpse of SportsCenter as their two young children (my nicknames for them are Shirley and Opie) excitedly sat in their seats because their older cousins were joining them.

Once they were all settled in and dinner was served, the racket of six voices talking at once filled the room. The girls love being with their tía and tío because Shelley and Pancho are young at heart and bring comedic relief to any situation. With her quick wit and his loud exuberance for everything, Shelley and Pancho made sure that there was never a dull moment.

Pancho’s sense of excitement ensured that even the smallest accomplishment, announcement, or mishap would bring on a dramatic response accentuated with a flourish of exclamations like “WOW,” “UNBELIEVEABLE,” and “THAT’S AWESOME!” His energetic statements sometimes led to laughter, especially if his reaction was more entertaining than the event that caused him to shout out in the first place.

He once won a Tivo device at a San Jose State basketball game because he was the most animated and loudest fan in the arena. Another time, I had invited him to a dinner where Magic Johnson, his favorite basketball player, was the speaker. Boyish anticipation consumed him as we stood in line at a VIP reception to take a photo with Magic. I thought he would explode with enthusiasm when he shook his idol’s hand and posed for the camera.

When Sandra dialed Shelley’s cell phone from the waiting room, she was greeted with Pancho’s voice. “Eddie had a heart attack,” she said somberly, “and he’s in surgery now.” Knowing his penchant for reacting excitedly to any shocking news, Sandra calmly told Pancho not to say anything until she had a chance to tell the girls herself.

After a long pause, Pancho, with eyes wide as silver dollars, shouted into the phone, “COMADRE…YOU’RE LYING!”

Today, that moment lives on in family lore as one of the funniest Pancho reactions of all time. Sitting at the dinner table that night, Shelley and the girls weren’t laughing. Shelley jumped up to grab the phone from Pancho. Sandra explained what had happened. She asked Shelley to put Marisa on the phone and to contact their sisters Valerie and Kim.

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To read excerpt #36, click here: https://esereport.com/2014/10/08/summer-in-the-waiting-room-the-day-that-changed-my-life-part-5-excerpt-36/

To read all excerpts click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Next Wednesday: June 7, 2010 continues…

Summer in the Waiting Room: The Day That Changed My Life – Part 5 (excerpt #36)

Summer in the Waiting Room, , , , ,
Image by www.drvenkatesan.wordpress.com Click on image to see past excerpts
Image by http://www.drvenkatesan.wordpress.com
Click on image to see past excerpts

Author’s note: The following passage from Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life is the 5th of nine parts that details June 7, 2010, the day that a massive heart attack forever changed my life.

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I sat in the wheelchair looking up at Sandra not knowing what to say. She looked back at me just as speechless. The EKG in the clinic showed that I had a “ST Segment Elevation Myocardial Infarction” (STEMI), the most severe kind of heart attack.

When having a STEMI, a major artery on the left side of the heart, the Left Anterior Descending Artery, is completely blocked off by a blood clot. As a result of the blockage, the heart muscle around the clogged artery starts to die. This artery is nicknamed the “widow maker” because the immense damage to the heart muscle significantly decreases the chance for survival.

After what seemed like an eternity, I asked the doctors how they planned to proceed. The lead doctor, a cardiologist named Terrence Wong, explained that he would do a medical examination and perform an angiogram – a procedure that injects iodine die into the heart to determine where the blood clot is located.

Once the doctor identified the location of the blockage, he planned to dislodge the clot and insert a stent (a net-like metal tube) in the affected artery to prevent it from collapsing. Without complications, Dr. Wong estimated that the entire process would take about two hours.

The heart surgeon was in Santa Clara on special duty that night. His regular practice was at Kaiser Hospital in Oakland. He specializes in angioplasty surgery, the stent insertion procedure. On his website, he’s a self-described, “straight-talking physician that ’tells it like it is’ so that each patient is well informed of their options and the implications of their decision.”

The course of action he described was clear and concise. Still not fully understanding the gravity of the situation, I asked Dr. Wong when he planned to do the procedure. I assumed he would medicate me, send me home, and ask me to return in a day or two for the operation. His answer was straightforward and simple, yet powerful.  “Right now,” he said.

Again, Sandra and I looked at each other in utter disbelief without a word coming out of either of our mouths. After a brief pause, she kissed me on the cheek, hugged me, and told me that everything was going to be okay. I told her that I would be just fine as the nurse whisked me away into one of the rooms that lined the emergency department.

The emergency team, working at a frantic yet organized pace, immediately disrobed me, changed me into a hospital gown, inserted an intravenous tube (IV) into one of my arms, connected me with electrodes to a bunch of machines, and injected me with several medications to stabilize my heart. It was 7:45 PM, four minutes after I rolled into the emergency room.

