A few years ago, I found myself at the doctor’s office complaining of chest pains.
My wife had recently gotten a breast reduction.
The doctor recommended I see a cardiologist, and my husband was at home.
The cardiologist told me that I’d had a stroke.
It wasn’t immediately clear what had caused the stroke.
I didn’t feel well and couldn’t move, and I was in a bad mood.
I was also in the midst of a period.
I’d been taking estrogen, and in my anxiety, I’d assumed that my estrogen was making me feel worse.
That was, after all, how estrogen was supposed to work.
But it was also how estrogen in estrogen-containing pills would make me feel better.
The prescription didn’t specify how much estrogen I’d take.
I decided to ask my doctor about it, and he said that it was possible that I was allergic to estrogen, which could cause a stroke, which, according to my doctor, would lead to heart failure.
After the stroke, my heart would stop beating and my breathing would slow.
The stroke would likely kill me.
The doctors recommendation was to try the prescription again and ask the cardiologist.
It was a mistake.
The second time around, I was a little bit better, but I was still worried about my health.
The next time I saw my cardiologist was this year, when I was experiencing chest pains again.
She prescribed me a new anti-inflammatory medication, which is what I’d taken when I first noticed my heart rate was going up.
The drug helped relieve my chest pains, but it wasn’t helping me feel any better.
When I went back to my wife, she told me to take the anti-inflammatories again.
But now I was beginning to worry that the drug might have made me more sensitive to the drugs.
I couldn’t tell her what was causing my symptoms.
I told her about my cardiology appointment and asked if I could talk to my cardiothoracic surgeon.
The surgeon told me, “I’m not going to take you back to your office.
You’ll need to take your medication again.”
I went into a rage.
“I will not be going back to that doctor,” I said.
“You’ll get a stroke.”
I was angry.
I had just been diagnosed with a heart attack.
The surgery that my wife was having for a heart condition had already been done.
I wanted to get out of the house.
But the surgeon said that he couldn’t do that.
“No, we’re not going back,” he said.
So I was sitting on the side of the road, my legs were hanging off of the car, and the road was impassable.
I walked over to the car and started yelling, “Take my medication!”
I tried to walk toward my house, but the police were coming and they said they had to be in the road.
The police stopped me and searched my car.
I looked at my wife and she said, “You need to calm down, you need to be careful.
I’m going to drive.”
I said, in my rage, “Don’t leave me.”
I didn the car.
The officers told me I was breaking a traffic law.
I knew that if I were to be stopped, the officers would look at my license, and that I could be arrested.
I asked, “What is going on?”
They said I was driving erratically.
They searched me and took my prescription.
The drugs that my husband took when he had a heart-attack had a high chance of causing a stroke and would cause heart failure, so I had to get rid of them.
I called my wife to say I needed to be on my way.
I said to her, “If you don’t take me to the doctor, I’m gonna have a stroke!”
I drove to the hospital and I went to the emergency room.
The emergency room nurse said, I have to get you to the ER.
The nurse was very nice.
I got on the elevator and I said it was okay, because I had a pulse.
She took me to a room and she asked me what I was doing, and she put me in a restraint chair.
I thought it was going to be a little weird.
The restraint chair didn’t look bad.
I went out and started walking.
Then I started screaming and screaming and yelling.
The ambulance was there and I walked out onto the street, and then I stopped.
I stopped because I thought, This is it.
I need to get away from this place.
It’s so dangerous.
I came out of there and started screaming.
I started running.
I ran down the street.
Then a cop came by and asked me, Do you know where you’re going?
I said no, I don’t know.
He said, What’s your name?
I told him.