I began this blog many months
ago around the theme of “recovery” after having suffered a hemorrhagic stroke.
That resolved and I have gone on to even greater things!
Nearly three weeks ago I
underwent open-heart surgery. Isn’t that a cool and sexy title? It used to be an experimental,
only-for-the-few kind of procedure. Today it is common, offered to even 95 tear
old farmers! I have known it was coming for some years, but an angiogram this
winter nailed it down: an aortic valve replacement and “a” bypass. Instead of
having to wait until late March for the procedure, I was called in on February 10;
just five days after my spouse had a hysterectomy! Confronted with this
complication, and having no family within hundreds of kilometers, we sat down
with our neighbours to see if they could help us. The remarkable story of their
response is another blog entry soon.
The surgery itself was six
hours long, and involved not one, but three
bypasses. The value was replaced with bovine tissue. (I must develop a new respect
for cows.) The Mazankowski Heart Institute in Edmonton provides with lots of
preparatory literature. One booklet describes the operation in graphic detail.
I set it aside in short order. The other two are very helpful if you read them closely and carefully.
I was released from “the Maz”
on Saturday February 15, at least a day earlier than they should have, in my
opinion. The night before I cam home, I experienced an adverse reaction to a
drug I had been using as a sleep aid for over two decades. It obviously
“collided” with something I was taking in hospital. My perspective altered
drastically; everything looked like it was made of pastry, and it was going to burn soon. I had to get out. The female
nurse ahead of me suddenly appeared to be a witch, and the tall Filipino nurse
behind me became a black giant. I was shackled and trapped.
Fortunately, the female nurse
was able to talk me down to the point where I could recall adverse drug
experiences when I worked in the Centennial Centre in Ponoka. I agreed with
her, and settle down. Soon after that, I went for a schedules walk through the
healing garden next to my unit. Upon returning, I couldn’t find my room. I kept
entering rooms where I was told, “No, no, this isn’t your room!” Ultimately, a
nurse led me home.
In my view, these two
experiences should have triggered a review of drugs, and at least another day
to evaluate things. In stead, I was sent home, scheduled to take the same drug
at home. And so I did. And chaos developed. The inside of our home was suddenly
purple, and pastry, and would burn. I began throwing things around the living
room, dashing outside in the snow mostly naked to lift a garbage can! In time,
my wife’s blazing eyes began to frighten me, and I settled down in bed, while
she cleaned up the broken glass. All was quiet for a time. About 1:30 in the
morning, I thought it would be a good idea to shave! And so I did, quietly,
after which I went to sleep. My spouse and my physician took over my
medications, sorted them out, and now administer them. For the first time in my
adult life, I am not in charge of my meds. All of which might have been avoided
had I been kept in hospital for another day to evaluate the drug situation. I
then spent another eight days in the Wetaskiwin hospital.
I have cause to read the
literature given to patients over the past two weeks. It’s like reading the
fine point in a contract: “Oh, so that’s what it means!” For example, one
sentence stood out for me on first reading. “You will feel quite unwell for the first 3 or 4 weeks…” Right. That
means some days will be shitty, and others just like you’ve given blood six
times. Various “normal” symptoms are mentions – depression, anger, exhaustion,
etc. They don’t prepare you for the waves of stabbing pain in your back ribs
that can last for hours, and which no over-the-counter medication even touches.
Think of the worst stitch you have ever had while running, and imagine it in
endless waves. Sometimes lying down relieves, sometimes not. The pain is
described as “angina like” pain. No fun. No relief. Exhaustion soon follows as
the pain wears you down. More about this later.
At first this terrified me,
as I could think of no reason for it. Notice: brain not working. The
Mazankowski said it sounded normal, but since it had lasted 8 hours, I should
go to an emergency and have it checked out. So I was off to Wetaskiwin ER. They
were absolutely terrific. They checked out every possibility, including a blood
clot, and sent me home the next morning with the assurance that this was,
indeed, “normal pain symptom, post op.” From there, my rehab program began.
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