It looks like Jenn may have stolen my thunder, so apologies if this is repetitive.
It's cold, blustery and snowy here, as expected. Fortunately the CC campus is self contained and there's little we need to do outside except cover the 2 blocks between the hotel and campus. And they know from plowing here in Cleveland.
Newark airport was a mob scene yesterday, and that's before the security breach that shut down Terminal C (which, fortunately, we missed). Nevertheless, we made it to Cleveland just about on time and got settled into the hotel - although we had to reject the first room we were given, as it was missing the standard microwave/fridge/kitchenette, but did feature a staggering interspecial variety of molds. Lunch at the hotel, and dinner at Lolita, a Michael Symon restaurant. We'd had this dinner reservation just about as long as my surgery appointment, and it was worth it. Yes, I had the charcuterie and the chicken livers ... please don't tell the doctors.
Today was packed with pre-op appointments. The EKG and chest X-ray went routinely. Next, the blood lab, where I just missed (again!) a fight between two techs, in front of patients. Next thing I knew, there were 25 people waiting and general chaos in the lounge. I finally talked my way into the head of the line (having a preset appointment list helped), and had multiple tubes drawn by 2 different techs. I suspect this isn't the first human pin-cushion impression I'll be doing.
Echocardiogram was next, and I've had enough of these to know the drill and semi-interpret what I'm seeing on the screen as the tech completes the ultrasound. The obstruction (gradient) is still there at rest (35-50 mm Hg), and they gave me inhaled amyl nitrate to simulate stress on the heart muscle. This caused the gradient to skyrocket to 120 mm Hg, and made me feel quite crummy indeed.
Lunch at the hospital cafeteria, which actually was pretty decent. Then the appointment with the cardiologist, Dr. Desai. He went over my test results and the plan of action (surgery), with not much surprise. He did detect a potential abnormality in the papillary muscles, which tether the mitral valve, and is therefore recommending a dual operation: a myectomy and papillary resection. This catch should improve my outcome, and it's the reason I'm at CC instead of anywhere else. In all my echocardiograms (and even a cardiac MRI), until now no one has suggested the obstruction might have more than one cause. Fortunately it should be evaluable and correctable at surgery.
I'm scheduled for a cardiac catheterization tomorrow, and surgical clearance and outpatient visit on Wednesday. I'll post daily with updates.
(Post-original-post scheduling update: the cath will not happen until mid afternoon Tuesday, so there may be little news tomorrow.)
Take care,
Michael
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Sorry dear! Didn't mean to prempt all your fun and story-telling. Although no one can tell the med details like you anyway! I'll try to keep my fingers off the blog until you get the knife. 'K? ;-)
Tough game in Tampa. Thinking of you both.
-Matt
Michael does have a terrific way with words. Maybe we can author a book together "How to be a Bizarre Cardiac Surgery Case!" It could be published under humor, since there is no category for "Laughing instead of Crying." (Subtitle: "Humor makes it better, as well as keeping everyone else a little off kelter" Or something better. Think about it and get back to me....)
This is the worst part, the anticipation. You are secure in all of your preparations, you have as much knowledge as possible, you know you are in the right place with the right doctors, but you still don't really know what's going to happen, how you are going to feel.
So, to reiterate: it's going to be incredibly painful, the worst pain you can imagine. Chest tubes are the devil's tool and should be allowed in the torturing of terrorists. The day after surgery will be even worse. You will not believe that they expect you to get out of bed, because every second, every breath is agony. Ask for all the lovely drugs they will give you. And then the next day will be better, and the next better. When you are discharged less than a week after surgery you won't believe the difference. And eventually this horrible period will fade, although never disappear, and you will be able to get on with your life.
You can do this--both of you. It will be unbelievably hard for Jenn to watch you suffer, especially since she won't be getting the lovely drugs. But it is do-able. And then you will be better, and establish a new 'new normal'.
Sending lots of love, healing thoughts and prayers to both of you.
You are both too funny. So glad to be able to get the posts.
Thoughts and prayers are with you (in the UU way of course).
Post a Comment