I'm back at work full time, which is mostly why I haven't updated here. My colleagues have been great about letting me ease back in. However, the consecutive 8-hour days (plus commute, on non-snow-days) take their toll, and I'm pretty exhausted to do much else. It takes time. I may be the only person who's thrilled at the snow - it means I can work from home, which is energy-conserving.
Medically, I'm doing fine. I've lost 6 pounds in the last 6 weeks. I'm presuming (hoping?) it's attributable to the walking and the renewed attention to diet (I've been consciously eating less, particularly at lunch), and not to fluid loss. I have medical clearance to join the gym, and I bought new shoes and new workout gear, so I feel like I've turned a corner there.
And in what is a marker of success, we spent last weekend in downtown Center City for my birthday. We did a lot of walking and a few large celebratory meals, which combination used to be a recipe for misery pre-surgery. I felt fine afterward, thank goodness. I very well may have had a meltdown if my symptoms had come back.
Take care,
Michael
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Another milestone down
Saw my local cardiologist, Dr. Averbach, yesterday. He is very pleased with my progress and thinks I'm only going to feel better over the next weeks and months as my heart and body adjust to the removal of the obstruction.
But more importantly, he cleared me to sit in the front seat and drive, much to Jenn's chagrin. My independence = perceived end of useful support for Jenn. It's not true, of course, but it bothers her. I reminded her that I still need her to handle the snow (it's blizzarding now), but it doesn't seem to be helping.
Seriously, it's hard to be a caregiver, and she's been awesome and I love her.
Take care,
Michael
But more importantly, he cleared me to sit in the front seat and drive, much to Jenn's chagrin. My independence = perceived end of useful support for Jenn. It's not true, of course, but it bothers her. I reminded her that I still need her to handle the snow (it's blizzarding now), but it doesn't seem to be helping.
Seriously, it's hard to be a caregiver, and she's been awesome and I love her.
Take care,
Michael
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Snow day
For the heart surgery patient immediately postop (up to about 6 weeks), certain forms of exercise are good - walking, predominantly, anything that gets the blood moving at a steady pace through which a conversation can be kept up. On the flip side, no weight-lifting (lifting is restricted to 10 pounds, about the weight of a gallon of milk) and no burst- or grunt-type activity. Two cardiologists at different institutions have scientifically explained it to me in the exact same clinically oriented language: "nothing that makes you go 'unnnngggh'".
And definitely no shoveling snow. Only yesterday I mentioned to Jenn that we had been lucky this season, especially since our snowblower is still in the shop; we hadn't had snowfall for the entire month since my return from Cleveland. Naturally I hadn't checked the weather forecast and the weather gods decided make their presence known, and we got about 4 inches of the white stuff. Sorry, Philadelphia metro region. It's my fault.
We were planning to break out the golf clubs today (really! it's indoors) and I was going to chip and putt, but the snow plus some unexpected deep chest soreness today ended that idea. Maybe next week. Tomorrow we head to Massachusetts to visit my brother, sis-in-law and nephew:
And to walk a different mall. Same stores, different order.
Take care,
Michael
And definitely no shoveling snow. Only yesterday I mentioned to Jenn that we had been lucky this season, especially since our snowblower is still in the shop; we hadn't had snowfall for the entire month since my return from Cleveland. Naturally I hadn't checked the weather forecast and the weather gods decided make their presence known, and we got about 4 inches of the white stuff. Sorry, Philadelphia metro region. It's my fault.
We were planning to break out the golf clubs today (really! it's indoors) and I was going to chip and putt, but the snow plus some unexpected deep chest soreness today ended that idea. Maybe next week. Tomorrow we head to Massachusetts to visit my brother, sis-in-law and nephew:
And to walk a different mall. Same stores, different order.
Take care,
Michael
Friday, January 29, 2010
Skip this post if you're squeamish
Every morning I check the incision and chest tube sites. The chest tube sites look great - dry, tight, scabby and a good color (ie, not red). The incision is 95% healed, except for a 3/4" section at the bottom of the incision that has been a little slower to heal - it's been a little moist and scabby, whereas the rest of the incision is pretty much a residual scar by now. I've been treating this area daily with peroxide and/or iodine (depending on which bottle is closer) and occasionally covering with gauze, more to protect my clothes than the wound.