Between 7:41 PM and 7:45 PM on June 7, 2010, for the first time in my life, I felt the presence of God. The concept of God had always been elusive to me. Like many Mexican American kids, I was baptized in the Catholic Church, attended catechism to complete First Communion and Confirmation, and married Sandra in a traditional Catholic wedding before an ordained priest in the neighborhood church.

My dad wasn’t a spiritual man, so our family’s exposure to religion and the Church was through my mom’s deep belief and faith in God. Growing up, we would accompany her to mass, mostly for the big days on the Catholic calendar like Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, and Easter.  Despite a lifetime of participating and believing in the pageantry and protocols of the Church, I never developed a relationship with God.

I learned my dad’s lessons well and truly believed that my lot in life and my destiny were in my own hands. The Golden Rule, integrity, and hard work would pave the way. I was also a student of history, and I knew that the ages were cluttered with the political machinations of men causing havoc and misery through the auspices of the Church. I questioned why God allowed so much pain and destruction to occur in His name?

During those four minutes, with my life in the balance, I had no control of the outcome. The pain in my upper chest continued to intensify. I faced the prospect of imminent death as I watched the team of medical professionals methodically work to keep me alive.

Being an anxiety-ridden mama’s boy raised in the cocoon of Viewmont Avenue, I had always thought that panic and fear of dying would overwhelm me in this situation. But, at that life or death moment, I was comfortable with someone else in full control of my destiny. According to the admitting doctor’s written comments, I was “alert, generally well appearing, and in no acute distress.”

Those four minutes were like a movie in slow motion. There were nurses, technicians, and doctors surrounding the bed, each doing a specific task to prepare a heart attack patient for surgery. I couldn’t hear a sound, but I knew that they were talking as I could see their mouths moving. Their movements looked like a beautiful and well-choreographed ballet.

Although I didn’t fear death, I was concerned for Sandra. I kept trying to sit up to see her standing just outside of the room with worry enveloping her eyes and face. An emergency room technician gently pushed me back down so she and her colleagues could continue their work. In the organized chaos I heard a soothing voice say, “Sandra will be fine. You need to relax Eddie so we could help you.”

Edward, my given name, is on all my medical records. Why did the ER tech call me by the name used only by friends? How did she know Sandra? The calming voice sounded familiar. I looked up and instantly recognized her face. Her name was Stacey Cook and her daughter played pee-wee baseball with Erica years before when I was the team’s coach.

I really didn’t know Stacey other than being the mom of the team’s star player. She would sit quietly and calmly in a lawn chair watching her daughter play. During the season, I learned that she was a great softball player in her own right, yet she never criticized the coaches or the parent volunteers. Our only interaction was her positive comments after a game, “thanks Coach,” or “nice job today Coach.”

With that same assuring voice, she helped me trust that Sandra was fine and everything would be okay. I truly believe that God sent Stacey’s familiar voice and warm smile to be with me in the emergency room at the most critical point in my life. Until that moment, I didn’t have a strong belief in God’s power to control destiny. However, in those four minutes, my faith in Him was beginning to form.

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To read previous excerpts click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Next Wednesday: June 7, 2010 continues…

East Side Eddie Report.com is 1 Year Old!!

Education, Leadership, Public Affairs, Speaking Engagements, Summer in the Waiting Room
Image by www.bitstrips.com
Image by http://www.bitstrips.com

Dear Readers,

On September 23, 2013, East Side Eddie Report.com posted it’s first blog. To see that first post, click here: https://esereport.com/2013/09/23/welcome-to-esereport-com/

During the past year, I have posted 87 stories and articles and 261 comments. East Side Eddie Report.com’s 2,000+ followers on Facebook, Twitter, Linked-In, and ESEReport.com have viewed the blog over 24,000 times!

I hope you can take a moment to browse East Side Eddie Report.com and check out the regular features:

To read about my perspectives on education, leadership, and a variety of other issues, please feel free to click on one of the TAGS to the right of this page to find a topic that interests you.

None of this could have happened without your support. I can’t begin to express my gratitude to you for checking in on East Side Eddie Report.com every week. As long as you keep reading, I’ll keep writing!

All I can say is “thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

Eddie García

San José, California

October 3, 2014

 

Summer in the Waiting Room: The Day That Changed My Life – Part 4 (excerpt #35)

Summer in the Waiting Room, , ,
Kaiser Santa Clara Medical Center Emergency Entrance (image by www.flickr.com) Click on image to read all excerpts
Kaiser Santa Clara Medical Center Emergency Entrance
(image by http://www.flickr.com)
Click on image to read all excerpts

Author’s note: The following passage from Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life is the 4th of nine parts that details June 7, 2010, the day that a massive heart attack forever changed my life.

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Sandra got home and urged me to call the Kaiser advice-line again to schedule an appointment. I got a different nurse on the line, and she asked the same questions. This time, I told the nurse that pain was shooting down my left arm. She suggested that I see a doctor immediately. I insisted that it was extreme anxiety, but I accepted her advice and agreed to take the earliest available appointment.

