Five years ago, I had a heart attack.
Two blocked arteries. One 60% blocked. One 100%.
Six stents. A $120,000 bill.
When the med tech wheeled me into the ER and shouted across the room, "Hey Johnny, we've got a legit one tonight" — I wasn't thinking about my cholesterol numbers or my blood pressure.
I wasn't thinking about my best year in real estate with 3 new contracts secured earlier that day.
I was thinking about my wife.
Specifically: she's not ready.
Not ready to handle the things I take care of myself. Not ready to navigate a life that I'd been quietly running in the background for decades.
She’s not ready to be alone in a way she didn't know she wasn't prepared for.
That was the prayer on the operating table — half conscious, catheter moving from my wrist toward my heart — not save me, but let me get through this so I can take care of her.
I survived.
“Most people would not have survived what you went through.” says the attending physician the next morning.
What I didn't know then — what took five years of obsessive tracking, research, and more questions than any eight-minute cardiology appointment could hold — was why I survived.
It turns out that I have an extra fourth coronary artery.
On the night of my heart attack, it kept enough blood flowing to my heart to keep me conscious in the ambulance.
I was born with it. It has probably kept me alive for the past decade, and I've spent the last five years asking what that means.
Not medically, but something bigger.
Why did this happen to me — and why did I survive it?
Those two questions are why this newsletter exists.
Every week I'm going to write you a letter (or two).
Not a tips list. Not a protocol. Not a supplement recommendation.
A letter — from someone who has been exactly where you are, who is still figuring this out, and who believes that the information that could change your recovery is sitting in research papers, in blood panels, and in honest conversations that the medical system doesn't have time for.
I'm not a doctor. I'm not your personal trainer. I'm not a nutritionist.
I'm a cardiac survivor who spent five years tracking my own body, asking the questions my cardiologists couldn't answer, and building something I wish had existed when I walked out of that hospital.
Or maybe even something that would have prevented me from being rushed to the ER in the first place.
I call this newsletter The Cardiac Survivor.
And if you've had a cardiac event — if you walked out of that hospital with a bag of prescriptions and a pamphlet and no real explanation — you're exactly who I’m writing this for.
Or maybe you’re reading this on behalf of someone you deeply care about.
A few things you can expect from me every week:
What I'm learning — from my own data, from research, from conversations with people like you.
What I'm still figuring out — because I'm not going to pretend this is finished. My sleep study is scheduled. My unforeseen experience with Prednisone. I'm still in the middle of this.
What I wish someone had told me — earlier. Before the heart attack. Before the oatmeal. Before fifteen years of watching my sodium while eating sourdough every morning.
And occasionally — what scares me. Because cardiac recovery without honesty is just a wellness brand. And that's not what this is.
One last thing.
I’m currently recording a video this week. It's called How I'm Recovering From a Six-Stent Heart Attack — And What I Wish Someone Had Told Me First.
It covers what I discovered about the hidden genetic marker that elevates cardiac risk in 1 in 5 people. The blood test that predicts cardiac risk six times better than LDL. The chain of events that connected my breakfast to my blocked arteries.
And the one question that determines whether or not you can improve your chances of living beyond heart disease.
This free video is about 50 minutes. And it goes deeper than anything I can fit in a weekly letter.
I’ll get you the details in a week or two.
Thank you for being here.
I don't take it lightly that you gave me your inbox. I know what's in there. I know how much noise cardiac survivors are already navigating — the conflicting advice, the follow-up appointments, the quiet fear that never quite goes away.
I'm going to try to make this the one thing worth opening.
Dennis
Cardiac Survivor · Your Friend in Recovery
Spokane, Washington
P.S. — If someone forwarded this to you and you'd like to receive it directly, you can subscribe here: newsletter.cardiacsurvivor.org.