Seven Days Part 2

I was in the hospital for a total of seven days. Three and a half in the Heart ICU and three and a half in a room on the Heart Floor. Here is part two of my meanderings:

On day four I was in an elevator, via ICU Lazy Boy, headed up to the fourth floor. The Heart Floor.

It was also on Day Four that I realized I was hungry. I am not sure why hospitals don’t hire real chefs who have a passion for making tasty heart-healthy food. Instead, I was served chicken that had the texture of dry rubberbands. English muffins that were both gummy and burnt, and chicken soup that was basically shredded chicken in warm water. I stuck with yogurt, fat-free chocolate ice cream, and Jell-O. I also convinced my people to sneak me a drink from Starbucks. I will never forget the homemade vegetable soup a dear friend made me. They were vegetables from her garden, with real bone broth. It was tasty and medicinal in all the best ways.

I dutifully performed for the cardiac rehab therapists each day. If they wanted 20 leg lifts, I would give them 40. If they wanted me to shuffle once a day around the hospital floor, I would do it two or three times a day. If they wanted me in the chair for at least four hours a day, I would sit for six. I kept my hospital room smelling like lavender and rose oil. The nurses would comment on how good it smelled in my room. I would not have the stale stagnant odor of a patient filling my healing space. My room would be full of activity and joy.

I hated the spirometer. You know, the clear device with a tube that you have to suck in air to move the ball up to a certain number marker. My chest was so tight, it hurt to take deep breaths, and yet my mother stayed on top of me. I was supposed to do it several times an hour, I think I did it maybe once an hour. Each time, I would squeeze my heart pillow for dear life and suck in with every bit of energy I had. It was a sweaty, piercing squeeze. The spirometer is important, it makes sure your lungs don’t collapse and keeps the mucus from building up and causing pneumonia. Apparently, an x-ray showed a suspicious spot on my lungs. I did not know about it until my mom said something about it. I asked her how she knew about it. She slyly told me she and my sister had gotten into my medical files via the app on my phone and saw it. Is there really any privacy between moms and sisters? I don’t think so (insert smirk). The spirometer worked, I did cough up mucus, it was icky and brown, but pneumonia is ickier and I wanted to go home. I wanted to heal. So I kept sucking in air to get the green ball at the right number.

On day five the chest tube was removed. It was a relief. I was terrified of someone tripping over the square plastic box thing and ripping out the tube. I hated having to carry the box thing around like a briefcase full of red-orange chest water. But once the nurse removed it, which wasn’t…without pain, I got to take a shower. That first shower after surgery is divine. It was quick and I didn’t get to wash my hair, but it was warm, relaxing, and delicious.

Between breathing exercises, meds, wires, and cardiac rehab, I started answering work messages and thinking about how I would set up my work schedule around healing. I didn’t do it because it needed to be done, I did it because it was something to move me forward- get my mind thinking about life after surgery. Like some overly optimistic crazy person, a week before my surgery, I scheduled a job interview that would take place while I was in the hospital on day five. The incredible nurses were supportive. They put a sign on my door “Do not enter,” and cheered me on from the station. It was incredibly sweet.

Day six was uneventful… if that is a thing in hospitals. On this day, I ate carrots and sipped a Chai Latte. I love carrots and Chai Lattes. It's weird, but I had just gone through heart surgery. Let me have my weirdness.

Husband bringing me the bag of carrots and a Chia Latte! Pro Tip- if you ever have heart surgery, bring button-down shirts to wear in the hospital. It makes life so much easier.

During the day, there were flowers and yummy meals delivered along with massive amounts of texts, calls, and emails from friends and loved ones. The days were full of joy and progress. But nights were still, dark, and quiet. My hospital bed sheets had anxiety woven into the polyester. The minute I laid down and covered up, anxiety would start whispering. What if the valve breaks? How much are the hospital bills going to be? When will I be able to run again? When will I be able to return to work? To calm myself I would take deep breaths, look over at my sleeping husband, and listen to the ticking of my heart. Eventually, I would drift off to sleep. However, we all know that when a patient finally falls asleep, it triggers a silent alarm at the nurses’ desk so they know it's the perfect time to send in the CNA (who was very nice) to wake me back up, draw blood, and take my vitals. And in doing so, rustle up the anxiety that would start talking to me all over again. It's a vicious cycle.

