Eat Fat, Be Healthy: Understanding the HeartStopper Gene and When a Low-Fat Diet Can Kill You - Hardcover

Bayan, Matthew

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0684865270 ISBN 13: 9780684865270

Publisher: Scribner, 2000

Synopsis

Eat Fat, Be Healthy: Understanding the HeartStopper Gene and When a Low-Fat Diet Can Kill You is the incredible story of one man's medical odyssey and how he came to understand a mysterious genetic condition that pushed him to the very brink of death-and how that knowledge can save your life. At forty-five, Matthew J. Bayan appeared to be in robust health. He exercised daily, ate a low-fat diet, never smoked, and avoided excess stress. But in the early hours of May 9, 1996, he was jolted awake by a massive heart attack. Rushed to a nearby hospital emergency room, Bayan was close to death; in fact, he did die -- his heart was restarted by doctors more than six dozen times. As he recovered, Bayan received the usual treatment for heart patients, which included a very low fat diet -- one that Bayan followed faithfully. But to Bayan's and his doctors' growing concern, his badcholesterol and triglyceride levels worsened on the very low fat diet. Something was clearly wrong. What Bayan discovered was that he carried the apolipoprotein B gene, a gene that could destroy his heart by triggering his system to produce more bad cholesterol on a very low fat diet than on a diet higher in certain kinds of fat. Bayan also discovered that not only he has this killer mutation, which he dubbed the "HeartStopper gene," but that an estimated 20 percent of the population carries this gene as well -- and the vast majority don't even know it. Armed with this newfound information -- of which many doctors and cardiologists are unaware even now -- Bayan took control of his own treatment. He found a new cardiologist and started on a regimen that included a diet higher in fat, medication, exercise, and stress management. As a result of their commitment and diligence, Bayan and his cardiologist have been able to keep Bayan's heart disease in check, and Bayan is healthier today than he has been in years. In Eat Fat, Be Healthy Bayan: Explains how this killer gene is identified Reveals what he and his doctor learned during their experience finding the best treatment for him Outlines the specific diet, exercises, and medications that were most effective in combating the defect Includes useful charts and easy calculations to help you determine if you are at risk -- and what to do if you are With the HeartStopper gene still largely unknown in the medical community, this inspiring book -- an exhortation to everyone to become better informed and more involved in their own medical care -- will be a lifesaver for thousands of people. Part medical memoir, part cutting-edge scientific self-help book, Eat Fat, Be Healthy is a book with a powerful message: You can save yourself from heart disease.

About this title

About the Author

Matthew J. Bayan has more than twenty-five years of experience managing nutrition and health programs in the public and private sectors. Since his massive coronary, he has been at the forefront of experimental treatment for the genetic defect he has named the "HeartStopper Effect." He lives with his wife in Reno, Nevada.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One: Borrowed Time

Swimming up through the depths of sleep, I am weighed down by dream and nightmare images. I know something is wrong. The images are not just phantoms of a tired brain, but real demons. They try to suck me back down into a cold, roiling darkness. Some instinct tells me I must fight to the surface of consciousness or die.

I emerge. I know I'm awake, but it still feels like the nightmare. My chest feels crushed by a truck while at the same time it seems to be exploding outward. I'm bathed in sweat and cannot breathe. Only a faint illumination from a streetlamp fights through the blinds of my bedroom. Disoriented and afraid, I turn to see the greenish glow of the bedside clock: 4:00 A.M.

What is happening?

At first I try to calm myself with the thought that I have indigestion. The spicy marinara sauce from dinner had a lot of garlic in it. Could it have affected my stomach? Or do I have food poisoning? No, this is nothing like food poisoning. My stomach does not feel sick. The pain is higher. Heartburn?

No. It is not possible that food could do this. Heartburn. Heart...

Oh, my God. Is this a heart attack?

It doesn't seem likely. I've recently had a checkup. And a cardiac stress test. I'm in good physical shape, I exercise every day, I don't eat meat or fatty foods.

It gets worse and now fear sits on my chest as heavily as the pain. I lie still for long minutes, but the crushing pain does not abate. Now I begin to hear and feel my heartbeats. Each one is like a hammer blow to the anvil that is my chest; each one sends the pain ringing through me more and more stridently.

Something I'd read pops into my mind. If it is a heart attack, I have to take aspirin. I try to stand, but a white-hot dagger cuts through my body and I land on the bedroom floor on my knees. On all fours I crawl across the carpet and down the hall. Faced with the stairs, I stop. I can't walk down the stairs because I can't stand up. If I try to scuttle down the stairs headfirst, I fear I'll slip and break my neck. I turn around and lower myself a stair at a time, like going down a ladder. My mind is screaming to move faster, but my body can't do any better.

Like a hunchback I scramble into the kitchen and struggle to pull a bottle of aspirin out of a cupboard. Spilling pills all over the counter, I push two tablets into my mouth and then partially fill a glass with water. I wash down the aspirins and fall to the floor, exhausted by the effort.