I rationalized that a doctor would quickly diagnose an anxiety or panic attack, prescribe medication, and send me on my way so I could return to all of the critical matters that stood before me. It was close to six o’clock, almost twelve hours after my day started.  The nurse scheduled the appointment for 7:30.  I called the school district office to explain that I was sick and wouldn’t be at the graduation ceremony.

While I dressed, Sandra told the girls that they would have dinner with Tía Shelley and Tío Pancho so she could drive me to the clinic for the appointment. Marisa remembers that I “walked quickly to the car, sat down, and started squirming in my seat.” At this point, the girls weren’t alarmed about anything serious.  At Pancho and Shelley’s house she remembers telling them jokingly that I had been so stressed that I was probably having a heart attack.

The ride to the Kaiser Santa Clara Medical Center clinic was uneventful. Sandra drove as fast as she could while I continued to writhe, the discomfort on my shoulders and upper chest increased as every minute went by. She dropped me off at the entrance to the clinic and quickly drove away to find a parking space.

I labored into the building, took the elevator to the second, floor, and made my way to the doctor’s office where I met Sandra and checked in at 7:26 PM. We sat in the waiting room for just a few minutes when the nurse called me in to see the doctor. A quick check of vital signs weren’t alarming: temperature – normal at 98.6 degrees, blood pressure – 128/61, weight – 208 lbs., heart rate – a little high at 116 beats per minute, but that could have been caused by the rush to the office.

Slightly relieved, I was even more convinced that I was having an intense panic attack. The doctor reviewed the vital signs, asked me a few questions about how I felt, and immediately ordered an electrocardiogram (EKG) to determine if there were any irregularities in my heart function.

The nurse attached electrodes to my chest, programmed the EKG machine, and watched it whiz and purr as the needle on the printout page rapidly moved in a zigzag motion drawing tiny peaks and valleys on the white computer paper.

As soon as the machine stopped whirring, the nurse ripped the computer print-out from the machine and quickly disappeared into the hallway. The doctor came back seconds later to tell us the EKG reading was abnormal and I should proceed to the emergency room for more tests.

By the time the doctor finished her diagnosis, the nurse was in the hallway standing behind the wheelchair that was to take me to the hospital emergency room on the other side of the large complex.  With a fast gait, she pushed the wheelchair out of the clinic hallway, into the clinic lobby, and out to the main hallway that led to the hospital about a half city block away.

The nurse moved swiftly as she fumbled with her cell phone. Sandra offered to push the wheelchair so the nurse could use her phone, when suddenly the gait turned into a trot, and ultimately a jog to the emergency room. Tall ceiling to floor windows formed a breezeway that connected the clinic to the hospital, and I could see out to the cafeteria and parking lot beyond that life was moving at its usual pace while my life appeared to be heading toward crisis.

My mind swirled with random thoughts that ranged from doom to confusion to relief. Could I be having a heart attack? Why didn’t the doctor say that? Was she just taking precautions by sending me to the emergency room? Why was Sandra pushing the wheelchair at a jog and why was the nurse excitedly talking on the phone, and to whom? I couldn’t hear what she was saying due to the noise that was filling my head with questions.

We got to the elevator in the hospital and went the one floor down to the main lobby and the emergency room. When the elevator doors opened, we raced across the lobby floor straight into the emergency room where I arrived at 7:41 PM.  Three doctors wearing white smocks waited for us, and within seconds, I got my answer.

One of the doctors said, in a calm and a matter-of-fact voice, “Mr. García, you’re having a heart attack.”

I was stunned!

It had finally all caught up to me: the genetic predisposition to heart disease, the high-fat diet as a kid, the lifetime of anxiety, the urgency to make up for my college failures, the tireless climb up the corporate ladder, the A-G Initiative, the County budget, the tension with my siblings, my fears about losing yet another election.

Combined, they had conspired to create the perfect toxic cocktail that led to a medical disaster. All the while I thought my anxiety was haunting me and intensifying, my blood was thickening and clotting and trying to avoid narrow gaps in arteries lined with plaque caused by genetics and periods of unhealthy living.

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To read previous excerpts click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Next Wednesday: June 7, 2010 continues…

Summer in the Waiting Room: The Day That Changed My Life – Part 2 (excerpt #33)

Summer in the Waiting Room, , ,
Image by www.emporis.com Click on image to see all excerpts
Image by http://www.emporis.com
Click on image to see all excerpts

Author’s note: The following passage from Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life is the second of nine parts that details June 7, 2010, the day that a massive heart attack forever changed my life.

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After doing more relaxation exercises and deep breathing techniques in the car, I shifted the transmission into drive and rushed to the office realizing that I was already late for my scheduled 11:00 AM meeting with Sylvia Gallegos, the deputy county executive. Sylvia and I had known each other for over 17 years. She was chief of staff to the councilwoman I worked for during the beginning of my career in politics.

