Bird Watching

by Larry Bird

  After I retired and started working for the Celtics in their front office, it was happening more frequently. I remember it happened once when I was down in North Carolina with our team during training camp. My heart kicked out of rhythm, but it wasn’t like before. For one thing, I hadn’t just worked out for two or three hours. I mentioned something to the team doctor, Arnie Scheller, and he suggested I go to Boston and get checked out. When I got back to Boston I mentioned it to Dan Dyrek too. I told him that most of the time it wasn’t a problem, but once in a while my heart felt like it was racing out of control. I wasn’t too pleased with myself at that point. Dan looked at me kind of funny and said, “I’m making a call and having you go see someone right now. You know, Larry, this isn’t something to fool around with.”

  By then, Arnie had already arranged for me to see this specialist over at New England Baptist Hospital. The doctor checked my heart, but at that time I was in normal rhythm. He said, “Your heart is great. Everything seems fine,” so I said, “Well, it is now, but every once in a while it starts going crazy on me.” So that’s when they started checking me out. They had me do a standard stress test, and they did an EKG. They had me put this little computer chip on my chest so that anytime my heart kicked out of rhythm they could pick up the patterns of my heartbeat. I got a doctor in Naples to check me out too, since I was still spending a lot of time there.

  They told me I had an arrhythmia—something called atrial fibrillation—which means the arrhythmia occurs sporadically instead of consistently. Basically, when my heart starts fibrillating, or twitching uncontrollably, the blood flow to my body is affected, and it makes me weak, tired, and lightheaded. There’s another kind of condition called ventrical fibrillation, which is a lot more serious and can cause a catastrophic episode within a matter of minutes, or even seconds. I’m lucky not to have to deal with that.

  Anyhow, one of the things all the doctors told me was that I needed to cut back on my lifestyle a little bit. I have to do everything in moderation now. I have to watch my diet, how much I exercise, and tone down my alcohol consumption. I also have to make sure I take my medicine regularly.

  I’ve had this for so long now that I can almost predict when it’s going to go out. I know when it’s happening in a second. I also know it eventually goes away. I remember there was one time it went out on me in Naples, and it was going really bad for some reason. I was real short of breath, and I felt like I needed to see my doctor. I called him, and he told me he wasn’t going to be around, but there would be another guy there to take a look at me. So I went in to see this other doctor, and he checked my heartbeat and said, “We’re going to admit you.” I’m thinking, “Hmmm.” Because that wasn’t ever necessary before. But this guy was just covering himself. I don’t think he wanted to be the guy that let Larry Bird go home with his heart going crazy. Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was go to bed. So I go down to talk to some more doctors, and they all want to keep me overnight. I’m saying, “Look, this has happened a number of times. I just need to go home and get some rest.” Finally, they let me go. The only thing they did was put an IV in me and put me on a heart monitor. They thought this thing might be flashing in and out all the time, but I knew better. I told them, “Trust me. I know when it happens, and it’s not going on all the time.”

  There was a period of time when I was only having a few episodes here and there. But when I started talking to the Pacers in the spring of 1997 about coaching, my heart kicked out of rhythm again, only this time it was kicking in and out for almost three months. I kept trying to work out, but I couldn’t do it. After I tried any kind of exercise, I would walk ten feet to the bathroom and my heart felt like it was jumping out of my chest. I got a little scared, because it didn’t seem like it was going away. I went to Donnie Walsh and told him about it, and he got me an appointment with the team cardiologist, Dr. King Yee.

  I went to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis and told them what would happen to my heart, but it never seemed to happen when I was around their doctors. Finally they put me on this treadmill, and I was working real hard, sweating like crazy and feeling about ready to die, when all of a sudden it kicked out again. That’s when they were able to monitor the arrhythmia and start me on medication that was specific to the kind of problem I had.

  I was on the medication for probably three weeks. Dr. Yee would continue to put me on the treadmill, to see if the medication would hold up under stressful situations. But even with the medicine, my heart was still knocking out of rhythm. At that point I was thinking to myself, “God, this is getting bad. It’s been too long.” For the first time, I was really getting concerned. Dr. Yee said my heart needed to be jolted back into its normal rhythm, so he decided to give me an electric shock treatment.

  It sounds a lot worse than it actually is. In fact, it’s a pretty common procedure for restoring a normal heartbeat. I don’t even remember it happening, because they sedated me, then put me on a table and administered a little current of electricity across my chest with defibrillator paddles, just like the kind you see on any medical show on television. The electrical current jump-starts the heart back to its normal rhythm. I didn’t feel a thing. They got me up, I left the hospital, I slept all the way to French Lick, and I was fine again.

