I recently had a heart scare and looked out the window to oblivion. At 51, I’m no spring chicken and have certainly led a life of indulgence and hedonism of which I have few regrets. Suddenly, it was time to pay the piper for ALL the all-nighters in boozy clubs and stranger’s hotel rooms and apartments. WHAT FUN I HAD! My body is a temple- and believe you me, I have used it to worship at the altar of many a man, (and woman, though mostly men). Unfortunately now, it seemed to be calling for a sacrifice.

In early August, I got a pain. It felt like someone hit me with a baseball bat in the upper left chest. I couldn’t lay on my side to sleep anymore, so I called the doctors office and made an appointment. I have a regular HIV Dr. I see, but this was The Huisarts, my G.P. clinic, where I’ve never see the same Dr. twice. I live in Holland and pay 350 euro a year flat fee and 150 monthly for upkeep (eyes, teeth, physio). The government gives me a 100 euro supplement, so I only pay 50 euro out of pocket. My HIV and other meds are included in these costs. Its a bargain. Its unrelated to my employer, so I get to choose what my cost and type coverage I have. Its a bummer that I never saw the same Dr., but I can now, I just had to learn how to make the appointments better. Part of the learning curve, when one lives in a foreign country.

Anyhoo, I got the sweetest little Dr. Hipster-Guy. He took a genuine interest in my complaint and ordered an ECG. The only thing I didn’t like, was that I had to beg for a chest x-ray for a baseline. I’m not sure if its not done anymore, or if modern medicine doesn’t require it, but its something I thought was important. (BE YOUR OWN ADVOCATE!) After much hemming and hawing, he ordered me one. Everything came back normal, and that was a bummer, because I was in pain, and wasn’t making it up. I’ve got better things to do than go to the Dr.’s office. They don’t prescribe unnecessary, numbing meds here like Valium (I wish they did) like they do in the USA, so don’t even bother to ask.

Living in Holland is a bit of a contradiction. While you can buy pot and whatnot shapeshifters at shops on the street, you can’t get crap at the doctor. God forbid you ask for antibiotics, you might as well be channeling Prince and ask for Fentanyl. Nine times out of ten they tell you to get some Paracetamol and wait it out. To be honest, it usually works out fine.

The good doctor heeded my complaints, and made an appointment with a Cardiologist. I could’ve got in, in a week, but I waited two, because, I have things to do and it didn’t fit in my schedule. My physical complaints had subsided by the time I got in. In fact, when the day came, I was late to my appointment. She called me, asking me where the hell I was. Luckily, I live close, so was there in ten minutes.

I told her I was fine, then, and after a minor scolding, she gave me a 2nd ECG that was to be followed by a stationary bicycle test. After the ECG, she got on the phone and said this, that and the other, then turned to me. “We won’t be doing the bicycle test. I’ve called an ambulance and they will be arriving shortly to take you to the hospital.”

“What the hell? What are you talking about? I was in pain two weeks ago. I’m fine now. I can bicycle there.” I said with great confusion.

“I’m sorry, it is not allowed.” she replied with the sternness of an executioner. Suddenly, my day was taking an unexpected turn. I hadn’t even showered. I looked like hell. What do you mean I’m getting in an ambulance? I wasn’t even sure if I’d paid my insurance premium that month yet (I later found out there’s a 3 month grace period). An ambulance sounded expensive. I found out later, it was included. No extra charge.

Somehow I held it together. I’m good in a crisis. Bandage the blood has always been my priority. Stop the crisis at hand, and start making it better. Prolonging the pain only leads to unnecessary suffering. FIX IT NOW!

The ambulance was ALOT. I’m not sure if you’ve been in one, but there’s a seat and a stretcher inside. I sat in the seat and was quickly instructed that I was to lie in the stretcher. I felt fine, it seemed ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous was that they turned on the sirens and ran through Amsterdam a million miles an hour. Things got serious very fast. An IV and Nitroglycerine were administered. There was no way I was escaping this broo-ha-ha without collateral damage.

When they burst through the doors to the Cardio Ward, I saw someone I know. An American nurse, whom I’m Facebook friends with. Someone that I would always say hi to when I saw him out publicly. Someone that I knew more about than I normally would have, because of social media. I knew him well enough that I started crying when I saw him. I trusted he would look out for me and there was no denying I was sharing this god-awful experience in real time.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “I’m not sure.” I replied in tears. I actually was sure. Maybe it was that orgy in Harlem when I tried Crack? (only once) Maybe it was that afterparty with Lady Bunny? Maybe it was the time I biked across town and ended up in a bondage scene and the guy wouldn’t release me? Maybe it was the stress of failed relationships? Was this was the beginning of the end? Well, whatever it was, this was my story, this was my song. I’ve had an unbelievable life, and I’m owning all of it.

After many hours and many tests, they let me leave. I knocked on death’s and nobody answered. I hadn’t had a heart attack, I had a near blockage and it needed to be fixed. I was shocked as shit that I was able to walk out the door. I had been the recipient of quick action and tremendous care from Socialist Strangers. Of course, they were paid to do this, by me, the government and everyone else contributing to the society I lived in. What a nice feeling it was.

In the following 2 weeks, I ended up having 3 stents placed in my heart. My family in the USA asked me if I needed help with the costs. I was very touched by their offer and proud of myself that I didn’t need to take it. As Americans, we’re used to paying a fistful of dollars for healthcare. Living in Holland, its not. Affordable healthcare is a right for all of its residents and citizens.

There are a couple of reasons I decided to share this story. One is, a friend my age also had heart pains and went to the hospital in New Orleans. I’m not sure what his experience was, but I am sure it was more expensive. (PS- he’s ok and it wasn’t his heart after all) Another reason is because I started an exercise regime today from my follow-up from my procedure. The staff have taken great interest in me and my well-being. That alone makes me want to get better and make healthier choices. The director referred me to another department for additional (undisclosed) therapies. They’re looking out for me. That’s what they’re there for. I want to live as long as possible, even in these incredibly, trying times. I’m not perfect and feel lucky to have been given another chance. I hope everyone gets a 2nd chance like I’ve been given, and they will, as long as they can afford health insurance. I make a modest living and am able to pay for it in Holland. I hope you can too, or vote for someone who will provide it for you, wherever you are.

Header Photo: “Heart Model” by cloud2013 is licensed under CC BY 2.0