I called the office from the car to ask the staff to inform Sylvia that I would be in the office by 11:30 AM.  It was at this meeting where I was to lay out George’s plan to allocate $2 million from the parks fund to build a soccer complex in his district for community use.  We knew there would be opposition to his proposal as the parks fund advocates wanted all of the money to be used for trails and large regional parks, uses that are rarely, if ever, used by the constituents in George’s historically underserved neighborhoods.

Sylvia, a smart and seasoned public administrator, could be an ally in reshaping the county’s practice of allocating parks resources to open spaces in affluent areas, so I needed to provide her with a compelling analysis of George’s proposal to secure her support.  I hustled into the county administration building through the entrance at 70 West Hedding Street. Suddenly I had to slow down to catch my breath, my mind believing that an anxiety attack was imminent.

In reality, my body was feeling the effects of thickening blood pushing through arteries that had been narrowing for most of my life.  I finally reached the 10th floor board of supervisors’ offices at noon. Sylvia, wearing a perfectly tailored business suit as usual, waited at the conference table in George’s office when I walked in. I apologized to her for being an hour late.

She asked if I was okay, and I responded that I wasn’t feeling very well and immediately proceeded with the business at hand.  This was unusual because casual talk about our families and personal matters always prefaced any business we had to discuss.  I don’t remember anything that happened during the next several minutes.

According to Sylvia, I appeared “distracted and unfocused.”  Noting that it was uncharacteristic for me to be unprepared for a meeting and unable to articulate, she repeated concerns about my well-being only to hear me respond that “I didn’t feel right.”  I stopped the meeting after about 10 minutes, led her out of George’s office, muttered something to our office manager Marisa Ybarra, and stumbled into my office shutting the door behind me.

Marisa, my friend of 25 years, is married to Sam Ybarra, the friend who asked me to help him coach at the parochial school more than 25 years before. I helped Marisa get a job with the previous county supervisor and she stayed on with George after he was elected.  She recounted that I had walked out of George’s office with Sylvia, mentioned to her that I had to tie my shoes, walked into my office, and closed the door – which is something I never do.

In my office, I tried to relax as the anxiety symptoms continued to persist.  The parks budget, after-school sports funding, tension with my siblings, the upcoming school board campaign, and the teachers’ union opposition to the A-G Initiative were all spinning in my mind.  As one friend later put it, “you must have been like a volcano ready to explode.”

Sitting on my office chair, I bent over to tie my shoes even though the laces weren’t loose or untied.   I leaned back in the chair with my hands folded behind my head trying to find the right breathing and relaxation exercise to release the anxiety I thought was taking over me.  Meanwhile, the clotting blood gushing through my body told a different story.

I emerged from my office and told the team I was sick and going home. Meandering through the narrow walkway that led to the 10th floor lobby and elevators, I followed my own footsteps that took me on my triumphant return to the James Lick High School graduation ceremony 360 days before.

This time the walk was different.  I didn’t race excitedly through the ground floor breezeway to the parking lot at the west end of the building as I did on June 10, 2009.  Rather, I slowly exited the elevator on the ground floor with my hands clasped behind my head trying to compose myself.  Twenty steps later, I had to stop to catch my breath.

I sat on a wooden bench under the gaze of the large Abraham Lincoln bronze bust in the east wing lobby of the county administration building, loosened my orange and blue necktie, and wiped the sweat off my brow.  Off the bench, I ambled sluggishly through the breezeway with my heavy shoulders writhing with the discomfort weighing on my upper chest and throat.  There was no doubt in my mind that I was in the full throes of an anxiety and panic attack.

I had to stop and sit once more, this time just steps from the west wing entrance to the parking lot. It seemed like an epic journey. When I got to the car, I called Sandra to tell her I was going home because I wasn’t feeling well. The drive was surreal, I felt as though nothing was happening outside of the car. When I was focused back on the road, it seemed like I was driving in slow motion as the other cars on the freeway raced by.

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To read previous excerpts click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Next Wednesday: June 7, 2010 continues…

Summer in the Waiting Room: The Day That Changed My Life – Part 1 (excerpt #32)

Summer in the Waiting Room,

stock-photo-10274898-june-2010-calendar-series

Author’s note: The following passage from Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life is the first of nine parts that details June 7, 2010, the day that a massive heart attack forever changed my life.

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On Monday morning, June 7th, my weekly routine got off to its usual start with countless issues racing through my mind, a churn in my stomach, and heaviness in my shoulders.  After taking Erica to school, I drove to the gym to meet Sandra and Jerry hoping a good workout would release the stress that seemed to be taking over my body.