  Before I left, Dr. Yee stressed how important it was to take my medication. I don’t really like to take medicine, and I knew I should have been more careful about it, but sometimes I’d forget. A couple of things Dr. Yee warned me about were to be careful around the stress of really hot weather, like we get in Naples sometimes, and to be leery about high altitudes, where there is less oxygen. Sure enough, on one of our early road trips to Denver my heart went out. It was the first time our trainer, David Craig, had to deal with it, so he was a little frantic. He called Dr. Yee back in Indianapolis. I admitted to him I had forgotten my medicine, and he arranged for David to get me some more. After that, Dr. Yee decided I needed a watchdog. From that day on, it was David Craig’s job to make sure I was taking my medicine when I was supposed to be taking it. Like Dr. Yee told me, “You know, Larry, you’re not the most compliant guy in the world.” I got the message. After that, I made sure I took my medicine when I was supposed to take it.

  Even so, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I was the same way when I had an injury as a player. I didn’t like talking about it. The last thing I wanted was for Donnie and everyone else to be thinking about my heart. I didn’t tell the players about it. I didn’t see any reason for them to know. Of course I told Dick and Rick, but I regretted that as soon as I did it. Every time we were out after a game, one of them was saying, “Larry, are you sure you should have another beer? You know, Larry, you’ve got to watch yourself…”

  For most of the season my heart condition really wasn’t an issue. But on March 17, 1998, when we were playing Chicago at home, I had it kick out on me. What happens is, my heart, when it is at rest, beats around 52 times a minute. But when it gets out of rhythm it shoots up to 102, 104 beats a minute, so it’s going twice as fast, and it feels like your heart is jumping all around, and you can’t breathe very well. It’s not like you are gasping for air, but you feel uncomfortable all the time. We’re in the middle of this big game against Chicago, and the score is really close. I really wanted us to beat them, because I had a feeling we would meet them again in the playoffs, and I wanted my guys to believe we could play with the Bulls. So I’m all caught up in the excitement of the game, and it starts happening. My heart starts fluttering, and then it starts banging around in my chest. I started sweating like crazy. I remember I kept turning to Dick and Rick and saying, “Is it really hot in here or what?” They were into the game, so I don’t think they noticed that I didn’t look so good. Dick just said, “Yeah, Larry, it is hot in here. Real hot.” The game was going on, and I don’t really remember what play was being run. I was standing on the sideline and hoping for a television time-out, because I felt like I was gonna pass out. Finally, the ref whi
stled time. Whenever we have a time-out, they always put a chair on the court for me so I can sit down and talk to the guys. This time I fell into that chair, because I was going out. The sweat was just pouring off me. Whenever my heart kicks out like that, I sweat really bad. I don’t know what I would have done if I had passed out on the floor. You just hope you don’t do a Jerry Reynolds and go out in front of everyone. Jerry was the coach for the Sacramento Kings, and he fainted dead away on the court once. It was a scary thing, although he’s just fine now.

  By the end of the game everything had calmed down. I saw my friend Joe Kleine, who was on the Bulls. He came over to say hello, and I said to him, “Hey Joe. You got to get into these games. Tell Phil I think you should be playing more.” He just laughed. I’m sure he didn’t notice a thing.

  I didn’t tell my players anything was wrong that night. I didn’t tell Dick or Rick either. The only one I really did tell was David Craig, because I had promised Donnie I would keep David informed about any problems I had. Craig told Dr. Yee, and I heard from him the next day. He reminded me that I needed to take my medicine, and that I needed to see him at least twice a year. Then he gave me a little lecture about how I had to take this condition seriously. If you let atrial fibrillation go unchecked and you don’t take your medicine, your heart won’t pump efficiently, and you could develop little blood clots, which could lead to a stroke. That’s an unlikely scenario for me, because I’m also on blood thinners. But Dr. Yee wanted me to realize the dangers. I guess Dr. Yee was trying to scare me. I’m not going to be stupid about this heart condition, but I’m not going to live my whole life in fear of this thing either. If it goes, it goes.

  My mom had something like it. You’d be sitting with her, and then all of a sudden you could hear her breathing a lot harder. She’d say, “There goes my irregular heartbeat.” She’d sit there for a minute, then say, “I can’t go up the stairs right now.” I’d say, “Aw, c’mon, Mom, what are you talking about?” But when I started getting it, I started thinking to myself, “Holy cow!” Mom said it was hereditary, but all my doctors say it’s not.

  Dr. Yee should be really happy with me, because I’m paying attention to everything he asked me to. I take my medicine, and I haven’t had my heart go out for almost seven months. According to Dr. Yee, as long as my arrhythmia is sporadic like it has been, there’s no major cause for concern. I exercise every day like I always have, and I’m feeling great.

  Donnie wanted to make sure we have a defibrillator courtside, but that’s for the players as much as for me. The NBA has been a lot more focused on heart ailments since Hank Gathers died. NBA player Monty Williams also has a heart condition. So I think all the teams became more aware, and figure a defibrillator makes sense. The last thing anyone wants is for something to happen like it did to poor Reggie Lewis, the Celtics star who died of heart failure while he was shooting baskets. I don’t know exactly what happened to him, or why, but I still can’t believe it happened at all. It’s just a complete shock when somebody that young is gone all of a sudden, just like that.

  I was in Florida when it happened. I heard a news flash on television, and I almost fell over. I called Dave Gavitt right away, and he told me it was true. It was a sad, sad day. I felt so awful for his family. I was never really close with his wife, Donna, but I know her and like her. She tells it like she sees it, and I respect that about her.

