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 At 40 I was fat and
greasy. I suffered with constipation, sinus congestion, and much
more. Of course, I smoked, drank, and did no exercise. From
time to time I would see my doctor, and he would prescribe a
number of pills. One day he took me aside and said, "It would be
a good idea if you would improve your lifestyle." I was
indignant! I did not wish to change, just give me some pills;
after all it was his job to make me better! This was in 1973, my
business was buying and selling precious metals and I was living
in Honolulu, Hawaii. At 43 I had my first heart
attack, and I deserved it. My breakfast was a dozen donuts, a
quart of milk, and black coffee with a little whisky in it—plus,
one cigarette after another. But, at this time in my youth, I
was convinced that diet had nothing to do with health.
One Sunday morning while working in my shop, a crushing pain in
my chest suddenly hit me. This was followed by sharp pains down
my left arm, and then cold sweat broke out all over my body. I
was afraid to move—I believed that if I exerted myself in any
way my life would be over. After a long while I managed to get
to my car and drove myself to the VA hospital.
Arriving at the hospital, I was weak and disoriented—I found
myself sitting on the elevator floor; asking for directions to
the emergency room. In time, I was admitted to the hospital for
a heart attack. The next day I called a friend and ask her to
bring me two pounds of chocolate covered peanuts. This candy,
supplemented by ice cream, was my post-heart attack diet. My
hospital stay lasted 2 weeks. After discharge my health
continued to deteriorate; soon I could walk only about 50 feet
without excruciating chest pains. My next
encounter with doctors was also at the local VA hospital where
they performed an angiogram. I remember lying naked and cold on
the operating room table. I started shaking as the doctor cut
into my right arm in order to stick the catheter into my artery.
As the operation proceeded they discovered that my heart
arteries were severely clogged. Unfortunately, I also had an
allergic reaction to the dye they were using, went into shock,
and spent the next few days recovering in the intensive care
unit (ICU). In 1977 bypass surgery was a fairly
new treatment, and that was my doctor's recommendation. In the
operating room I was surrounded by masked men, total strangers
to me—I was scared to death. I woke up during the operation, and
felt my leg hurting, as they sewed the incision back together.
I moaned and they put me back to sleep. After a
year of "recovery," I was on my deathbed waiting for the end.
The pills were not working, the chest pains were constant, and
it seemed that my life would soon be over. Fortunately, one of
my friends met Dr. McDougall and told him about me. He gave them
a book for me by Nathan Pritikin about diet, heart disease, and
health. I read it. The message seemed contrary to my long held
views that diet had nothing to do with disease!
In 1978 I met Dr. McDougall when he was giving lectures to the
public at St. Francis Hospital in Honolulu. I started on my new
diet—giving up eating animal foods, and all the other things I
had once thought were good. I walked a little each day, quit
smoking, and soon I got off my medications. Within 3 months I
had lost about 50 pounds and was running five miles a day. My
renewed health lasted a few years. In 1981 I
moved to Reno, Nevada where I became progressively careless
about my diet. After a huge meal of high sodium pasta sauce, the
next morning I woke up with chest pains. I thought it was
indigestion, but antacids did not help. I went to the hospital,
where they did an angiogram and determined that I needed an
angioplasty. Looking back, I suspect that this pain was not from
my heart, but from my overstuffed gut.
The doctor was working away on the angiogram when I
heard him say, "Damn it! I can't get through the obstruction, the
hole is too small. You must have bypass surgery right now!" I felt
the chest pains increasing, but I refused surgery, and told him to
give me some more morphine and get back to work. Over the next few
months, I had three more angioplasties, but they eventually gave up
and sent me home to die! Instead of following their dire
predictions, I went on a strict diet of potatoes, rice and bananas,
and took up roller skating. In a few months I had lost 40 pounds and
felt like a new man.
In 1995 I moved to Camp Verde, Arizona and again got
careless, adding pastries to my diet—I regained the weight and the
chest pains returned. My second bypass surgery followed all too
soon. The operation was a success, but the patient almost died from
an infection in his leg incision. You guessed it—after the operation
I got pure with my diet again, lived on steamed vegetables and
potatoes, and took up tennis and walking—with great success.
In 2000 I moved to Eugene, Oregon and my diet became pretzel-
and cookie-centered. In 2003, I had another angiogram—this time
I was told there was nothing left to bypass. My heart was a
mess. I was barely alive—full of morphine and pills to make me
as comfortable as possible—I was just barely conscious. I was
told I had congestive heart failure with little hope of
surviving even a year. My ejection fraction was 17% (normal is
65%). So you guessed it—I changed back to a healthy diet and
recovered.
 Three years later, I am now 73
years old, fully functional, chest pains are a rare event, and I
am happy to be alive. Last week I did a 14 mile bike ride. My
ejection fraction is now up to 36% and my heart is of a normal
size. Amazing! My total cholesterol is 125. I am of the opinion
that my heart is healing itself. My secret? I reduced the amount
of sodium to 300 mg a day, and live on potatoes, oatmeal, corn
tortillas, cabbage, lettuce, broccoli, onions, yams, beans,
fruit, and one ounce of walnuts daily. Routinely, I do 20
minutes a day on my exercise bike, frequently ride my recumbent
trike 15 or 20 miles. I take a small amount of medication which
I hope to soon stop. At one time I thought that
my body was like a car, just a piece of machinery that could be
repaired from the outside—with pills and surgery. I no longer
believe that. My body is in fact a wonderful device that will
repair itself if given the right fuel, a chance to breathe, and
a little exercise.
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