Seriously, if you're squeamish, stop reading here.
This morning (or overnight), the scab came loose prematurely and was quite wet. Attached to it, as I discovered when attempting to cleanly clip off the loose dead scab tissue, was a floppy protruding section of subcutaneous suture about 1.5 inches long. It's plastic thread, similar in texture to the gimmick that keeps your Thanksgiving turkey trussed until you get it from the store to your kitchen counter. So I clipped that too.
Now I'm left with a little bit of an opening in the skin where there shouldn't be one. Fortunately over the past 3 weeks the skin layers had healed themselves a good deal and the opening wasn't too bad (ie, I don't think it needs stitches). So, plenty of peroxide on the opening, and a new covering. It's not too red and not too painful, so I don't think it's infected, and I intend to keep it that way. I'll check it regularly and call my doc if it gets worse. Of course, it now being the weekend, if I truly need it stitched it means a non-emergency ER trip.
(Post-entry update: it looks great the next morning, reclosed on its own, clearly no need for stitches or anything interesting.)
Take care,
Michael
Seriously, if you're squeamish, stop reading here.
This morning (or overnight), the scab came loose prematurely and was quite wet. Attached to it, as I discovered when attempting to cleanly clip off the loose dead scab tissue, was a floppy protruding section of subcutaneous suture about 1.5 inches long. It's plastic thread, similar in texture to the gimmick that keeps your Thanksgiving turkey trussed until you get it from the store to your kitchen counter. So I clipped that too.
Now I'm left with a little bit of an opening in the skin where there shouldn't be one. Fortunately over the past 3 weeks the skin layers had healed themselves a good deal and the opening wasn't too bad (ie, I don't think it needs stitches). So, plenty of peroxide on the opening, and a new covering. It's not too red and not too painful, so I don't think it's infected, and I intend to keep it that way. I'll check it regularly and call my doc if it gets worse. Of course, it now being the weekend, if I truly need it stitched it means a non-emergency ER trip.
(Post-entry update: it looks great the next morning, reclosed on its own, clearly no need for stitches or anything interesting.)
Take care,
Michael
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Trying not to be a bump on a log
Every day is an effort to keep moving, because walking is about the best thing for me right now (and I start cardiac rehab as soon as I can get it scheduled). Plus, I'm bored at home. So we've been out and about, which means I haven't been on the computer much at all. And this blog suffers for it, alas.
So to beat cabin fever, we took a spontaneous trip today to Dublin. Shamrocks, Guinness and the Blarney Stone!
Sadly, no. Dublin, Pennsylvania, home of the nearest state driver's license photo center. For the next 4 years I can excuse my driver's license photo by explaining it was taken not 3 weeks after heart surgery.
It being cold and sometimes rainy here in January, we've been doing most of the walking in malls like this one, this one, and this one, as well as grocery stores/BJ's/Target - anything with lots of aisles, things to look at, and carts to lean on like walkers if needed (which I really haven't). Bonus points if the shopping center has a Barnes & Noble or Borders to take a break at (and so Jenn doesn't come home empty-handed).
The good news is, in all my walking, I haven't hit the wall yet - in fact, Jenn said today she was struggling to keep up. I haven't hit the gym for a "workout" yet, so I'm not ready to definitively term the surgery a success, but I'm very optimistic. I'd like the pain to subside a little more. I'm still taking a whole lot of Advil and Tylenol. My internist, Dr. Schwartz, and my HCM specialist at Brigham and Women's, Dr. Ho, both tell me to quit being a hero and take the Percocet. But that makes me loopy (not to mention "irregular"), and I dislike cognitive impairment just a little more than I dislike pain. Besides, I need something to complain about, else Jenn thinks she gets off easy.
