It was a tennis match that became a matter of life and death. Had I known what I know now, I might not have been nonchalant during the ordeal. As for this post, I had my doubts. Sharing information about personal health events can have negative consequences — future employers, insurance companies, and the like can see and use it. Ultimately, I felt compelled to write about it in the hope that it might help others.

So here is the story: A Close Call on the Tennis Court.

My friend Chris and I had just started a second set of singles tennis after I had lost the first in an extended tie-breaker. Three days of tennis and one day of pickleball were my norm during the summer. Squash replaced tennis during winter. I had felt lethargic during the first set but hadn’t given it much thought. As I served for the second set, I felt something was amiss. Feeling light-headed and anxious, I decided to stop mid-game and take a seat courtside to catch my breath. The plan was to return to court in a few minutes.

As my chest seemed to tighten, I wondered if I was having a heart attack. “Couldn’t be,” I told myself. I had no contributing conditions—diabetes, cholesterol, high blood pressure, etc. Sure, I was on the wrong side of sixty and routinely enjoyed my post-game beer. But forty years of racquet sports should count for something. Yet, I could tell that things weren’t right.

Chris later told me he called 911 when I appeared to pass out briefly. As I came to, I remembered my cousin’s words of wisdom: Carry two baby aspirins with you at all times; if you feel you are getting a heart attack, chew on them. He was talking from experience. Unable to find the aspirins in my large tennis bag, I had Chris call my wife. Fortunately, we were playing in our apartment’s tennis courts. Always the calm one, my wife was down in a few minutes with the aspirins and my wallet, which held my health card.

About twenty minutes after I first sat down, I could see three paramedics wearing yellow and orange vests making their way across the tennis courts to where I sat. The white stretcher in tow stood out on the sun-bathed, bright blue tennis court. The players on the adjacent court had stopped play and had sauntered over, wondering what the fuss was all about.

“On a scale of one to ten, where would you rate your pain?” One of the paramedics asked as he prepared to check my vitals. I hesitated; I didn’t have a benchmark to go by. “6.5?” It was more of a “Does that make sense?” kind of answer.

“Hey Bud, looks like you’re having a heart attack!” the burly paramedic said as he monitored the mobile ECG machine hooked up to me. I wasn’t about to dispute his conclusion; I didn’t feel that great! He briefly consulted with his two colleagues, who seemed to concur with his determination that they needed to get me to a hospital.

“Now it feels like an 8.0,” I volunteered, referring to my increasing chest tightness and general discomfort. Meanwhile, the lead paramedic had contacted the hospital. About 45 minutes had passed since I first sat down to take a break.

“Dr. Singh will see you. You are lucky; he’s one of the best,” the paramedic said as he got off the phone and prepped the stretcher.

I felt embarrassed as the paramedics wheeled me through the apartment lobby. I considered myself the fit one. In the past, I had watched many other residents being taken on stretchers into ambulances. I had often wondered if they would be back. It was my turn now.

As the ambulance, with me in it, weaved in and out of traffic, I tried to run “what-if?” scenarios in my mind. In case my trip turned out to be a one-way ride, the abruptness of it would shock family and friends. But in the larger scheme of things, there wouldn’t be too many loose ends to deal with. Somewhere along the way, my wife and I had decided to leave the rat race early, downsize to an apartment, and make do with what we had.

“Good call,” I mentally patted myself on the back!

The paramedics had done their jobs. Two interventional cardiologists were waiting as I was wheeled into the hospital. As they rechecked my information, one of them asked, “Are you from Kerala?” He was ensuring that I was lucid while at the same time letting me know that he hailed from the same South Indian state, where my last name is common.

As I drifted off, I heard the doctor say, “You’ll be fine; you made it to the hospital in good time.”

Ninety minutes later, I woke up in a room. “You are all fixed up now. We had to put a stent in.” It was the interventional cardiologist, Dr. Singh.

“Can I go home now?” I felt as good as new. Plus, I hated hospitals and had never been admitted to one until then.

“No,” he laughed. “You’ll be here for a few days; you are lucky to be alive!”

I will spare you the details of my hospital stay. Though, I must say that it does take getting used to. The first time one of the nurses asked, “How are you? Did you have a bowel movement today?” I almost responded with, “Yes, thank you. And, you?”

For those wondering if tennis caused my heart situation, the simple answer is: probably not. More people who lead sedentary lifestyles suffer heart attacks compared to those who are physically active. However, physical activity does increase blood flow and demands on the heart which in turn can aggravate existing conditions. Family history, stress, and unhealthy lifestyles are perhaps the largest contributors to heart issues.

If you are looking for takeaways from this article, here are a few:

Despite my experience, you are better off staying active than inactive. It is estimated that approximately 35% of coronary heart disease mortality is due to physical inactivity.
If you experience serious chest discomfort, seek emergency help. If I were home and feeling the symptoms, I would likely have ignored it. That would have been a mistake.
According to the paramedics, chewing on the baby aspirins was a smart move. You may want to ask your doctor about it. It is available over the counter without a prescription.
If you have a fitness tracker such as a Fitbit, use it. It doesn’t hurt to know your fitness metrics and the demands you put on your heart. I invested in a Google Pixel Watch 3.

A few months in, with my cardiologist’s approval, I am back on the tennis court, playing mostly doubles. I may have to go easy on squash and singles tennis. That’s a bummer! But, there’s always pickleball.

In retrospect, I must admit I am a little frustrated about the whole experience. I stayed active, ate healthy, and largely led a healthy lifestyle. Yet!

I am reminded of the Linkin Park song, “In the end, it doesn’t even matter…”