His life changed in a heartbeat

He cheated death once, and surely that would be enough. He was in the prime of his life, not even 40. He was a professional athlete.

The doctors had fixed his heart, just in time. He was one of the lucky ones. He would pitch again, and soon.

When his chest tightened up, he swallowed an aspirin and tried to wish the uneasiness away. It didn’t work. He wouldn’t call 911, so his friend did. The paramedic ran a test, then spoke to Doug Brocail with blunt force.

“Either you’re having a massive heart attack,” he said, “or you’re going to have one.”

As the ambulance raced to the hospital, Brocail wondered what he could tell his wife without scaring her. He feared he might need open-heart surgery.

His heart was supposed to be fine. The doctors had taken care of that a few weeks ago.

His heart was supposed to be fine then too, or so he thought. The Padres had sent him for a stress test during spring training last year, just to be safe.

As he awaited the results, the technician showed him the chart of a healthy heart.

Brocail glanced at the chart of one of the patients. He could see the difference. That heart was clogged. That patient was in big trouble. He said so, out loud.

The technician broke into tears.

“Oh my God,” she said. “That’s your heart.”

The woman who put him through the stress test told him to sit down.

“I could have killed you,” she said.

The left coronary artery branches into two, and one of Brocail’s branches was 99% clogged. He could have dropped dead -- within days or, perhaps, within hours. He could have collapsed on the mound in full view of a crowd.

But Brocail would live, through the wonders of angioplasty. The cardiologist threaded a balloon through his blood vessels, toward his heart and into the blocked branch. He inflated the balloon, blasting apart the blockage, and left behind a stent to keep the artery open.

And then the cardiologist started asking questions. The answers accounted for the emergency. Brocail had the classic symptoms, and he had explained them away.

Shortness of breath? He couldn’t keep up with the other pitchers while running. His childhood asthma must have returned.

Fatigue? He couldn’t lift as much, and he got tired even trying to lift lighter weights. He must be getting older.

Pain shooting down the left arm? Too much sneezing, from his allergy to the family cats. “I told my wife, ‘One day my heart is going to explode when I sneeze,’ ” he said.

Numbness in the jaw? Must be the smokeless tobacco. He had no idea that nicotine was a risk factor for heart disease.

“You think of smokeless tobacco, and the big worries are gum disease, tooth loss and cancer,” Brocail said. “It doesn’t say anywhere on the label that it strips your arteries.”

Chest pain? He wasn’t in pain, at least the way he defined it.

“The word ‘pain’ when it comes to cardiology is different than slamming your finger in a door,” he said. “If you slam your finger in a door, it hurts like hell, and there’s pain involved.

“Chest pain is a tightness, a shortness of breath. It can be a tingle in your upper left arm. That, to me, is not a pain.

“When I was getting the signs out on the field? Oh my God, were you having chest pains? No. It just feels like I’ve got a car sitting on my chest. And then everybody looks at me and says, ‘Oh my God!’ ”

The cardiologist sent Brocail home, with an order to follow up there. He did not. He felt fine. He never did see another cardiologist, not until a month later, when that ambulance sped him to one.

This time, his right coronary artery was 99% blocked. He would not need bypass surgery. He would need another angioplasty, and two stents to hold the artery open.

That was one year and five days ago. He got back to the major leagues last July, assured that he was not risking a heart attack and that cardiac patients often return to a strenuous job.

“Tons of ‘em,” said Paul Teirstein, chief of cardiology at San Diego’s Scripps Clinic and the man who performed Brocail’s second angioplasty. “There’s no evidence physical activity -- particularly after you’ve had stents -- increases the risk at all.”

Brocail will be in uniform tonight with the Padres at Dodger Stadium. He’ll bring a pill bag with him. He takes 27 pills a day, mostly to thin his blood and keep his cholesterol in check.

He modified his diet too. He says no to red meat and yes to red wine, no to pizza and yes to protein.

“I know two million seven hundred and forty-one ways of cooking chicken and turkey,” he said.

It cannot be easy to share a near-death experience, or two. But Brocail sits in the dugout for 30 minutes, open and engaging about the most frightening of moments, the most vivid of details.

He didn’t heed the warning signs, and his wife and five daughters almost lost him. He turns 40 next month. No one should die so young. If he can save one life by telling his story, he figures, why not?

He’s not the pitcher he used to be. He can’t mix blood thinners with anti-inflammatories, so he pitches with constant tendinitis. He lost 10 pounds on his new diet, and with them a couple mph on his fastball.

“I’d like to have my fastball back from two years ago,” he said. “But, if it means staying healthy and living longer and seeing my kids grow up and get married, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

bill.shaikin@latimes.com