Speaking of Dr. Ho, she gets major props from me here. She had just returned from maternity leave, saw my operative report in her inbox that must have been 2 feet high with papers, and called me personally on my cell phone to check on me and see if there was anything she could do. Wonderful, terrifically attentive (and expert) doctor.
Finally, for those of you in the Philadelphia area, here's a plug for my fellowship's annual choir concert. It's this Sunday, Jan. 31, 2:00 p.m. at the fellowship on Street Road in Warrington. I obviously won't be singing this year, but I'll be there and it should be wonderful. I have 2 tickets free to anyone interested, just contact me. And thanks to Dad for generously donating the printing for the programs.
Take care,
Michael
So to beat cabin fever, we took a spontaneous trip today to Dublin. Shamrocks, Guinness and the Blarney Stone!
Sadly, no. Dublin, Pennsylvania, home of the nearest state driver's license photo center. For the next 4 years I can excuse my driver's license photo by explaining it was taken not 3 weeks after heart surgery.
It being cold and sometimes rainy here in January, we've been doing most of the walking in malls like this one, this one, and this one, as well as grocery stores/BJ's/Target - anything with lots of aisles, things to look at, and carts to lean on like walkers if needed (which I really haven't). Bonus points if the shopping center has a Barnes & Noble or Borders to take a break at (and so Jenn doesn't come home empty-handed).
The good news is, in all my walking, I haven't hit the wall yet - in fact, Jenn said today she was struggling to keep up. I haven't hit the gym for a "workout" yet, so I'm not ready to definitively term the surgery a success, but I'm very optimistic. I'd like the pain to subside a little more. I'm still taking a whole lot of Advil and Tylenol. My internist, Dr. Schwartz, and my HCM specialist at Brigham and Women's, Dr. Ho, both tell me to quit being a hero and take the Percocet. But that makes me loopy (not to mention "irregular"), and I dislike cognitive impairment just a little more than I dislike pain. Besides, I need something to complain about, else Jenn thinks she gets off easy.
Speaking of Dr. Ho, she gets major props from me here. She had just returned from maternity leave, saw my operative report in her inbox that must have been 2 feet high with papers, and called me personally on my cell phone to check on me and see if there was anything she could do. Wonderful, terrifically attentive (and expert) doctor.
Finally, for those of you in the Philadelphia area, here's a plug for my fellowship's annual choir concert. It's this Sunday, Jan. 31, 2:00 p.m. at the fellowship on Street Road in Warrington. I obviously won't be singing this year, but I'll be there and it should be wonderful. I have 2 tickets free to anyone interested, just contact me. And thanks to Dad for generously donating the printing for the programs.
Take care,
Michael
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
David and his new ICD, walking, and caffeine
My message board buddy David had his myectomy at CC with Dr. Smedira last Thursday. The procedure itself went fine, but his recovery has been considerably more rocky than mine. He's still in the hospital, having had an implantable cardioverter/defibrillator (ICD) placed today after some rhythm disturbances, including atrial fibrillation and possibly ventricular tachycardia (very serious). Please keep him in your thoughts. Fortunately, as we know, he's in the best place in the world if he's going to have post-op cardiac complications that need to be monitored and managed. Plus his positive attitude and sense of humor are fully intact.
As an aside, part of the evaluation of HCM at diagnosis is an assessment of the risk factors for sudden death and subsequent recommendation for/against ICD placement. An ICD is basically a battery installed surgically under the chest skin, with wires running into the heart, that activates a defibrillating shock when it detects a potentially lethal heart rhythm. It can be life-saving, but it's not benign. For example, an ICD can misfire, which is painful; the leads (wires) can break or permanently embed themselves into the blood vessels; and it needs to be "interrogated" regularly for evidence of abnormal rhythms and use. The risk factors for sudden death in HCM are prior cardiac arrest or sustained v-tach; family history of sudden cardiac death; syncope (fainting); extreme thickening of the septum (>30 mm); and a decreased BP response to exercise. Of these, I have only one, decreased BP on exercise. Therefore, although every HCM expert I've ever consulted has initiated an informed discussion of ICDs, it has never been definitively recommended to me, and neither I nor my doctors believe it's warranted. For obvious reasons, this is a highly controversial and delicate subject clinically, and there are no right answers (at least in my case).
