The Secret Comeback

When I was 25, my father died at the age of 54 of a massive heart attack. In the years leading up to my own 54th birthday, I became increasingly paranoid about reaching the age that took him. I began questioning relatives about their heart health, trying to gauge what I should be expecting and where the landmines were buried. I made it past 54, but the relief was short-lived.

Over the next couple of years, I became acutely aware that something in my body was not right. I felt an insistent pressure behind my sternum whenever I exerted myself. The pace of my 30-minute daily walks gradually slowed, and I found I needed to stop and take a break when walking up a hill. Even jumping around on stage started to trigger this pressure. As a freelance trumpet player with a relentless schedule—including The Azar Lawrence Experience, John Beasley’s Monk’estra, and Oingo Boingo Former Members (OBFM)—I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I had to start looking for help, and my search for a cardiologist who could actually give me answers began. It would be nearly three years after that milestone birthday when I finally landed on an operating table for emergency triple bypass surgery.

Through my health care plan, I began scheduling visits to cardiologist Dr. Gopal Govindarajan. On one of those visits, they performed an ultrasound on my heart. The technician, who was incredibly confident, told me my heart “sounded good” and made sure to mention he’d been doing this for 25 years. Despite his “expert” ears, the office provided no results, no follow-up, and no answers.

The breaking point happened on the day I was finally scheduled to undergo a clinical stress test. I arrived 15 minutes early for my 11:00 AM appointment and parked in a legitimate, unmarked space. I checked with the receptionist first, and she explicitly told me it was okay to park there.

After waiting 45 minutes, they abruptly told me I needed to move my car. When I got to the lot, a different doctor who shared the office was already there, yelling at me for “blocking” him. I told him directly that I had only parked there because the receptionist told me I could. He didn’t care; he just kept yelling. I moved the car to a spot he pointed out and went back inside to wait.

At 12:15 PM, the receptionist came out again and snapped at me about the parking a second time, acting as if the previous conversation never happened. I’d had enough of the disrespect. When I tried to leave, she physically blocked the doorway. I had to slide my hand between her shoulder and the door jamb just to squeeze by. As I walked away, she screamed: “And don’t ever touch me again, motherf***!”**.

I guess that was my stress test. As I reached my car, my cardiologist, Dr. Govindarajan himself, was just arriving, an hour and 15 minutes late, and waiting for my spot. We didn’t say a word; I just pulled out and never went back. I realized that I needed to find a new cardiologist..

I took the initiative to find a new doctor. I looked up Dr. Keesara in the patient directory, which clearly stated he was accepting new patients. Yet, when I finally walked into the exam room, the very first thing he said to me was: “How did you even get an appointment with me?”. His lack of concern was evident from the start. On February 28, 2024, I even posted a status on Facebook that summed up the absurdity: “It’s not particularly comforting when your cardiologist tells you ‘Good luck.’ Hmpf!”. Because the previous office was such a disaster, I was forced to restart every single test from square one. After a couple of months of trying to work with Dr. Keesara’s office, I finally dropped the politeness with his assistant and told her flat out, “I’m trying to not die.”. Instead of helping, they completely ghosted me. No calls, no follow-ups, nothing.

I continued to push and finally found Leticia de la Cruz at the Southern California Heart and Vascular Center in Boyle Heights. My first appointment with her was on July 1, 2024. For the first time, I felt like someone actually heard me. She understood that my symptoms were serious and immediately took action, getting me the referral for a CT Angina scan. Even with her advocacy, the system moved slowly; the scan couldn’t be scheduled until September 3rd.

On the weekend before that September scan, I drove to Northern California for a visit with my sister and a gig with OBFM on Labor Day weekend.

On the way, I stopped at the Livermore outlets to buy shoes and felt light-headed and hazy. I realized I’d forgotten my meds, took them, and waited for the haze to lift before continuing the drive to my sister Tina’s house in Pleasant Hill. Later that weekend, while staying with her, she handed me her Apple Watch to monitor my heart rate, calling it a “monkey’s paw” she was glad to be rid of but that might be of some use to me.

On Sunday, September 1st, I drove from Pleasant Hill to Sacramento to play the show at the Thunder Valley Casino.

The concert venue at the casino is named The Venue, and it was a very long walk from where our rooms were. I had to walk maybe a mile and a half a few times that day, several times having to stop to rest or just slow my pace significantly just to breathe. I drove back down the 5 Freeway on September 2nd, giving a ride to OBFM’s keyboardist Carl Graves.

On September 3rd, I finally had the scan Leticia had ordered. Before the technician injected the dye, she warned me, “Okay, there will be a warming sensation throughout your body”. That was an understatement. When your butt starts to warm up from the dye, it feels exactly like you’re pooping your pants. I literally asked her, “Am I pooping my pants right now?”. She assured me I was not. WHEW!.

The results didn’t come back until Friday, September 6, 2024. The scan found a 70% blockage in my Left Anterior Descending (LAD) artery. When Leticia saw the results, the tone shifted immediately. She made it clear that any physical exertion was now too dangerous and told me I had to stop my daily walks. She said I should go right to an ER with a cardiology department and tell them I need a stent.

I called my primary care physician, Dr. Dale Brent. His office got me a referral and told me to go immediately to Valley Presbyterian Hospital, which was only 10 minutes from my house.