When I got to the gym, Sandra was already there warming up on the treadmill.  I began a brisk walk, then a light jog, on the machine next to her as we talked about our respective schedules for the day.  Her day would be filled with the usual steady demands on her time as a school principal being pulled in numerous directions like a ball of Silly Putty – parents, teachers, students, and district administrators all seeking a few minutes with her.

My schedule was a typical day for a political chief of staff and school board president: staff meeting at 10:00 AM, meeting with the deputy county executive at 11:00 AM, work through lunch returning e-mails and phone calls, team meeting at 1:00 PM with George to prepare for the next day’s county board meeting, managing follow-up action items from the George meeting, and finally, presiding over the 6:00 PM graduation ceremonies at one of the district high schools I represented on the board.

Once Sandra and I were done warming up and stretching, we joined Jerry for what was sure to be an hour of vigorous strength and aerobic training.  We started off with sets of squats, lunges, and burpees, an intense aerobic workout that includes squats, push-ups, and jumping all in one motion.  At this point, sweat usually starts pouring over me and the stress and tension in my body begins to subside.

My sweat glands responded as usual, but the tension, the heavy shoulders, the churn, and pressure on my throat and upper chest only intensified.  Between exercise sets, I used the breathing techniques I learned in the anxiety classes hoping to relieve the pressure that was slowly building up in my body.

The tension in my shoulders, the upset stomach, the discomfort around my neck and throat, the difficulty catching my breath continued through sets of bench presses, legs presses, and dumbbell exercises.

Sandra and Jerry kept asking if I was okay and I responded that it was stress and my anxiety acting up, and I just needed to work through it.  Finally, while doing a set of push-ups with a medicine ball on my back, Sandra, with a worried look on her face, demanded that I stop. After a few minutes needed to regain my composure on a gym bench, I went into the locker room to shower and dress for the day.

The hot water from the steamy shower rained over my head and body. My mind raced thinking about all of the challenges before me: the county and school board budgets, the fraying relationship with one of my siblings, the coming tsunami of political rhetoric from an opponent with an axe to grind during the upcoming fall election.  The stream blanketed my body trying to soothe the pressure while the thoughts in my mind swirled. But, my anxious body responded the same way it did after my mom and Patty died seven years before, just more intensely.

After toweling off, I had to sit and catch my breath as I continued with the anxiety breathing exercises. Once I calmed down, I put on my trousers, buttoned my shirt, tied the necktie around the shirt’s collar, and sat in front of a row of metal lockers to tie my shoes.  Again, I stopped to relieve the anxiety by taking deep breaths through the nose and slowly exhaling through the mouth in a steady rhythm.

I left the locker room and wound my way through the gym floor through the lobby and out to the parking lot as the anxious feelings intensified and my mind swirled with ever-changing thoughts.  In my car, I sat trying to relax, trying to catch my breath, trying to mentally prepare for the long day ahead.  I don’t know how long I sat in the car, but I was startled by Sandra pulling into the parking space next to my car to ask if I was okay.

I mumbled that I was fine, started the car, and began driving to work.  Once I started driving, I began to feel better and remembered that I wanted to buy a tie to match the school colors of the graduation I was scheduled to preside over later in the evening.  I stopped at a Kohl’s department store and briskly walked to the men’s department while reading and returning e-mails on my Blackberry.

The churn in my stomach intensified, my shoulders grew heavier, and I had to stop to catch my breath a few times before finding the necktie section.  I quickly picked out an orange and blue striped tie that matched the school colors and the navy blue suit I wore. I dragged myself to the cashier and labored my way to the car trying to fight back the anxiety I thought was taking over my mind.

Once in my car, I again sat for a while to compose myself not knowing that the blood gurgling though my veins and arteries was thickening, clotting, and preparing for battle.

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To read previous excerpts click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Next Wednesday: June 7, 2010 continues…

Summer in the Waiting Room: Chapter 4 (excerpt #31)

Summer in the Waiting Room, ,
Image by www.cdllife.com
Image by http://www.cdllife.com

The next day, Sunday, June 6th, was exactly one week since I lost my breath during the unfinished one-one one basketball game with Andres at the barbecue at Kim and Miguel’s house. As president of the school board, the week was an unusually busy one with graduation ceremonies, academic award nights, and after-school sports banquets. I wasn’t getting much sleep.

Stress and anxiety dominated my mind since waking up on Sunday morning.  The next week would be critical in George’s effort to secure parks funding and my effort to keep after-school sports intact for another year, not to mention the ongoing A-G debate. The tension from my parents’ estate intensified. I hung up on one of my brothers in anger and frustration.

On top of all that, a disgruntled former district administrator, the most viable opponent in my fall election, had aligned himself over the weekend with the teacher’s union that resisted the A-G Initiative.

My mind was swirling, my skin was warm and clammy, my upper chest and throat were uncomfortable, and my shoulders were heavy. The Peralta family gathered at a Dave & Buster’s restaurant to celebrate Andres’ birthday. With its large room of carnival and arcade games, Dave & Buster’s was a perfect place to have a kid’s party and to escape from my racing brain.

