A Patient’s Son: My Mother’s Heart Attack

Most of you know by now that my mother recently had a heart attack. It’s strange being on the other side of the hospital bed—being the family member, not the doctor. But I want to share my experience, not because it was easy, but because I hope it can help someone else.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon in the clinic when my father called. I could hear something different in his voice. Then he said it: “Mom’s in the hospital. She had a heart attack.”

My stomach dropped. Just three days earlier, we had our usual Saturday morning call. We’d talked about life, her blood pressure being a little high, and the fact that she’d just started a new medication. She hadn’t sounded worried. I certainly wasn’t.

In that moment, I stopped being a physician. I was just a son. I told my medical assistant to cancel the rest of my patients. I believe in being transparent, and many of you—my patients—have become like extended family to me. I wanted you to know why I was suddenly gone. My wife had a bag packed for me in minutes. Even my dog sensed something was wrong—she didn’t bring me her toy like she usually does when I get home.

As I was driving down to South Florida, my dad called again. The cardiac cath had been done. But no stents. “She needs open-heart surgery,” he said.

A CABG. A bypass. That hit harder than I expected. It’s one thing to talk patients through it every day. It’s another when it’s your own mother.

I arrived that night. The next day was filled with tests: blood work, imaging, ultrasounds, an EKG. I could tell she was trying to be brave, but I also know my mom—she didn’t like the medical attention. I stayed focused and tried to keep calm for my dad.

When I started going through her records, I felt this mix of sadness and frustration. She’d been on a statin, but wasn’t taking it regularly—maybe once or twice a week. Her numbers didn’t look terrible: total cholesterol under 200, LDL under 100. But I knew her history. Her father—my grandfather—died of a heart attack at 51. That kind of family history matters, and it should’ve guided her care.

I reviewed her EKG from a recent visit, the one where she’d complained of high blood pressure, nausea, and tingling in her left arm. The EKG was clearly abnormal. It was apparent she had already had one heart attack before this hospitalization. It was right there in black and white. But her provider didn’t act. She was sent home. Just a referral to cardiology. No ER visit. Nothing. And here we were.

Her surgery was scheduled for that evening. They told us the surgery would take four to six hours. At hour six, we still hadn’t heard anything. I tried to stay rational—if something had gone wrong, they would’ve told us. Still, the wait was unbearable.

Finally, at 6 hours and 18 minutes, my phone rang. Her surgeon said she was okay. The procedure had taken longer than expected because her arteries were so calcified. But she made it through.

The next morning, I saw her. She was groggy, sedated—but smiling. She even cracked a joke. That’s when I knew she was going to be alright.

This whole experience has left me thinking about how easily this could have been prevented. If her provider had emphasized the importance of taking her statin daily... If someone had looked deeper at her family history... If they had checked her Lipoprotein(a)—a powerful inherited risk factor for heart disease that’s still not routinely tested.

For those who don’t know, Lp(a) is like bad cholesterol’s nastier cousin. It’s more inflammatory, more dangerous, and diet and exercise barely move the needle. Most people don’t even know they have it—unless someone checks.

This is one reason I'm sharing this story and my experience. If you have a family history of heart disease, having "okay" numbers isn't sufficient. We need to delve deeper. Preventive care can truly make a significant difference.

My mother’s recovering now. She’s strong, and she’s going to be fine. But I’ll carry this experience with me forever—as a doctor, but more importantly, as a son.

When we discuss your health in the clinic, understand that I'm not only doing it as your doctor—I'm doing it because I've experienced the consequences of things being overlooked.