The one factor that kept me in the hospital a little longer than expected was the blood thinner. They couldn’t get the levels right. I could have gone home on day five or six, but my blood seems to be just as stubborn as I am. It wouldn’t thin out enough. This is a big deal. I have PVCs- little extra heartbeats that can contribute to blood clots- they don’t cause them but can contribute to them. This is concerning because the mechanical valve can cause clots which of course can lead to strokes and well, death. So, when the two issues combine, it is just a bit important to get the right dosage of blood thinner correct.

A Brief Tangent: Here is the trade-off: for one healthy heart with a mechanical valve, you agree to surgery, hospital stay, and cardio rehab for the immediate. But for the rest of your life, you agree to take a handful of pills: vitamins, electrolytes, and blood thinners every day for the rest of your life. You commit to watching how much Vitamin K you eat because Vitamin K helps your blood to clot- you don’t want this. So, limited green veggies and salads it is, which is hard as an adult. 10-year-old Heather would have loved not being able to eat Brussels Sprouts. Adult Heather is very sad about this. You agree to be careful about your alcohol intake. Alcohol thins out your blood. You don’t want this either because it could cause internal bleeding. You also limit your caffeine which can cause PVCs. For the rest of your life, you commit to seeing the Warfarin (that’s the name of the blood thinner I take) nurse every 3-4 weeks to get your blood levels checked. For the rest of your life, you agree to go to the cardiologist every 6 months, and (at least for me) for the rest of my life, I promised the cardiologist not to lift anything over 15 Lbs. But always exercise. I have always exercised, but now it hits differently. I exercise for heart health, not for thinness. There is a huge difference. All of this is a small price to pay to continue living, but I have to be diligent. There is no bending the rules. This is life. This trade-off, dear readers, is not something that I fully understood while I was in the hospital. I did not understand it until 11 months after surgery. I knew it but didn’t understand.

Back to the hospital stay.

By day six, there were some steady results. My blood INR (International Normalized Ratio which measures your blood’s ability to clot) levels were holding between 2.5 - 3.5. This range was the goal my doctor wanted for me and may not apply to everyone. For me, anything below 2.5 = too thick, and above 3.5 = too thin. I was holding firm around 2.5 - 2.6.

My blood was drawn twice a day. For some reason, the techs weren’t using one of the two IVs I had shooting out of my arms. Nah, they wanted to pierce the skin in the crook of my left elbow. They used the same place every time. A purple swirl started growing there. I already had bruises on my right hand and arm where IVs came and went, and where shots of pain meds punctured muscle tissue. Abstract bruising decorated my chest from the chest tube and the incision. The purple artwork continued down to the area where the bypass was inserted into the artery between my torso and right thigh. Blood thinners can make bruising feel incredibly dramatic. I was done with things poking and bruising my skin. DONE! However, day six ended with the hope that perhaps the morning of day seven would come with discharge papers.

Day 7.

Sunday morning.

Mother’s Day.

My beautiful children (which included my now son-in-law), husband, and mother sweetly crowded my room. My kiddos brought a plant and the best breakfast: crescents, cream cheese spread, fruit, and Starbucks. There was laughter and conversation, I loved it. A nurse walked in and asked if I was ready to go home.

HELL. YES.

Two hours later I was home. I walked out of the hospital on my own two feet no wheelchair.

Home.

I headed straight to bed. My beautiful wonderful bed in my room that my mother had cleaned and made sure was bright and airy and smelled like lavender. Outside, my bedroom window were (and still are) flowering plants that attract hummingbirds with hummingbird feeders. These were generous gifts from my cousins, parents, husband, and uncle. I am not kidding, hummingbirds were flitting to and fro. I took a deep breath, let out a slow sigh, and climbed into bed.

I took a moment to just “be” and then I burst into tears. I had no idea I was going to cry until I was. Whatever mental devices I had created to hold myself together suddenly and shockingly broke. I unleashed a sob from the bottom of my soul… perhaps it was my heart. It was a raw cry, the kind that you can’t make quiet, you can’t stifle, you just have to let it shake itself out of you. And it did shake me. I don't remember thinking anything while I cried. It was as though my body, not my brain, needed the release. My throat ached, my eyes burned, and when I was done, I fell asleep. My husband held me as I emptied my strength onto him.

Surgery was behind me, the hospital was behind me now all that was left was recovery…which is never as easy as it sounds. But for now, it was Mother’s Day, and I was home.

HOME! Right before the big meltdown, I think you can see it brewing in my eyes.