Emily, my huge Black Labrador-Akita, is whining. She licks at my face, trying vainly to help. She knows something is wrong.

Now I also know something is wrong. Terribly wrong. And I know I have to get out, get to a hospital fast. I am alone. If I pass out, nobody will find me for days. I must get out while I still can. Thoughts of indigestion evaporate. I know I am fighting for my life.

Even in my extremity, I think of the dog. I have to put her out so she will not be trapped in the house if I collapse. Crawling now, I make it to the sliding glass door off the dining area, haul it open, and send the bewildered dog into the night. Then I drag myself to the kitchen wall phone and dial 911.

My breath is ragged. It hurts to breathe. Only shallow breaths work. Deeper breaths cause my insides to shatter.

"Hello. This is the 911 operator. How may I help you?"

The voice that scratches from my throat comes as a surprise. I barely recognize it as I quickly spit out my name and address so they will know, just in case. In case I can't go on. I am now struggling for each second of consciousness.

"What do you need?" The voice stays calm, but a little louder. She knows something is bad.

"My chest. Oh, God." A wave of agony smashes through me. I had thought I was in excruciating pain before, but what I had felt so far was as nothing compared to the molten horror that now erupts in my chest. I pray that the old pain will come back. The new pain is beyond belief. I scream as I collapse from my knees to the floor.

"What is it? Sir, what is it? Do you have chest pain?" The operator's voice jumps up the scale and she is now worried. Her professional demeanor slips for a second.

"Help me. Help me." I scream it. I whisper it. It becomes my personal mantra and all I can think of as the seconds crawl by. I am trapped in amber. I know the ambulance will never get to me. I say it over and over again as I writhe on my back. "Help me. Please, help me."

"Sir, try to take steady breaths. Try to stay calm. It will help."

There is no way to stay calm. A freight train is roaring through my chest. And breathing is now a form of torture. I know I have to breathe, but I don't want to.

The smartest thing the operator does comes next. She gives me a goal. "Sir, the ambulance just checked in. They're not far from you now. Just a couple minutes at most. Is your front door locked?"

Knowing the ambulance is near helps me to hang on. There is comfort in knowing I won't be alone in the middle of the night. I can make it a few more minutes. Hell, I could do anything for three minutes.

"I'm opening the door. Be back in a minute."

Now I can barely crawl. Though I've been on my back on the floor for only a few minutes, it feels as if I have gained a hundred pounds. I drag myself across the living room, down the small stairway, across the landing. I think of only one simple task at a time, trying to get each one right, trying not to make a mistake. I flip off the dead bolt and pull the door open, the effort setting off howling agonies in new places in my body. I switch on the front spotlights. One task at a time.

Oh, why didn't I let those people who came door-to-door paint my house numbers on the curb in front of the house? With all the trees and shrubs, what if the ambulance driver doesn't see my house number? What if he drives right by?

I retrace my route and get to the phone, my lifeline. "I'm back." I can't believe the trek I just made.

"How're you doin'?"

"Still here," I gasp.

"Are you lying down?"

"Yes. I'm on the floor," I get out between gritted teeth. Breathing is painful, talking worse.

"The ambulance just turned onto your street. Hang on."

I clutch at the hope that in a few moments, there will be people who can help me. Through the pall of pain, I notice my legs are moving. It is like I'm pumping on a bicycle. I try to stop them, to stay as still as possible, but they have a life of their own. For a few moments I am weirdly fascinated at this disconnection from my legs as I watch them pumping away.

I hear the doorbell and then the storm door opening. "Hello. Where are you?" a voice says.

In a minute, I am surrounded by three West Des Moines EMTs. They get a blood pressure cuff on me. One starts an IV. Questions, voices. I settle into a quiet place in my head, and for a while everything is a blur. The pain is there, but my mind is drifting, my consciousness slipping.

I reorient in the ambulance. Someone is asking me to keep my legs still. "I can't stop them. They're walking all by themselves," I say. I do not know that this is my body's way of compensating for my failing heart by pumping blood with the large muscles in my legs. All I know is it feels better to have my legs pumping, so I don't try to stop them.

I hear the whine of the tires and the steady beat of the big engine. The medics shoot something into me. Lidocaine. I don't feel as bad. Absently, I think of the route we are taking. Six miles. Six minutes. I concentrate on holding on. Then the doors fly open and I am rolling through the darkness of the parking lot, then the light of the emergency room. More scurrying, more controlled chaos.

"Shall we cut your sweats off or pull them off?"

At first the question makes no sense. I blink in the bright light. The nurse wielding t

Edition details

• Publisher: Scribner
• Publication date: 2000
• ISBN 10: 0684865270
• ISBN 13: 9780684865270
• Binding: Hardcover
• Language: English
• Number of pages: 224