  I wasn’t in Boston when all of Reggie’s care and treatment had been going on. I knew that the Celtics doctor, Arnie Scheller, had put together a top team of cardiologists so Reggie could get the best care he could possibly get. Next thing you know, the Boston Globe had a story about how Reggie and Donna switched hospitals in the middle of the night, and that got me worried. I don’t know why that happened, but I’m sure Donna and Reggie had their reasons.

  I guess the part that gnaws at me the most is wondering if it had to happen. I know it would have been really tough for Reggie to give up basketball—he loved it so much—but he had a little boy and a little girl on the way when he died, and now they don’t have a daddy.

  When Reggie died, I think we all had the same thought: you never know what’s going to happen. I just wish he was around. Reggie was a great kid. When he was a rookie and wasn’t playing very much, he used to come in for me at the end of a game and he’d shoot every time he got the ball. What was so exciting was to watch him develop into the kind of player he became. He worked very hard to improve his ballhandling, his defense, and his shot selection. He could always shoot the ball, and when he finally got to where he was the guy the team counted on, the heart problems happened. It doesn’t seem fair.

  I’m sure it made it harder for Donna and Reggie that it was all so public. That’s one of the worst things about being a professional athlete. People think everything that happens to you is their business too. Like when I went to Indianapolis to get my shock treatment. I wanted to make sure nobody knew about it, so we scheduled it for real early in the morning. I made sure I went in a side door and that as few people as possible saw me. The good thing was it didn’t take very long, and by the time word got out that I was at the hospital, I was already long gone.

  It’s mind-boggling sometimes, what you have to go through to guarantee your privacy. But we’re used to it. This is the part of my career that I have never liked.

  When I was playing, some guys used to use aliases when we checked into hotels on the road, but I never did that. I just blocked off my phone. Of course, that was after being around the league a couple of years. I remember during my rookie year we played an exhibition game in New York City. I was rooming with Tiny Archibald, and the phone rang and I picked it up, and somebody was on the other end telling me they were going to kill me. I hung up, and Tiny said, “Who was that?” I told him, “Some guy that’s going to kill me.” The phone rang again, and this time Tiny picked it up. He chewed that guy out for a good ten minutes, but I really wasn’t upset about it. I just went on. I knew the guy wasn’t really going to kill me. You have to get used to that kind of thing when you are in the public eye. I’ve received so many death threats, I’ve lost count. But I understand everyone deals with it differently. I read that Karl Malone decided he needed to start carrying a gun after he received threats.

  The best threat I got was during the 1984 Finals in Los Angeles. We were warming up for the second half against the Lakers and my coach, K. C. Jones, called me over. He said, “Larry, I’ve just been told there’s been a threat made on your life. You can handle this however you want. See those men all around the rim of this arena? They’re security personnel. They can escort you to the locker room, and you can watch the rest of the game there. You can leave the building if you want. Or you can keep playing. It’s totally up to you.” I said, “Okay, K. C.,” and I went back into the layup line. After a minute or so, K. C. says to me, “Larry, I see you’re still out here.” I said, “K. C., of course I’m still out there. It’s the Finals! We’re playing the Lakers!” K. C. said, “Great, great. But Larry, do me a favor, will you? When we come back in the huddle to start the second half, can you stay at center court? I’m afraid this guy might be a bad shot.” K. C. said it with a totally straight face, but I knew it was his way of trying to defuse the situation. He was trying to get me to relax. He was the best at that. Anyhow, when my team gathered in the huddle to start the second half, I ran to the middle of the group and draped my arm over K. C.’s shoulder.

  You’ve got to understand that a lot of these threats are just kids, or people who are frustrated because you are beating the hell out of their team. I know Michael gets his share of it. Magic did too. That’s the way it goes. Get on with life.

  The truth is, I’ve never cared so much about someone that I would be that intensely involved with them. I can’t believe anyone would walk across the street to meet me, because the truth is I wouldn’t walk across the street to meet anybody else. If somebody told me Miss America was outside the door, I’d wish her all the luck in the worl
d, but I’m just not into that stuff.

  When I was a kid we never went to any pro games, but one time our coach took us to Louisville, Kentucky, to see an ABA game. We were all seventh-graders, and my buddies were saying, “Hey, let’s get some autographs.” I said, “What do you want those for?” They said, “It’s fun. C’mon, we’ll show you.” So they give me a piece of paper, and Dan Issel is walking off the court. My buddies are hollering at him, and I’m kind of standing back with them, and Issel says, “No, no, not now,” or something like that. We got turned down. That was exactly what I was afraid of before I went down there. So I never asked anyone after that.

  I understand exactly what position Dan Issel was in. I did then and I do now. I can honestly say I’ve signed as many autographs as probably anyone else in the world my age, but I can just do so many. I know every time you turn one more guy down, it could be Larry Bird left standing there, but it’s impossible to please everyone. Autographs are tricky, because so many people are into reselling them. You wish it was all little kids who want to take it home and put it in their scrapbooks, but it isn’t.