I've been doing some walking every day, and it's obvious that I will be able to tolerate exercise much better. We went shopping in King of Prussia this afternoon, and wandered all around at a reasonable clip (read: I'm no longer being passed by 65-year-olds), with no fatigue or shortness of breath whatsoever. I've been looking for a similar coffeemaker to the one Jay recommended in an earlier comment, but it isn't stocked in Kitchen Kapers, Crate and Barrel, Bon-Ton, Williams-Sonoma, or anywhere else we checked. (Told you we'd been walking - thank you, Jay, for sending me on a wild goose chase and getting me off the couch). So I ordered it online. Caffeination is imminent. Meantime, the baristas at Starbucks now recognize our Toyota at the top of the drive-through lane.
My first follow-up internist appointment is Friday. I have a laundry list of things to ask him - pain and sleep meds at the top of the list - but all in all, I think everything is progressing incredibly fast and well. Thanks to everyone for all of their support. I've been reading the comments every post-op day since I could log on, and I believe that they are instrumental in helping me recover as fast as I am.
Take care,
Michael
As an aside, part of the evaluation of HCM at diagnosis is an assessment of the risk factors for sudden death and subsequent recommendation for/against ICD placement. An ICD is basically a battery installed surgically under the chest skin, with wires running into the heart, that activates a defibrillating shock when it detects a potentially lethal heart rhythm. It can be life-saving, but it's not benign. For example, an ICD can misfire, which is painful; the leads (wires) can break or permanently embed themselves into the blood vessels; and it needs to be "interrogated" regularly for evidence of abnormal rhythms and use. The risk factors for sudden death in HCM are prior cardiac arrest or sustained v-tach; family history of sudden cardiac death; syncope (fainting); extreme thickening of the septum (>30 mm); and a decreased BP response to exercise. Of these, I have only one, decreased BP on exercise. Therefore, although every HCM expert I've ever consulted has initiated an informed discussion of ICDs, it has never been definitively recommended to me, and neither I nor my doctors believe it's warranted. For obvious reasons, this is a highly controversial and delicate subject clinically, and there are no right answers (at least in my case).
I've been doing some walking every day, and it's obvious that I will be able to tolerate exercise much better. We went shopping in King of Prussia this afternoon, and wandered all around at a reasonable clip (read: I'm no longer being passed by 65-year-olds), with no fatigue or shortness of breath whatsoever. I've been looking for a similar coffeemaker to the one Jay recommended in an earlier comment, but it isn't stocked in Kitchen Kapers, Crate and Barrel, Bon-Ton, Williams-Sonoma, or anywhere else we checked. (Told you we'd been walking - thank you, Jay, for sending me on a wild goose chase and getting me off the couch). So I ordered it online. Caffeination is imminent. Meantime, the baristas at Starbucks now recognize our Toyota at the top of the drive-through lane.
My first follow-up internist appointment is Friday. I have a laundry list of things to ask him - pain and sleep meds at the top of the list - but all in all, I think everything is progressing incredibly fast and well. Thanks to everyone for all of their support. I've been reading the comments every post-op day since I could log on, and I believe that they are instrumental in helping me recover as fast as I am.
Take care,
Michael
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Finding my limits
Yesterday was an active day: lots of errands, and walking (we joined BJ's and walked the entire store learning where everything is). Today, more of the same: brunch with Mom and Dad, then a visit to Fellowship where I just about blew everyone's mind by showing up a mere 10 days after surgery, and then a lunch date with Laurie to share all the gruesome details of the surgery. Laurie, ever observant (having been there, and also because she's a trained PA and paramedic), noticed I was getting more pale as lunch progressed. Fatigue, pure and simple. When I hit the wall, I do it fast. I was asleep in the car within minutes and napped for a good portion of the afternoon.