At the arcade, Pancho challenged me to a free throw contest to see who could make the most baskets in one minute.  For sure this would take my mind off of the multitude of thoughts racing through it.  When the timer started and the arcade machine released the basketballs, Pancho and I began a frantic pace to make as many free throws as possible in the short time span.  When time ran out, I emerged victorious, but had a hard time catching my breath.

The pressure in my throat was more intense and my shoulders were so heavy that I sat on a stool next to a pinball machine hunched over trying to regain composure.  When I caught my breath, I worked on the breathing and relaxation exercises I had learned to manage stress and anxiety.  I felt better the rest of the day even though the challenges that lied ahead at work, and in my political and personal life, continued to monopolize my thoughts.

I believed that the symptoms causing my discomfort were due to an impending anxiety attack and I was using the techniques to manage it. However, something entirely different was happening inside my body. The fatty and greasy meals my mom made when I was a boy transitioned into the typical American twenty-something fast-food diet.  Add a genetic pre-disposition to high cholesterol and heart disease, and the result is plaque build-up in the arteries that began at a young age.

By my early 30s, due to my parents’ pre-mature heart attacks, I began exercising regularly and trying to eat as healthy as possible, although I was inconsistent at managing a healthy diet.  Nonetheless, I ate better as an adult than as a kid. At 46 years old, my arteries surely were hardening due to genetics and years of a high fat diet.  The intense workouts were keeping my heart pumping and blood flowing, so thoughts of a heart attack were far from my mind.

There was another interesting phenomenon that could have been happening inside of me.  The constant state of high stress and my tendency for anxiety were causing the hormones and chemicals in my body to keep me in a perpetual state of “fight or flight.”  This was exhibited by the steady churning in my stomach, frequent jolts of acute alertness, and the subsequent need to catch my breath.

For decades, researchers have studied the correlation between stress and heart disease and the conclusions have been consistent – stress leads to a poor diet, lack of sleep and exercise, and high blood pressure.  Recent research has also made a connection with high levels of steady stress and a sudden heart attack.  According to these studies, the chemical reaction in the body that produces the “fight or flight” sensation causes the blood to start thickening and clotting in preparation for a blow to the body that could result in an injury inflicted during a physical altercation.  In other words, the body is getting ready for a fight and protects itself from potential excessive bleeding.

Since my return to college and subsequent entrance into the world of career-building and redemption, my body had been in a perpetual state of alertness. During the first six months of 2010, that high level of stress my body had experienced for more than two decades had intensified many times over. For sure the blood that flowed through my body had thickened and clotted with every crisis I confronted as it squeezed through the narrow openings of plaque-filled arteries.

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To read past excerpts of “Summer in the Waiting Room” click here: https://esereport.com/summer-in-the-waiting-room/

Summer in the Waiting Room: Chapter 4 (excerpt #30)

Summer in the Waiting Room

Summer Cover Photo

My campaign to persuade the school board to approve the A-G Initiative was reaching its critical phase.  I was able to engage the influential Silicon Valley Education Foundation to lead the community outreach effort as resistance to the initiative intensified when the teachers union began a campaign to discredit me.

As the board of supervisors deliberated over the County’s budget, George was maneuvering for parks funds to be used in poor urban areas of his district to the vigorous opposition of suburban parks advocates.  The pilot Latino Leadership Alliance Leadership Academy that I helped create was preparing for the weekend at Stanford.  A successful retreat could make the academy or an unsuccessful weekend could break it.

The ongoing squabbles with my siblings over our parent’s estate had been escalated to a full-fledged dispute.  And promises of a long and negative school board campaign in the fall continued to be heard from my presumptive opponent.

Despite these challenges, I kept pushing myself to the limit bolstered by competitive drive, double lattes, and daily workouts. Sandra and I had been working out together regularly for about eight months with one of my former high school football players named Jerry Brito who was a professional personal trainer.

I met Jerry in the late 1980s when I coached the James Lick High School frosh/sophomore football team.  As a high-school player, he was a hard-working and inspirational player who used those attributes to be an excellent trainer.  Jerry, 38 years old with the chiseled physique of a much younger man, had encouraged, cajoled, and inspired Sandra and me through intense workouts that challenged us physically and mentally.

Both of us felt great losing weight, toning our muscles, and exercising away the stress of our jobs.  Jerry later commented that, while many of his Type A clients came into the gym stressed, he had “never seen someone under so much pressure as you were that week.” On Friday, June 4th, I remembered feeling extreme stress and anxiety during my morning exercise routine.  I finished my workout, but the stress and anxiety weren’t relieved.

