It’s the morning of surgery, and our scene opens early in room 619 of the Tudor Arms Hotel.

Our protagonist watches as the numbers on the digital alarm clock take their time to slowly change, making 10 a.m. seem unattainable…

NOT!

Stripped of all my narcissistic dignity, (no makeup, no nails, no toe nail polish, not even a stud of jewelry!) I decided to put what little effort I was allowed into, my hair.

Curling it and throwing it up into a ponytail.

Done.

I completed this all-of-five-minute grooming session, as my husband left to eat a lavish breakfast buffet in the Tudor’s Crystal Ballroom.

For the record, he did feel bad about it. Not that I wanted him to, I was glad at least one of us could enjoy such a tantalizing feast.

Having some additional time, I decided to re-pack my hospital bag according to the “specs” of the three-ring binder.

Apparently I wouldn’t need much…

All those cute little pajamas and the smelly-good tropically scented bath and body toiletries I had shopped for beforehand? They would do me no good…

As I sat there on the bed waiting for my husband’s return, I had a thought:

THE last possible “out” for this surgery would be-

IF-

By some slim chance-

One of those haunting spirits that supposedly inhabited this hotel would materialize from out of the wall, grab me, and suck me into a vortex of the unknown.

I waited…

…And they never showed.

 

Within a matter of hours, I would soon be under anesthesia and in the midst of surgery.

Oddly enough, though, I felt calm.

I started to feel nervous BECAUSE I felt so calm…

But, after all, this WAS the peace that I had prayed for… right?

The drive to the hospital was way quicker than I wanted it to be, but yet the stretch to the J1 Surgical Center seemed like walking through a long muddy trudge while wearing concrete boots…

(This picture was taken for my “heart sister” who had just had aortic valve replacement surgery a month before I did. Attempting to look like I had it  “all together” was obviously a huge fail-instead I looked like the deranged lunatic I was that morning…)

 

Once we made it, there waiting for us was Grampa Joe.

 

Not wanting my husband to have to sit alone for hours while I was under the knife, I had asked his dad, aka “Grampa Joe” who lives in the area, if he wouldn’t mind hanging out during the surgery. He happily complied.

We signed in and my husband was assigned a beeper: this would be the means to update him on the progress of the surgery. He then was notified of the “Family Caregiver Orientation” which Grampa Joe, God love him, would attend too.

I was soon called back to change into one of the dazzling hospital gowns that I would sport for the next four days, instead of all those cute little pajamas…

After my vitals were taken and I had done one final scrub, gargle and sniff with the antiseptic body, mouth and nose wash, my husband and Grampa Joe were called back to keep me company during the wait.

I could feel my nerves beginning to jump, jive and wail, but just right about the time before I totally started to lose it, Grampa Joe stepped in…

Grampa Joe is like a… big ol’ Italian teddy bear, combined with the ability to always lighten a mood and make ya laugh!

If you’re around Grampa Joe for any more than half-an-hour and don’t laugh, you clearly have no sense of humor.

Things got a bit delayed, but having Grampa Joe around sure was a good call!

It’s all fun and games until the orderly shows up…

It was time.

“No! And we were just getting to the good part!!! Grampa Joe’s take on politics!” (If anyone can make politics seem funny, it’s Grampa Joe…)

As the orderly came in, it was as if he were a human vacuum, sucking all the fun out of our merry little revelry.

As he released the brakes on my gurney and proceeded to roll me forward, I felt a sudden inner stunt woman urge: to do an unexpected backflip off the bed, followed by a leg swipe kick knocking the evil orderly to his knees and swinging the hospital bed sideways trapping him in the corner while my husband, Grampa Joe, and myself all made our escape through the staff elevators!

Nice last minute thought, but… probably not the best idea.

Instead, I reframed, bidding my farewells, and was soon rolled away.

The orderly wheeled me into the extra wide surgery elevator.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

What if he was one of those ESP types, who knew what you were thinking? That would suck.

I felt guilty about my previous escape plan at the orderly’s expense. After all it wasn’t his fault, he was simply doing his job.

I smiled and thanked him as he passed me off to the OR nurses.

So this is where I lost it…

The nurse had asked me to switch tables from the gurney to a much skinnier table draped with “OR green” bedding.