There's only one way to find your limits. Now I know what mine are (at least this week). Fortunately, there's little on tap for tomorrow except maybe a trip to the grocery store. And lest you think I'm going to be a total slug sprawled out on the couch drooling in the general direction of the TV, I'm keeping mentally sharp by doing crosswords, reading, and hosting online euchre tournaments and supervising and training a staff of tournament directors (I bet many of you didn't know I do that).
Speaking of lunch, the prescribed post-heart-surgery diet for an otherwise healthy person is lots of protein (and low salt). I'm not joking when I tell you that the CC official recommendations include milkshakes, floats and protein smoothies. The call for protein makes sense, as there's a lot of tissue repair going on in the body. So active weight loss is going to wait 6 weeks or so, and our blender is getting more use than it ever has. I have, however, pretty much eliminated empty calories - no baked goods, no refined sugar, very little starch, and my snacks tend to be yogurt or a banana.
The pain is subsiding more every day, giving way to a deep itch that I'm sure Jay is responsible for inducing since he suggested I might be susceptible to it when we spoke on the phone last night. Thanks, pal.
Take care,
Michael
There's only one way to find your limits. Now I know what mine are (at least this week). Fortunately, there's little on tap for tomorrow except maybe a trip to the grocery store. And lest you think I'm going to be a total slug sprawled out on the couch drooling in the general direction of the TV, I'm keeping mentally sharp by doing crosswords, reading, and hosting online euchre tournaments and supervising and training a staff of tournament directors (I bet many of you didn't know I do that).
Speaking of lunch, the prescribed post-heart-surgery diet for an otherwise healthy person is lots of protein (and low salt). I'm not joking when I tell you that the CC official recommendations include milkshakes, floats and protein smoothies. The call for protein makes sense, as there's a lot of tissue repair going on in the body. So active weight loss is going to wait 6 weeks or so, and our blender is getting more use than it ever has. I have, however, pretty much eliminated empty calories - no baked goods, no refined sugar, very little starch, and my snacks tend to be yogurt or a banana.
The pain is subsiding more every day, giving way to a deep itch that I'm sure Jay is responsible for inducing since he suggested I might be susceptible to it when we spoke on the phone last night. Thanks, pal.
Take care,
Michael
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Home sweet home
We flew home yesterday, and man, are my arms tired.
In a comment a while back, Laurie referred to a "bed wedge" as a solution to comfortable sleep. It keeps you propped up on a slight angle, which helps breathing and takes some pressure off the chest. I had one waiting for me at home. It definitely helps, I got about 7 hours of only mildly interrupted sleep last night.
There are a lot of brands and models of wedge pillows out there. If any HCMers are reading this, I definitely recommend this wedge pillow in the 25" x 24" x 12" size. It's super-firm and sufficiently big (for comparison's sake, the sole model at Bed Bath and Beyond when we visited looked as thin as a slice of pizza).
I sneezed yesterday on the plane, the first one I hadn't been able to suppress. Holy throbbing chest wall, Batman. I'll be getting back on the Claritin ASAP as this is one experience I do not wish to repeat for a few months.
The incision looks mostly good except at the bottom, which is a little oozy at the base and the left chest tube site. It's also swollen and a little painful at the top, but they tell me that's normal (it's not hot or "angry"). We're treating the bottom area with iodine and keeping it covered. I'm pretty sure it's not infected, but I'll have the doctor look at it next week for sure.
Today is errand day: pharmacy, optician, and a sexy new coffeemaker (which I promised myself as a gift for making it through). And some walking at some point, the new daily requirement.
Take care,
Michael
In a comment a while back, Laurie referred to a "bed wedge" as a solution to comfortable sleep. It keeps you propped up on a slight angle, which helps breathing and takes some pressure off the chest. I had one waiting for me at home. It definitely helps, I got about 7 hours of only mildly interrupted sleep last night.
There are a lot of brands and models of wedge pillows out there. If any HCMers are reading this, I definitely recommend this wedge pillow in the 25" x 24" x 12" size. It's super-firm and sufficiently big (for comparison's sake, the sole model at Bed Bath and Beyond when we visited looked as thin as a slice of pizza).