I arrived at Valley Presbyterian around 6:00 PM on Friday evening. Despite having a direct referral and a confirmed 70% blockage in a major artery, I was forced into a grueling waiting room ordeal. I sat in that ER for 14 straight hours. From 6:00 PM until 8:00 AM the next morning, I was just a man in a plastic chair, waiting for the system to acknowledge the urgency of my failing heart.

Eventually, they admitted me, but only to put me on “hold” because it was the weekend. They tucked me away in a room, but it wasn’t for care—it was for storage. During this time, both the attending doctor and Dr. Higgins were completely blowing me off.

Dr. Higgins approached me with what my fiancée Laura described as “used car salesman energy”. He told me flat out that I couldn’t just “walk in” and tell them I needed a stent—even as I sat there showing them the test results that proved I did. They treated me like I was overreacting, treating my situation like it wasn’t the life-or-death emergency Leticia had warned me it was. I was just a body in a bed, waiting for the Monday morning shift change while they dismissed my symptoms.

On September 5th, the day before the results came in and everything changed, I took this photo of Laura.

On Monday, September 9th, they finally took me in for what was supposed to be a stent. But once they actually got in there to look, the tone in the room changed instantly. They found the 70% blockage in my LAD, but they also discovered that my Left Main artery (”the Widowmaker”) was 99% blocked.

I was essentially at the end of the line. Stenting was no longer an option. I underwent emergency triple bypass (CABG) surgery performed by Dr. Azmi Atiya. Dr. Atiya is a badass with quiet humility. He instilled absolute confidence in me during the most terrifying moment of my life.

When I woke up from the six-hour surgery, Laura was holding one hand and my sister Tina (who had flown down during the procedure) was holding the other.

Later that week, while I was still in intensive care, Dr. Higgins came back to my room. He finally admitted the truth, telling me it was a good thing I came in because if I had suffered a heart attack—even if it had happened right there in their ER waiting room—they wouldn’t have been able to save me.

I felt so protected and taken care of by Dr. Atiya that when I saw him for my follow-up visit three weeks later, I simply burst into tears.

I chose Radio Silence. In the freelance world, if people think you’re “out,” the phone stops ringing. I kept the surgery a secret so the work wouldn’t dry up.

I sat at home in a chair as OBFM did their October Halloween shows and a tour of Brazil, John Beasley’s Monk’estra played the Central Avenue Jazz Festival and a concert at SFJAZZ, and Azar Lawrence played a couple of shows... without me. This photo of me and Laura was taken on October 29, 2024.

At my follow-up visit, I asked Dr. Atiya when I could start playing the trumpet again. I told him I was missing a lot of work and he said, “I know, I looked at your website.”. He followed that with the best advice I could have received: “I don’t play the trumpet so I don’t know how it feels. You would know better than I if it feels wrong. Try it and let your body tell you.”. My musical recovery began with just blowing air through the mouthpiece—not even trying to make a sound, just seeing if I could move air. Luckily, you blow from the diaphragm, and I could still do that. The challenge was that my chest and sternum were still healing; I couldn’t even put my shoulders back. But I gradually was able to sit up straight and make sound again.

My first gig back was November 23, 2024, with Azar Lawrence.

But 2025 remained a dismal rebuilding year professionally. Maybe word got out anyway and people didn’t know if I could still play or if I was a vegetable. Weirdly, not very many people called to ask. In fact, most didn’t.

I went through my 12 weeks of cardiac rehab (basically working out monitored by nurses) in the first quarter of 2025, which helped my confidence immensely. I had to get over a lot of fear. Fear that I would hurt myself. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to play the horn. Fear that I would somehow fuck up the work the surgeon had done. The nurses who monitored me at my cardiac rehab at the Cedars-Sinai hospital in Tarzana performed miracles with my confidence. I even joined a gym for the first time in my life and I go three times a week—for anybody who really knows me, you know that’s not something I was ever into.

It took until late 2025 before the momentum finally returned.

Today, I am at 110%. The air moves differently through the horn when your heart is finally doing its job. This is why leading my quintet and playing my original music at Sam First on March 11 means so much more. I’ve actually been going back through my compositions from the past 25–30 years and sprinkling new life into old tunes, just like new life has been sprinkled into my heart.

Come and hear my quintet with some of my oldest friends playing with me. It is the official end of the rebuilding year.

Date: Wednesday, March 11, 2026

Location: Sam First, Los Angeles

Tickets: Link to Sam First Tickets

• Laura House: My biggest thank you goes to my fiancée, Laura. Without her, I would have given up. She was my advocate when I didn’t have the strength and the person who kept me moving forward when the road felt impossible.

• Tina: For the “monkey’s paw,” for taking care of me during that critical Labor Day weekend, and for flying down to help me and Laura during my week in the hospital.

• Leticia de la Cruz: For being the first medical professional to actually listen and take the action that saved my life.

• Dr. Azmi Atiya: For your skill, your quiet confidence, and for literally putting my heart back together.

• The Nurses at Cedars-Sinai (Tarzana): For the miracles you perform in cardiac rehab and for helping me find my confidence again.

• Our dear friend Mo, who came and stayed with us at our home the week after I got back from the hospital and brought so much joy into our house.

• Deep friendship thanks to: Keith and Rahima Fiddmont, Murray Valeriano, John Beasley, Barbara Brighton, Graham Ellwood, Sam Phipps and Steve Bartek from OBFM and Azar Lawrence.