I spent Tuesday and Wednesday in ICU. For the most part my room was kept in the dark, more than likely to shield me from the bright lights and to keep me as comfortable as possible. Every once in a while they'd turn the lights on, but not before letting me know beforehand. Gave me time to shield my eyes. The nurses rotated in 12-hour shifts. They'd introduce themselves to me and I would be their one and only charge for their entire shift.
In between my one-hour naps that I was allowed, things pretty much fell into a routine of hourly checks from the nurses or doctors, mealtime, trips to the bathroom, or time for medication. I think at one point I was given six or seven pills to take. I'm not a big fan of swallowing pills en masse, so I took my time by ingesting them with water one at a time.
Midway through Wednesday, there was a bit of a hubbub, at least for me. The nurses were telling me that they had gotten orders to transfer me across the hall, into the step-down unit, for Thursday. They were all excited for me as that's a big step towards recovery. A big step in that direction was the removal of my catheter, which allowed me to pee automatically. I had to remind myself that any urges I had would require me to get up and go to the bathroom henceforth. After careful examination I realized I still had three drainage tubes connected to me, held in place with stitches and bandages: one to my heart and one each to my lungs, through holes just beneath my chest. These then drained fluids into a plastic container with notches in milliliters. As explained to me by the nurses, a side effect of surgery was that fluids would drain from these organs that required artificial means of removal - hence the tubes. These were rather painful as they rubbed up against my ribcage. Any movement on my part reminded me of that. The nurses made sure to tell me to let them know of any pain and they would bring me heavy-dosage pain medication. I did - and they did.
Part of the requirement towards moving to the step-down unit was that I be able to move on my own. A cardiac rehab specialist paid me a visit with a walker. Once she had hooked all my containers to the walker we were able to proceed down the hallway. Slowly. Inch by inch. I kept reminding myself that I've ran 5k races and mini-marathons over the years and that I worked out regularly, that this would be a cinch. May not be much but I think I walked 50 feet - and back - that first time. I was exhausted by the time I got back to my room.
Getting out of bed to go to the bathroom was also a bit of a chore, and painful. I was wearing a red-colored wrist band indicating that I was a patient that required assistance in mobility at all times. I'd press the "Help" button on my remote attached to my bed to request assistance. The nurses would tell me to roll over to my side and prop myself up on my elbow to lift myself. They'd then stick their arm out in front of me to act as leverage for me to grab a hold of. Keep in mind this was barely 24-36 hours after surgery. I was still heavily bandaged, connected to IV fluids, tubes sticking out of me, cables and connectors attached along my ribcage hooked up to a heart rate monitor. And in great pain. Didn't matter how much pain medication I'd already taken, I could still feel it. Getting to the bathroom was a major event as the nurses would assist me in moving all the devices I was attached to (thankfully, some on wheels), and they'd leave all the devices parked outside the bathroom and was given a little bit of privacy to take care of my chores. A curtain being the only bit of privacy between the bathroom and my room.
I looked forward to Thursday. The nurses jokingly assured me I'd be allowed to sleep four hours at a time, instead of the one-hour naps I was taking.
More to come...
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Another break
Wanted to take another break from my surgery experience and talk about where we live.
We call our place The Biltmore. It's nestled in the woods and some pasture up front. It has a resort feel to it. And it's a little out of the way to get to. What's not to like about this place? It has a well stocked hobby center, a library, and an entertainment center with a pretty decent selection of music and movies. It even has internet connection.
I have my home/office up in the loft with a desk and computer setup, and the basement is a combination library, gym, workshop and storage. A corner is set aside as what I jokingly refer to as the "hobby center." It's where I keep my stash of mostly unbuilt plastic model kits. To look at it gives you the feeling of being in a hobby store. And I've been to hobby stores where they didn't have as decent selection as I my collection holds.
There are big windows in the dining and living room areas showcasing the woods around us. We have bird feeders set up around these windows and watch the local birds stop over to feed. I've seen more species of birds since setting the feeders than I recall in all my life.