I sneezed yesterday on the plane, the first one I hadn't been able to suppress. Holy throbbing chest wall, Batman. I'll be getting back on the Claritin ASAP as this is one experience I do not wish to repeat for a few months.
The incision looks mostly good except at the bottom, which is a little oozy at the base and the left chest tube site. It's also swollen and a little painful at the top, but they tell me that's normal (it's not hot or "angry"). We're treating the bottom area with iodine and keeping it covered. I'm pretty sure it's not infected, but I'll have the doctor look at it next week for sure.
Today is errand day: pharmacy, optician, and a sexy new coffeemaker (which I promised myself as a gift for making it through). And some walking at some point, the new daily requirement.
Take care,
Michael
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Onward and upward
Welcome to the boring but important parts of recovery.
I'm almost off the Percocet and managing pain with Advil and Tylenol. I feel like I lost a bar fight, but that this type of soreness will eventually dissipate. Sleep is still sporadic.
A couple of milestones yesterday.
(1) Caffeine. I caved and ordered a latte from Starbucks, as a purely scientific trial, mind you (remember, I work in pharmaceutical R&D). And it felt frickin' GREAT. Remember I'd been abstaining from caffeine for more than a year. Yes, I, the guy who owns a $35 Thermos that keeps his coffee hot 'n' fresh all the working day and includes a shoulder strap, coffee made from beans roasted to order and shipped overnight from a boutique in NYC, gave up the joe - it made me feel that bad. Well, success! I got a rush to the frontal lobe (good) but not to the left ventricle (would have been bad). Jenn says she doesn't remember the last time she saw me smile so wide.
(2) Restaurant food. We went to a very nice restaurant, Table 45, for a multi-course meal last night, the type that would have sent my gradient through the roof pre-op. A lot of food (all of it heart-healthy), and no trouble with dizziness or shortness of breath at the dinner table or afterward. A very pleasant change indeed.
I'm looking forward to coming home. The concierge at the Clinic is unbelievable. We provided them our travel itinerary an hour ago. By tomorrow afternoon they will have taken care of - at no charge to us - printing boarding passes, ground transportation to Hopkins Airport (they had also chauffeured us to the Clinic on arrival), and wheelchair service/cart service/luggage assistance at both Hopkins and Newark. They do this for every single out-of-state surgical patient, gratis. Amazing.
Finally, in the spirit of "Pay It Forward," I met with a fellow HCM patient today who is scheduled for a myectomy tomorrow (Thursday) with Dr. Smedira. We got to know each other a little bit online through the HCMA message board. His name is David, he's a great guy, and if you could keep him in your thoughts, I'd appreciate it. I believe his status will be updated here.
Take care,
Michael
I'm almost off the Percocet and managing pain with Advil and Tylenol. I feel like I lost a bar fight, but that this type of soreness will eventually dissipate. Sleep is still sporadic.
A couple of milestones yesterday.
(1) Caffeine. I caved and ordered a latte from Starbucks, as a purely scientific trial, mind you (remember, I work in pharmaceutical R&D). And it felt frickin' GREAT. Remember I'd been abstaining from caffeine for more than a year. Yes, I, the guy who owns a $35 Thermos that keeps his coffee hot 'n' fresh all the working day and includes a shoulder strap, coffee made from beans roasted to order and shipped overnight from a boutique in NYC, gave up the joe - it made me feel that bad. Well, success! I got a rush to the frontal lobe (good) but not to the left ventricle (would have been bad). Jenn says she doesn't remember the last time she saw me smile so wide.
(2) Restaurant food. We went to a very nice restaurant, Table 45, for a multi-course meal last night, the type that would have sent my gradient through the roof pre-op. A lot of food (all of it heart-healthy), and no trouble with dizziness or shortness of breath at the dinner table or afterward. A very pleasant change indeed.