The symptoms that dogged me were similar to those I had six years earlier when my doctor diagnosed me with anxiety disorder after my mom and sister Patty died in 2003.  My skin was warm and clammy, I felt pressure in my throat and upper chest area, my shoulders were heavy and ached with discomfort, and I was having a hard time catching my breath. An anxiety attack and its more intense cousin panic attack are caused, not by physical reactions in the body, rather by psychological issues that trigger the nervous system to prepare for a “fight or flight” situation.

In the case of anxiety, the body releases the same hormones that cause the sensation one feels when scared.  As a result, the heart starts beating faster causing the clammy skin, and chest pain, and the chemical imbalance from the hormone release causes the shortness of breath, which leads to heavy shoulders. Anxiety is usually triggered by extreme stress for a prolonged period, a life-changing event, as in the case of my mom and Patty dying during the same year, or both.

During a panic or anxiety attack, none of the symptoms physically harm the body. They cause discomfort and psychological distractions that could hamper a person’s ability to function on even the simplest of tasks. After the diagnosis in 2004, I participated in several one-on-one therapy, group sessions, and classes that provided anxiety sufferers with the tools to manage symptoms.

What I learned was that anxiety symptoms were the same as those of a heart attack, but less severe. The series of group sessions and classes that I took in 2004 taught breathing exercises to restore the body’s chemical imbalance. The program also included mental exercises to clear thoughts that triggered an attack.  I had learned the lessons well and hadn’t had an anxiety or panic attack since the dark days following the life changing events of 2003.  On Friday, June 4th, I felt as though an anxiety relapse was lurking around the corner.

After the morning workout on June 4th, I spent a little time doing relaxation and breathing exercises before dressing for work.  The exercises seemed to work, and I had an uneventful start to the weekend spending time with Sandra, the girls, and larger Peralta family.  On Saturday, Sandra, the girls and I lounged around the house, my mind cleared of the of the county and school district budgets, the A-G Initiative, and my parents’ living trust.

Summer in the Waiting Room: Chapter 4 – 360 Days (excerpt #29)

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With Sandra, Marisa, and Erica at the Peralta 50th Wedding Anniversary – May 29, 2010 (Sandra & Eddie García family photo)

In addition to managing my own school board agenda and the ongoing tension with my siblings, at work I was the chief policy strategist for the office during the county’s $4 billion budget process. This required horse trading and intense negotiations as the county was in its tenth straight year of budget cuts. The strain on me was reaching the point of being intolerable. I slept just a few hours each night.

The pressure on my neck, stomach, and chest felt like the familiar panic disorder symptoms that led to my first health scare six years before. I was wearing myself down, but I kept pushing ahead trying to manage the responsibilities I had created for myself.  With the personal, professional, and political madness swirling around me, the last Saturday in May provided much needed relief.  Sandra’s parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a beautiful mass and an elegant reception on May 29, 2010.

The reception was held at Silicon Valley’s exclusive Capital Club atop the Knight-Ridder building, a structure named for the Ridder family who was the longtime publisher of the San Jose Mercury News.  The Peraltas, their four daughters and sons-in-law, and their eleven grandchildren hosted the party. The men and boys wore black tie, and the women and girls donned formal evening gowns.

The guests were served a four-course meal accompanied by live mariachi music, George presented an official county proclamation congratulating my in-laws, and some guests danced the night away while others enjoyed cocktails and cigars on the terrace that overlooked the valley.

Later in the evening, the celebrants convened for a nightcap at the prestigious Fairmont Hotel next door. In an effort to show my health and vigor, I challenged younger relatives to push-up contests on the lounge floor to the enjoyment of those in the lobby and the laughter of Sandra and my brothers-in-law.

Sandra, the girls, and I took a family photo that day with a large picture window serving as the background. The camera lens captured east San Jose sprawling out in the distance. Wearing a black tuxedo with black tie and a red rose pinned to the lapel of the jacket, I confidently sat in a chair with my back straight, chin up, and hands overlapping each other. With poise and warm welcoming smiles, Sandra, Marisa, and Erica stood behind me elegantly dressed. Looking at that photo, one might guess that I was a successful man surrounded by his beautiful family at the pinnacle of his life.

Underneath the façade of the formal attire, dramatic backdrop, and appearance of confidence that bordered on brashness, I had been feeling fatigued and anxious for most of the week. Sandra commented that I looked especially tired and lethargic that night. The day after the party would give me a moment to relax as the extended Peralta family gathered at Kim and Miguel’s house for the family’s traditional “day-after” barbecue.

I gorged on ribs and washed them down with a few beers. My nephew Andres, who turned eleven years old that day, challenged me to a one-on-one basketball game on his backyard court.  Andres was a good athlete, but slender and much shorter than me. I figured I would dispose of him quickly and get back to the ribs and beer.

I took and made a few jump shots on my way to a sure rout when I suddenly had difficulty breathing. Bending over with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath, I was sure that the long night of partying and my rigorous work schedule caused the breathless sensation. We stopped playing and I decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing and enjoying time with the family knowing that I had a hectic week ahead.