This house was designed and built by a former Boeing engineer. "Efficiency" seems to be the theme of the house. There are storage spaces and compartments everywhere. Something my wife loves. The attached garage is about the size of a small hangar. Apparently the previous homeowners were avid RV'ers. One half of the garage was built to house their RV. It has these huge barn doors that swing out and they could simply back their RV into it. We don't have an RV, but the garage comfortably houses our four vehicles: a jeep, a coupe, a minivan and a small pickup truck - with room to spare. Have I mentioned there are shelves all over the garage? We haven't even fully exploited all the storage available to us.
Yet another topic we can talk about some more. For now I'll leave you with the above brief description. We'll come back to it.
We call our place The Biltmore. It's nestled in the woods and some pasture up front. It has a resort feel to it. And it's a little out of the way to get to. What's not to like about this place? It has a well stocked hobby center, a library, and an entertainment center with a pretty decent selection of music and movies. It even has internet connection.
I have my home/office up in the loft with a desk and computer setup, and the basement is a combination library, gym, workshop and storage. A corner is set aside as what I jokingly refer to as the "hobby center." It's where I keep my stash of mostly unbuilt plastic model kits. To look at it gives you the feeling of being in a hobby store. And I've been to hobby stores where they didn't have as decent selection as I my collection holds.
There are big windows in the dining and living room areas showcasing the woods around us. We have bird feeders set up around these windows and watch the local birds stop over to feed. I've seen more species of birds since setting the feeders than I recall in all my life.
This house was designed and built by a former Boeing engineer. "Efficiency" seems to be the theme of the house. There are storage spaces and compartments everywhere. Something my wife loves. The attached garage is about the size of a small hangar. Apparently the previous homeowners were avid RV'ers. One half of the garage was built to house their RV. It has these huge barn doors that swing out and they could simply back their RV into it. We don't have an RV, but the garage comfortably houses our four vehicles: a jeep, a coupe, a minivan and a small pickup truck - with room to spare. Have I mentioned there are shelves all over the garage? We haven't even fully exploited all the storage available to us.
Yet another topic we can talk about some more. For now I'll leave you with the above brief description. We'll come back to it.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Intensive Care Unit (ICU)
"It's Tuesday morning, your name is… and your birthdate is… You've just had open heart surgery and you have tubes in your mouth to help you breathe which we are now going to remove. After we remove them we're going to ask you your name and birthdate. Can you squeeze my fingers with your right hand to let us know you understand?" I squeezed. "Ok, good. We want you to cough so we can pull the tubes out, ok?" I squeezed again.
"Cough!"
I coughed. I felt the tubes being pulled out of my mouth in one fell swoop.
"Good job."
"Can you tell me who you are starting with your first and last name and your birthdate?"
Since I just had the endotracheal tubes removed, my vocal chords were dry (they'd remain dry and I'd experience episodes of dry cough for a few more weeks after that, normal in procedures such as these). I identified myself, along with my birthdate, as best I could, in a whisper.
"Good."
That's how I woke up from surgery: in ICU (Intensive Care Unit), surrounded by a woman's disembodied voice in a dark room where all I could make out were other people's shadows and movement all around me.
Surgery has a way of distorting, or in this case, accelerating time. More than anything, I was relieved to be awake, and to remember why I was there. And who I was. It took me a while to figure out the time lapse between Monday morning and Tuesday morning. Just a few minutes ago I was busy cleansing my chest and leg areas. All I could think of was "Wow, Tuesday already? I missed all of Monday. They're not done already, are they?" I latched on to that thought, but let it go as being too complex to figure out for now. I was trying to get my bearings.
"I can let you have an ice cube to chew on to relieve your throat," the voice continued. "Would you like me to give you an ice cube?" I nodded affirmative. I felt a gloved hand place a small piece of ice in my mouth. It was cool and refreshing. I didn't think an ice cube could be that pleasing.
"I can also let you have a sip of water. Would you like some water?" Yes, again. I felt a straw at the side of my mouth and my immediate concern was would I have the strength to suck on that straw? I didn't have to worry. Habit and instinct took over. The water was as refreshing as the ice cube.
The bodies continued to busy themselves around me but seemed to have left me alone for a few moments. The surgeon, Dr. D'Orazio, came in the room momentarily.
"Hi, I'm Dr. D'Orazio, I operated on you. How do you feel?" I nodded affirmative and stuck my right hand out, or rather, my fingers. I realized I had IV tubes all over my right wrist and all I could really do was flex my fingers out.
He reached for it and we squeezed, and I thanked him.
"You're welcome," he said.
A little later…
"Do you remember me? I'm Father…" I nodded along and reached my hand out to the kindly priest as well. We squeezed hands and I thanked him also. We said the "Our Father" together.
The chronology of events gets blurred from this point, but it settled into a routine of sleeping, looking at my surroundings, nurses waking me up to give me medication or reading instruments that were attached to me, my wife staying with me for a few hours to visit, having a little something to eat, and so on…
It didn't take me long to realize I had a blood pressure cuff strapped to my right arm and that it automatically took readings every hour on the hour (there was a clock on the wall that I was able to make out and gauge time with). Like clockwork. "Pssshhhh," I'd feel it inflate and tighten, then the pressure would release, and then a little more, and then altogether "foooohhh." And shortly before or after that, on the hour and every hour, one of the nurses would prick one of my fingers to check my insulin level. She always announced what she was about to do. I could feel her feel my fingers and once she decided on one there was a pause, then a faint "snap." Like a rubber band snapping against skin. It was painless. They'd squeeze out a drop of blood onto a small hand-held device and got their readings that way. That's all the sleep I was able to get. An hour's worth at a time, for the next couple of days. If it wasn't the tightness of the cuff, it was the snapping on my digits that woke me up.
More to come...
"Cough!"
I coughed. I felt the tubes being pulled out of my mouth in one fell swoop.
"Good job."
"Can you tell me who you are starting with your first and last name and your birthdate?"
Since I just had the endotracheal tubes removed, my vocal chords were dry (they'd remain dry and I'd experience episodes of dry cough for a few more weeks after that, normal in procedures such as these). I identified myself, along with my birthdate, as best I could, in a whisper.
"Good."
That's how I woke up from surgery: in ICU (Intensive Care Unit), surrounded by a woman's disembodied voice in a dark room where all I could make out were other people's shadows and movement all around me.
Surgery has a way of distorting, or in this case, accelerating time. More than anything, I was relieved to be awake, and to remember why I was there. And who I was. It took me a while to figure out the time lapse between Monday morning and Tuesday morning. Just a few minutes ago I was busy cleansing my chest and leg areas. All I could think of was "Wow, Tuesday already? I missed all of Monday. They're not done already, are they?" I latched on to that thought, but let it go as being too complex to figure out for now. I was trying to get my bearings.
"I can let you have an ice cube to chew on to relieve your throat," the voice continued. "Would you like me to give you an ice cube?" I nodded affirmative. I felt a gloved hand place a small piece of ice in my mouth. It was cool and refreshing. I didn't think an ice cube could be that pleasing.
"I can also let you have a sip of water. Would you like some water?" Yes, again. I felt a straw at the side of my mouth and my immediate concern was would I have the strength to suck on that straw? I didn't have to worry. Habit and instinct took over. The water was as refreshing as the ice cube.
The bodies continued to busy themselves around me but seemed to have left me alone for a few moments. The surgeon, Dr. D'Orazio, came in the room momentarily.
"Hi, I'm Dr. D'Orazio, I operated on you. How do you feel?" I nodded affirmative and stuck my right hand out, or rather, my fingers. I realized I had IV tubes all over my right wrist and all I could really do was flex my fingers out.
He reached for it and we squeezed, and I thanked him.
"You're welcome," he said.
A little later…
"Do you remember me? I'm Father…" I nodded along and reached my hand out to the kindly priest as well. We squeezed hands and I thanked him also. We said the "Our Father" together.
The chronology of events gets blurred from this point, but it settled into a routine of sleeping, looking at my surroundings, nurses waking me up to give me medication or reading instruments that were attached to me, my wife staying with me for a few hours to visit, having a little something to eat, and so on…
It didn't take me long to realize I had a blood pressure cuff strapped to my right arm and that it automatically took readings every hour on the hour (there was a clock on the wall that I was able to make out and gauge time with). Like clockwork. "Pssshhhh," I'd feel it inflate and tighten, then the pressure would release, and then a little more, and then altogether "foooohhh." And shortly before or after that, on the hour and every hour, one of the nurses would prick one of my fingers to check my insulin level. She always announced what she was about to do. I could feel her feel my fingers and once she decided on one there was a pause, then a faint "snap." Like a rubber band snapping against skin. It was painless. They'd squeeze out a drop of blood onto a small hand-held device and got their readings that way. That's all the sleep I was able to get. An hour's worth at a time, for the next couple of days. If it wasn't the tightness of the cuff, it was the snapping on my digits that woke me up.
More to come...
Friday, March 15, 2013
Pre-op and Surgery
As promised, I said I would recount my experiences of my bypass surgery. I'll try to break it down into stages, or days I was in the hospital. Here goes:
We arrived at the surgery center a little before 6am, and proceeded to register at the registration desk. There were already other patients ahead of me. Some were being called by a nurse where they were escorted into the pre-op area. My turn came soon after, as I was summoned by one of the nurses, holding a sheet of paper.
She led us to a rather plain room that contained a bed, a couple of chairs and a bathroom separated by a curtain containing a toilet and a sink. I was given a hospital gown and asked to strip and change into it. Not much later my vitals were taken: blood pressure, temperature, and was injected a sedative. I was also given a packet of sterile wipes and asked to cleanse my chest area and legs (the medical team would retrieve a vein from one of my legs, from which they would use for grafting purposes). I cleansed myself as best I could, trying to keep my composure. Probably too late to walk out now. Relax, I thought to myself. Another woman came by and offered to read a prayer. She read it out loud from a card she kept with her. This was it, I thought. I imagine the drugs pretty much took over as my memory of events beyond that is vague. I don't recall ever being wheeled into the OR (operating room), but one of the last things I recall was a kindly priest with a gentle voice - the hospital chaplain - whispering in my left ear, saying who he was and not to worry, that God loves me and all my sins are forgiven. He said a brief prayer, we said the "Our Father" together, and then anointed my forehead and chest with the sign of the cross.
That's all I remember of Monday, March 4th.
(The following addendum was provided to me by my wife, who apparently took notes for herself while in the waiting room. While she only showed this to me after several days of being discharged, chronologically it belongs here):
March 4, 2013
7:30am –Barbara escorts me to waiting room on 2nd floor, and tells me my sweater is inside out
8:00am – Dr D’Orazio stops in to say hello, Chaplain also stops by to chat. Susan stays for about 40 minutes
9:40am – first call from OR – Dr has just made chest incision
10:52am – on by-pass machine, starting grafts
12:26pm – did 4 by passes, should be off by-pass machine in 30 minutes
1:23pm – 4th call – closing, everything went well, should be in ICU 30 min, I’ll see him in 90 minutes.
1:40pm – Dr D’Orazio came in, all done, 4 by-pass, no issues
2:05pm – call on way from OR to ICU
2:07pm – just wheeled past with 4 people in attendance, lots . One guy was manually pumping the air bag
3:00pm – back in ICU, took a picture so you can see all the tubes.
We arrived at the surgery center a little before 6am, and proceeded to register at the registration desk. There were already other patients ahead of me. Some were being called by a nurse where they were escorted into the pre-op area. My turn came soon after, as I was summoned by one of the nurses, holding a sheet of paper.
She led us to a rather plain room that contained a bed, a couple of chairs and a bathroom separated by a curtain containing a toilet and a sink. I was given a hospital gown and asked to strip and change into it. Not much later my vitals were taken: blood pressure, temperature, and was injected a sedative. I was also given a packet of sterile wipes and asked to cleanse my chest area and legs (the medical team would retrieve a vein from one of my legs, from which they would use for grafting purposes). I cleansed myself as best I could, trying to keep my composure. Probably too late to walk out now. Relax, I thought to myself. Another woman came by and offered to read a prayer. She read it out loud from a card she kept with her. This was it, I thought. I imagine the drugs pretty much took over as my memory of events beyond that is vague. I don't recall ever being wheeled into the OR (operating room), but one of the last things I recall was a kindly priest with a gentle voice - the hospital chaplain - whispering in my left ear, saying who he was and not to worry, that God loves me and all my sins are forgiven. He said a brief prayer, we said the "Our Father" together, and then anointed my forehead and chest with the sign of the cross.
That's all I remember of Monday, March 4th.
(The following addendum was provided to me by my wife, who apparently took notes for herself while in the waiting room. While she only showed this to me after several days of being discharged, chronologically it belongs here):
March 4, 2013
7:30am –Barbara escorts me to waiting room on 2nd floor, and tells me my sweater is inside out
8:00am – Dr D’Orazio stops in to say hello, Chaplain also stops by to chat. Susan stays for about 40 minutes
9:40am – first call from OR – Dr has just made chest incision
10:52am – on by-pass machine, starting grafts
12:26pm – did 4 by passes, should be off by-pass machine in 30 minutes
1:23pm – 4th call – closing, everything went well, should be in ICU 30 min, I’ll see him in 90 minutes.
1:40pm – Dr D’Orazio came in, all done, 4 by-pass, no issues
2:05pm – call on way from OR to ICU
2:07pm – just wheeled past with 4 people in attendance, lots . One guy was manually pumping the air bag
3:00pm – back in ICU, took a picture so you can see all the tubes.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Taking a break
Wanted to take a brief break from my stories of the bypass surgery. There'll be more.
Have you ever stopped to consider what a blank canvas a piece of notepad can be? Or in this case, my PC's Notepad. From it, like an artist, you can weave all sorts of colors, magic, undulations - whatever the mind may conjure. With boundless imagination you can create anything. It never ceases to amaze me the power of the human mind and its limitless potential.
I just had to get that out of the way…
Many thanks to my followers who have spent a few moments reading my ramblings and posting comments. Many thanks also for the well wishes, thoughts and prayers during my surgery and convalescence posted on Facebook. I'm not a big fan of FB. I barely even logon to it. But my wife keeps abreast with friends and family through that medium and she relays things back to me.
Stay tuned.
Have you ever stopped to consider what a blank canvas a piece of notepad can be? Or in this case, my PC's Notepad. From it, like an artist, you can weave all sorts of colors, magic, undulations - whatever the mind may conjure. With boundless imagination you can create anything. It never ceases to amaze me the power of the human mind and its limitless potential.
I just had to get that out of the way…
Many thanks to my followers who have spent a few moments reading my ramblings and posting comments. Many thanks also for the well wishes, thoughts and prayers during my surgery and convalescence posted on Facebook. I'm not a big fan of FB. I barely even logon to it. But my wife keeps abreast with friends and family through that medium and she relays things back to me.
Stay tuned.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Entry three: Bypass Surgery
I'm home. I was discharged as expected on Saturday morning, March 9th. My room was a flutter of activity. Doctors and nurses were coming to and fro checking up on me, bringing me discharge papers. They even made me sit through a short DVD film footage of home care, and what to expect.
I'll detail all my experiences in the next few days. I'd like to start from D-Day - Day of Surgery, through my experiences in ICU, the step-down unit, and finally, coming home. My mind is still a little fuzzy as to details. I'm still not too sharp on what happened. I'm hoping that as I recover these next few days I'll be able to remember some more.
I'm having to relearn every little thing: from walking, getting dressed, getting in and out of bed - even taking a shower. All the little things we take for granted are a daily struggle - from which I'm usually winded, having felt like I've just worked out or run a mile. I keep telling myself that what I went through was not your simple orthopedic procedure of repairing tendons or muscles, or mending broken bone. What I went through was one of the major surgical procedures ever done to a human being: open heart surgery. I need to allow myself time to heal. A tough thing to do in this frenzied world we live in. I'm hoping also that in some way, this journal will help other patients about to undergo a similar procedure find hope and comfort in knowing that this is all normal and to be expected. The healing process takes time.
I'll detail all my experiences in the next few days. I'd like to start from D-Day - Day of Surgery, through my experiences in ICU, the step-down unit, and finally, coming home. My mind is still a little fuzzy as to details. I'm still not too sharp on what happened. I'm hoping that as I recover these next few days I'll be able to remember some more.
I'm having to relearn every little thing: from walking, getting dressed, getting in and out of bed - even taking a shower. All the little things we take for granted are a daily struggle - from which I'm usually winded, having felt like I've just worked out or run a mile. I keep telling myself that what I went through was not your simple orthopedic procedure of repairing tendons or muscles, or mending broken bone. What I went through was one of the major surgical procedures ever done to a human being: open heart surgery. I need to allow myself time to heal. A tough thing to do in this frenzied world we live in. I'm hoping also that in some way, this journal will help other patients about to undergo a similar procedure find hope and comfort in knowing that this is all normal and to be expected. The healing process takes time.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Entry two: Bypass surgery
I didn't think I'd have an entry so soon, and while still in the hospital, but here we are. It's Saturday, the fifth day after surgery. Hoping to be discharged later today. I've been moved from ICU, to a step-down, intermediate care unit. Or, as the nurses put it "where we actually let you sleep for four hours at a stretch instead of bugging you every hour." I'm sure as with any field, they take that approach with some levity. ICU is where patients are freshly brought in from surgery and are in immediate/intensive care. Their vitals need checked every few minutes if not every hour, medication needs to be dispensed and so forth. They are pretty much as helpless as newborn babies, completely and totally dependent on those caregivers around them. They are vulnerable.
Today I've been very restless. Sleeping for hours on end would tend to do that to anybody. I've alternated between laying and sitting down. About six or seven times - since 2 a.m. I've even paced along the foot of my bed. Since I'm limited by the length of cable that the heart rate monitor I'm hooked up to, I've been taking 6 steps one way, turn around, take another six steps. They've been easing up on medication, and I've chosen to back off from any more pain medication as is totally necessary. While these may be potent and effective pain meds, they are totally non-addictive. I still don't want to have to depend on them, or use them as a crutch. I'd rather just depend on my body and its natural ability to heal and care for the pain.
I cannot feel my ring or pinky fingers on my left hand, just a tingling sensation. I wonder if it has anything to do with my left side and how it's hooked up to the heart and everything else catching up to the newly re-routed connections, or maybe just a side effect of medication. But, I'll be sure to mention it to the doctors next time they make their rounds. To give you a comparison, I can make a fist with my right hand and feel like I can crush a walnut. On the other hand - pun intended - I can make a fist and doubt if I can even crush a grape!
I'm feeling rather tired now so I think I will continue this at a later time. Stay tuned.
Today I've been very restless. Sleeping for hours on end would tend to do that to anybody. I've alternated between laying and sitting down. About six or seven times - since 2 a.m. I've even paced along the foot of my bed. Since I'm limited by the length of cable that the heart rate monitor I'm hooked up to, I've been taking 6 steps one way, turn around, take another six steps. They've been easing up on medication, and I've chosen to back off from any more pain medication as is totally necessary. While these may be potent and effective pain meds, they are totally non-addictive. I still don't want to have to depend on them, or use them as a crutch. I'd rather just depend on my body and its natural ability to heal and care for the pain.
I cannot feel my ring or pinky fingers on my left hand, just a tingling sensation. I wonder if it has anything to do with my left side and how it's hooked up to the heart and everything else catching up to the newly re-routed connections, or maybe just a side effect of medication. But, I'll be sure to mention it to the doctors next time they make their rounds. To give you a comparison, I can make a fist with my right hand and feel like I can crush a walnut. On the other hand - pun intended - I can make a fist and doubt if I can even crush a grape!
I'm feeling rather tired now so I think I will continue this at a later time. Stay tuned.
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