I'm looking forward to coming home. The concierge at the Clinic is unbelievable. We provided them our travel itinerary an hour ago. By tomorrow afternoon they will have taken care of - at no charge to us - printing boarding passes, ground transportation to Hopkins Airport (they had also chauffeured us to the Clinic on arrival), and wheelchair service/cart service/luggage assistance at both Hopkins and Newark. They do this for every single out-of-state surgical patient, gratis. Amazing.
Finally, in the spirit of "Pay It Forward," I met with a fellow HCM patient today who is scheduled for a myectomy tomorrow (Thursday) with Dr. Smedira. We got to know each other a little bit online through the HCMA message board. His name is David, he's a great guy, and if you could keep him in your thoughts, I'd appreciate it. I believe his status will be updated here.
Take care,
Michael
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Day one without the safety net
It's a little scary when they say you can leave the hospital, knowing that no one will be at the other end of that red call button at the bedside to administer painkillers or manage a fluky heart rhythm at 2:15 a.m.
By the time we completed the discharge, all the outpatient pharmacies at CC were closed for the night (surprising - I would think at least one would have been open 24 hours). We don't have a car here, and I was not about to walk or try and get a cab to the nearest Rite-Aid in the East Cleveland night (and wasn't going to let Jenn leave me). So I asked the nurses for a final lidocaine patch to the chest and vowed to make it through the night on Advil and Tylenol before resorting to the prescribed Percocet in the morning.
Expectedly, finding a comfortable sleeping position was a challenge. Tried the bed, even with a "fort" of 6-7 pillows - no go, gave up at 1:30 a.m. after redosing the Advil and Tylenol. Tried upright on the couch, but the cushions were too firm (reminiscent of airplane seats) and hurt my butt. Finally laid out on the couch with many pillows and sacked out until 5:30, when I woke in pain crisis. Redosed again and made Jenn promise to set an alarm and be at the CC pharmacy upon opening at 8 a.m. She has really been an angel through this so far. (And it's hard to be a caregiver. I remember all too well her battles with radiation therapy in 2004. She's blogging her experience as well, and I'm sure she'd love your support.)
Then I had my first really good, thorough sleep: 4 more hours completely unconscious, with vivid dreams. Jenn's entering the room woke me and precipitated another pain crisis, but finally we had the tools to deal with it. Ate some crackers, Gatorade and a banana for breakfast, relaxed and read, and then cleaned up around 11:30.
We're off to the hospital to thank the nurses on J5-1 and check out the rooftop pavilion that everyone raves about but that we didn't get to catch. Also going to see if I can squirrel up a chair massage.
Take care,
Micahel
By the time we completed the discharge, all the outpatient pharmacies at CC were closed for the night (surprising - I would think at least one would have been open 24 hours). We don't have a car here, and I was not about to walk or try and get a cab to the nearest Rite-Aid in the East Cleveland night (and wasn't going to let Jenn leave me). So I asked the nurses for a final lidocaine patch to the chest and vowed to make it through the night on Advil and Tylenol before resorting to the prescribed Percocet in the morning.
Expectedly, finding a comfortable sleeping position was a challenge. Tried the bed, even with a "fort" of 6-7 pillows - no go, gave up at 1:30 a.m. after redosing the Advil and Tylenol. Tried upright on the couch, but the cushions were too firm (reminiscent of airplane seats) and hurt my butt. Finally laid out on the couch with many pillows and sacked out until 5:30, when I woke in pain crisis. Redosed again and made Jenn promise to set an alarm and be at the CC pharmacy upon opening at 8 a.m. She has really been an angel through this so far. (And it's hard to be a caregiver. I remember all too well her battles with radiation therapy in 2004. She's blogging her experience as well, and I'm sure she'd love your support.)
Then I had my first really good, thorough sleep: 4 more hours completely unconscious, with vivid dreams. Jenn's entering the room woke me and precipitated another pain crisis, but finally we had the tools to deal with it. Ate some crackers, Gatorade and a banana for breakfast, relaxed and read, and then cleaned up around 11:30.
We're off to the hospital to thank the nurses on J5-1 and check out the rooftop pavilion that everyone raves about but that we didn't get to catch. Also going to see if I can squirrel up a chair massage.
Take care,
Micahel
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