Summer in the Waiting Room: Chapter 4 – 360 Days (excerpt #28)

Leadership, Summer in the Waiting Room,
Standing on the porch at 48 Viewmont Avenue with my mom circa 2002 (García family photo)
Standing on the porch at 48 Viewmont Avenue with my mom circa 2002
(García family photo)

Blogger’s note: This is the 28th installment from my manuscript of Summer in the Waiting Room: How Faith, Family, and Friends Saved My Life. I post weekly excerpts every Wednesday morning. Check out the “About Summer in the Waiting Room” link at the top of this page to learn more about the story. To read previous installments, go to the “Tags” link and click on “Summer in the Waiting Room.”

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Feeling nostalgic, I drove the familiar route that I used to walk as a teenager: right on White Road out of the school parking lot, left on Alum Rock Avenue through the Alum Rock Village, three blocks up Alum Rock Avenue, then a right on Viewmont Avenue.  Viewmont Avenue was different than it was when I was a kid, but in many ways it was just the same.

The families I grew up with were all gone with exception of the Ornelas family who lived across the street at 49 Viewmont.  Tony Ornelas was my godfather for Confirmation, his wife Marty served as godmother to my little sister Sisi for her First Communion, and I went to school with their kids.  Behind the wheel of a late model BMW sedan and wearing a business suit, I felt an enormous sense of pride and accomplishment as I slowly drove past the small tract homes of my childhood.

I continued through the east side on my way home passing more familiar places: right turn on Rose Avenue and left onto Dale Drive where the Alvarez, Moreno, Furlow, and Garcia families used to live and the Rodriguez family still lived.  Then I made a left on East Hills Drive driving past the elementary school I attended before turning right on Meadow Lane where my boyhood friend Rudy lived.

When I passed his house on Meadow Lane, I was reminded of how long it had been since I had seen him, or even talked to him.  We had spent many a day and night at that house drinking and partying without any concern for the future.  I drove on toward my house in the Evergreen Valley where the homes were bigger, the streets wider, and the roadways lined by trees, where many east side kids moved when they became more financially secure.

During the fifteen minute drive home, still feeling the warm glow of a busy day filled with accomplishment, I reflected on my life.  It had been a rollercoaster for sure, and now it was clearly on the upswing.

Several months after my triumphant return to James Lick High School’s graduation, the school board appointed me president of the board for 2010.  Once again, drive and ambition would dominate my life, and the New Year started at full throttle.  In my role as school board president, I could set the district’s agenda for the year.

A student group, Californians for Justice, had been lobbying the board for over five years to institute a policy to make graduation requirements parallel to college entrance requirements called the “A-G Initiative.”  Now, as president of the board, I had the ability to do that, and if successful, I could further solidify my chances to win the election in November.

The A-G Initiative became the centerpiece of my State of the District Address in January 2010, which I delivered to an overflow crowd at James lick High School.  In spite of the teachers union’s aggressive and underhanded behind-the-scenes fight against the initiative, I enlisted the support of the Silicon Valley Education Foundation to educate the community on the merits of the initiative and put together a coalition of students, parents, and public officials to campaign for its passage.

The upcoming summer would surely be challenging. The teacher’s union had recruited a disgruntled former district administrator to challenge me in the general election scheduled for November, so I needed to prepare for a full-blown campaign.  The final decision about what was left of my parent’s estate, a rental house they owned, created friction in our family.  The pressure and stress were almost unbearable, but this is exactly what I sought since returning to college, and I was having fun.

Sandra continued to express concern about how the pace was taking a toll on me. But I didn’t listen. I had failures to overcome, ambition, and energy.  Sandra was right though, I was exhausted and the only thing that carried me through each day was the adrenalin fueled by my drive to succeed and three Starbucks double lattes per day.

Later that spring, my political prospects got a boost. Steve Poizner, a millionaire Republican candidate for governor of California wrote a book denigrating Mt. Pleasant High, a school located in the district I represented in east San Jose.  In a detailed letter citing California law against using public school facilities for political purposes, I publicly chastised the gubernatorial candidate and prohibited him from appearing for a scheduled campaign stop on the Mt. Pleasant campus.

Poizner canceled his appearance at the school, but kept a scheduled book-signing at a local Barnes and Noble bookstore. With over 100 community members, Mt. Pleasant students, faculty, and alumni, I awaited the candidate’s arrival at the bookstore.  Surrounded by his entourage, Poizner entered the store through a side entrance to avoid the crowd.

Waiting for him at the door of the side entrance, I demanded that he respond to the negative stereotypes about Latino kids, the east side, and Mt. Pleasant high school described in his book as news reporters and their cameras covered our brief exchange. The episode made statewide news, and the east side community recognized me as a defender of the community. That evening left me with a greater sense of ambition and inspired me to worker harder.