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Jul 24, 2008 11:27 pm US/Eastern

Pablo Guzman: Yep, I Had A Heart Attack

Veteran CBS 2 HD Reporter Recounts Medical Nightmare

Reporting
Pablo Guzman
NEW YORK (CBS) ― CBS 2 HD's Pablo Guzman is in Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital here in New York City after suffering a heart attack on Tuesday morning. He's recovering nicely, but also itching to stay involved. So, he decided to reach out to his friends at wcbstv.com to describe the ordeal he went through and to thank those who are helping him get through it.

 Send Your Get Well Wishes To Pablo!


Early Sunday morning, about midnight, I woke up after a couple of hours sleep with a feeling like someone was tightening a belt around my chest. My left shoulder felt like a sharp rod was being plunged into it. My left elbow and hand were numb. My throat felt like hands were squeezing it. And my back molars were in major pain.

I tried getting out of bed, but couldn't really stand up from the pain.

I knew something was wrong with my heart, but I didn't want to believe it. I knew it was probably happening. I am not exactly an exercise freak. I have high blood pressure and high cholesterol (which I take medication for). I have a family history. My father had two strokes in one year; my mother's father died of a heart attack on a bus on the way to work.

I made my way downstairs, away from my wife, and somehow willed my way through the pain. Almost as soon as it subsided, even though I was weak as a limp doll, I rationalized away what had happened. Not wanting to confront the reality.

"I was just IN a hospital," I told myself. "I'm not going back."

"I can't take any more time off from work."

"My kids have been looking forward to our vacation for two years; what can I tell them?"

Somehow, my wife and I went on a "date" Sunday (we saw "Tell No One," a very good mystery, by the way) and I slogged through the day feeling really sluggish, but trying to hide it.

Monday, the same thing happened: I woke up two hours after going to sleep with the same series of pains. I don't know how, but I forced myself through it. Hey, Monday! Work! I had already been out three and a half weeks from the car crash and the two broken ribs.

Not only did I get to work, but I scored a rare parking spot in front of the building. I took this as a positive sign. But 10 minutes after I sat in front of my computer in the newsroom, my daughter called: "Dad, you have to get home. Mom's really sick." I went to Andrew and Brian on the assignment desk, and Andrew said, 'Go.'

When I got home, Debbie was in bad shape. I had to take her to the hospital. Fortunately, she was back home that night. But very weak.

Sure enough, the next morning (Tuesday), I had the same episode that I had had for the previous two mornings. With a lot of sweating thrown in. This time, I couldn't fake out the pain. I'm going to die. Damn it! I'm going to die!

I got angry: OK, screw it, I'll die. But you know what? I'll die at home. I'm not going to the hospital. I just did that.

Wait: Angela, my daughter, would be forever haunted if I died at home. And my son, Daniel, my wife, Debbie...I don't want to die! I want more years with these people! I love them too much!

I made a promise to God, and to my dad in heaven, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles --- OK! This time I'll call the doctor, OK? Only, please give me the strength to take a shower first. I don't want these people thinking, boy, those TV guys sure smell.

I called my primary physician, Dr. Paul Pechman. I still had a foot in denial: "I'm probably bothering you about nothing..." He told me to describe the symptoms. Then he asked, "No way you think this is indigestion, do you?" No. "Get to White Plains Hospital immediately. I'll meet you there."

Now I couldn't keep it from Debbie anymore. She chewed me out, and said she'd drive. No: you're still not well. Besides, somebody has to be here for the kids when they come home from camp. We fought. We kissed.

I got there about 20 minutes before he did. They brought me right into the ER (and I want to thank that staff right now).

My blood pressure was through the roof, so they tried bringing that down first. Then when Dr. Pechman arrived and joined the cardiologists, they did a sonogram on my heart, and noticed something odd: the muscle itself, the heart, was pumping pretty well. But the walls just below were practically not moving.

Suddenly, I forced myself upright on the gurney I was lying in. Sweat was pouring off the top of my head like someone had turned on a faucet (and I have to tell you, I have always sweated, even as a skinny little kid in winter; but this...). I felt like I weighed three pounds. What had been a dull pain on my left side escalated rapidly to a biting, sharp pain. I was sure that if I could see myself in a mirror, my lovely brown skin would have been a ghastly gray.

The doctors saw me sit up, saw the sweat, looked at the numbers changing on the monitors --- and everybody started yelling. A lot of people crowded into the stall my bed was in. Everybody had a job to do. At one point, I felt like I could finally take the sleep I had not had in three days.

Dr. Pechman smacked me in the face. I was stunned. My doctor was hitting me! "Stay with me, Pablo!" He thumped me -- hard -- in the chest. "Come on, Pablo! I don't want to lose you!"

About 10, 15 minutes later, I asked the doctors how close I was to leaving this life. "You were close. You had a heart attack." "We thought we might lose you." "Another hour getting here..."

Dr. Pechman said, "We're sending you to Columbia-Presbyterian. They're the best."

Dr. Mark Applebaum (a Yankee fan, it turns out) performed the procedure where a balloon is put in the clogged artery, followed by a stent.

"You had 99 percent blockage," he said. "And we have to talk: you have 70 percent blockage in another artery. You have to decide what you'd like to do about that. But right now, you're going to be OK."

I'm going to be OK. Thanks, Lord. And all you medical pros who chipped in. Gracias.

(© MMVIII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved.)

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© MMVIII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved.