...and we're off!
No one tells you how much heart surgery is going to hurt. Of course, it's just a no-brainer that this particular surgery will carry with it a certain amount of discomfort. But those who have been there and done that are careful not to divulge any info that is not absolutely necessary. I remember my pre-op visit with the surgeon and how he seemed so stern, arrogant and so matter-of-fact about it all. The only thing I wanted was to be kept knocked out through the worst of it and made sure he knew it. However, once I told him my feelings on that, his response made me want to knock HIM out... "This surgery isn't for panty-wastes!" and he was not kidding when he said it!
"Once you get out of ICU, you will be getting up several times a day and walking the halls." he continued.
He left me with nothing more to say. It was then that I knew things were about to get ugly, especially when he informed me that I could take nothing to calm the nerves on the morning of the surgery! Apparently, I needed to be coherent in order for the anesthesiologist to ask me some questions. What kind of questions at a time like this??? They have all my info... what more could they possibly want?
"Would you like decaf anesthesia or regular?"
"Would you mind giving me your arm? We're going to strap you down now."
"You do have a Living Will on file, right?"
"We'll be stopping your heart half-way through, but we shouldn't have any problems getting it going again if we've done our job correctly."
He had to be kidding, right?! I had to drive for a little over an hour to get to this particular hospital for Open Heart Surgery and I can't have even a small sedative?! Well, how 'bout a hammer to the head, then? This did not set well with me, but what could I do? How much worse could it get?! My only thought at the time was, "What happens to ME if something happens to YOU?" Of course, you know the whole O.R. would run to the doctor on the floor to make sure he's alright, but what about the patient? I've always wondered that. Thankfully, that's never happened and, hopefully, I will never have to find out!
A few days later, I had to go in for the usual pre-admit routine when they took me to a room, sat me down in front of a monitor and explained that I would have to watch a video, further explaining what I was about to go through. I cannot even begin to tell you how very much I wanted to just close my eyes and die right there and then. No pain. No drama. Just close my eyes and never wake up again, this side of Heaven. Obviously, that didn't happen so there must be a reason for this wondrously, wonderful journey I'm on... although, looking back, it's not been one I'd recommend for anyone! But it is what it is.
First of all, no one tells you that once out of surgery you have a tube down your throat that helps you breathe. After it's determined your lungs are good to go, they remove this tube, which, thankfully, I only vaguely remember. First hurdle cleared.
Next, are the four a.m. visits, while in ICU, from the two ladies with the big, portable x-ray machine. Their job is to sit you up, put the painfully cold plate on your bare back and take a quick picture to keep tabs on your progress. This routine happens every morning while in ICU! I just remember the feeling of dread when I heard them coming! The discomfort in getting you positioned and that cold plate on your bare back is one thing. Why, oh why... someone please tell me, do they have to come at 4 every morning???
For me, sleeping on my side is just how I sleep most comfortably. However, due to the three drainage tubes in my chest, it was next to impossible to get me on my side in a comfortable position. I finally resigned myself to the fact that this was not going to be happening until the tubes came out. I'll get to the part where they remove the drain tubes in a minute...
Two things you absolutely do not want to do are: Throw up. Even with a bout of bad nausea, I fought it with everything in me, determined not to give in and I am proud to say that I never got sick. The other? Sneezing. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I prayed that I would not have to sneeze during recovery... or ever again, for that matter. I just couldn't imagine the pain that might be associated with this forceful bodily function!! How much damage could it do, or would it do? Thankfully, I was able to hold off sneezing for about eight months, but once I did, I could not stop! I finally felt the freedom to just cut loose and do it... and do it I did. Out came about 12 sneezes in a row. These were by no means lady-like sneezes, either. When I sneeze, everyone knows it and had better be prepared! (My children usually head off into another direction if they suspect there might be a sneeze coming on, especially if we're in public)!
Once it was determined I had progressed enough to move on up to a regular room, the drainage tubes had to be removed from my lungs. What can I say about this? I had heard from a relative who had recently had this same surgery that this was just about the worst thing imaginable. So... that's pretty much all I could think about and am not too proud to admit that this one nearly did me in. Well, not the actual extraction, just the thought of it all.
It was the morning I was to be moved and one of my doctors had come to visit. Anytime this one doctor in particular came, he was followed by a young, perky, gorgeous intern who was his assistant. I can't remember her name, but I do remember the way she smelled. I wanted to smell like her. I wanted to look like her. I wanted her upbeat attitude and energy. Alright, I wanted to BE her!
It was on this particular morning that this doctor had decided it was time for me to graduate up to the fifth floor. A regular room. This was happy news for us all, except for the fact that these tubes were still attached and needed to be removed. Beforehand, I made sure the nurses knew I wanted Morphine. When I made that request, I remember their puzzled response,"You want MORPHINE for this?" Shrugging it off, they went to get my meds and I was a happy camper.
Once I was 'morphed', they could have cut off my leg and I wouldn't have cared. Finally, the time came for 'IT'. Turns out the doctor's assistant was the one doing the procedure. All I will say about this part of the recovery process is that I'm very happy to report I made it through without incident. Truthfully, the actual removal wasn't nearly as bad as I had already determined it to be in my head. Isn't that always the case, though? (And, no, I didn't really need the Morphine as I had previously thought)!
All in all, my time spent in the Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit, or what I can recall from it, wasn't that bad. I had excellent care from each nursing shift and the other patients were relatively quiet... must have been the Morphine.
Next time, I'll be reporting in from the air on my way to Key West! Pray, people, pray!
xoxoxo
South Miami Beach 
