It is currently my husband Jamie’s basketball season and every year, I dread it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those overbearing women who doesn’t let her husband do anything fun. It’s just there’s something else factored in there: near-death experiences. You see, when Jamie played in the past, he was almost always rushed to the ER with a heart arrhythmia.
He has had a long history with his heart. Shortly after we got married, Jamie’s dad found an old video tape of Jamie playing basketball in high school. He eagerly watched the footage and proudly announced: “Do you see me out there?” Thinking he was trying to show off to his new bride, I scanned the floor, looking for his sexy high-school chicken legs but couldn’t find him. Finally, he let me in on the suspense, pointing to a guy passed out in front of the bench: “There – that’s me having an arrhythmia after playing!” Gee. I couldn’t have been more proud.
During the first few years of our marriage, his heart seemed to get increasingly worse. When I was pregnant with my firstborn, he nearly passed out after a game and we had to call an ambulance for him. His resting heart-rate? A whopping 210. He had a repeat performance the following year, only this time Haddie was able to accompany us to the ER. She had just learned to wave and spent the duration spreading good cheer to all the ER patients. I’m sure she thought it was “Wude” that none of them waved back. Go figure.
After that last episode, he finally caved and went to see a heart specialist – one who wasn’t part of the “Just let your husband play basketball and quit nagging him club,” like the first doctor he saw. This guy recommended an out-patient surgery, which Jamie opted for versus his other option: never playing basketball again.
The surgery was pretty non-invasive. Basically, they went into his heart via four arteries (two in his groin) and simply burned out the bad cells that were causing the arrhythmia.
His recovery was smooth, minus a grotesque and painful bruise he had on his groin for a long time. One day during this process, my dear, sweet husband said to me, “This surgery actually confirmed what we have long suspected about men.” I eagerly awaited profundities and I got ‘em with his mischievous answer:
“The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through His Groin.”
At least now it can be medically proven….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 