This was IT!

THE actual operating table that I would lay on for five plus hours!

Where my heart would be exposed and where I would be hooked up to all the life sustaining machines!

At the head of the bed was a coordinating “OR green” foam donut shaped pillow. The nurse said this was to keep my head “still and comfortable.”

And then there were the straps…

These were at the end of the table to “hold your legs and feet in place.”

No escaping or back-flipping off this baby!

Omgosh!!! He WAS clairvoyant!!!

The orderly must have telepathically informed the nurses of my previous scheme!!!!

“Better break out the straps for this one!!!”

I broke down…

Thankfully, I had two very understanding and patient nurses with me.

They calmed me and consoled me and rolled me into the OR room.

There, the whole team was waiting for me, including my smiling surgeon…

Despite all the positivity that deep down did reassure me, I still became weepy. It wasn’t necessarily tears of fear, but perhaps of joy, along with every other emotion imaginable.

I was very thankful for the surgical team that so welcomingly stood before me explaining the whole process that was getting ready to take place.

You know at the end of “The Wizard of OZ” after Dorothy “comes to” and she’s laying there on her bed surrounded by all the smiling faces of her friends and family? In a weird kinda way, it was like that…

But non-the-less I was overcome with emotion, and yes, the dam broke, again!

My surgeon gave his first instruction.

“Better go on and give her a little something…”

And this was my last pre-surgical memory.

Lights out… that’s all she wrote… Land of OZ, here I come!

 

Welcome To The ICU

The next thing I can remember were the beeps and dings and voices of the ICU.

This must mean I’m ALIVE! Thank you God!

I remember being given the pain button and hearing the instructions on how to use it.

I remember hearing my husband’s voice and him kissing me goodbye before he left to get some rest.

I also remember feeling extremely nauseous and all I could think about was if I did barf, it was probably gonna hurt pretty bad, although I really didn’t feel a lot of pain. I guess that was thanks to the pain button.

They kept giving me medicine for the nausea, but nothing touched it.

I woke up at one point sitting in a chair, and then was back in bed. I guess everything in between took place somewhere within the lapses of drugged consciousness.

I vaguely remember the removal of the breathing and drainage tubes. I remember the two nurses counting down to when I needed to press the pain button so they could simultaneously yank them out with the least amount of discomfort possible. I don’t remember any pain at all, so I guess their tactics worked.

I do, however, remember a tv screen and seeing pictures of a meadow, a flowing stream, and calming type scenery, but then as they were removing the tubes, makeshift views of what looked like my “innards” would appear on the screen… It was really weird-I’m not sure if that was like, supposed to happen, or if that was just a product of my mind on drugs…Very trippy! Like Pink Floyd-y kinda trippy! I meant to ask about that but I forgot…

The next thing I knew it was morning.. I think anyway… and I still felt sick. Real sick. (One of the worse things for me is to throw up.)

They told me they were moving me into my step-down room.

I asked for more drugs to help with the nausea. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than puking right now as the slightest little movement reminded me of my newly mended chest. Again, the pain wasn’t bad, but I was sure that the action of puking wouldn’t help things.

They had asked my husband to step out of the ICU area while they got me ready to transfer. During my wheelchair ride to my room, I felt sicker and sicker and sicker… And I told them…

“We’re almost there! You’re doing great!”

We met up with my husband on the way to my room.

“Good morning! How ya feelin?” He asked.

Actions speak louder than words.

“Clean up in Room 6311!”

 

A few hours later…

Maybe?… I don’t remember…but after waking up from a nap, my eyes began to focus on a short, younger gentleman dressed in white.

He was very kind and polite. He had dark hair that was neatly parted and combed off to one side.

He smiled and explained he was my attending nurse.

He seemed like the scholarly type.

He reminded me of someone…

He had thicker eyebrows, blue eyes and pale skin.

He asked if I needed anything, to which I shook my head. I was still trying to place his familiar face.

He went over the daily agenda that probably escaped my foggy mind as soon as he recited it.

Who does this kid remind me of? I kept thinking…

And then he told me his name while writing it on the dry erase board there in the room.

“If you need anything- I’m Harry.”

That’s it!!!!!

Add a lightning bolt scar to his forehead and a pair of coke bottle glasses and there ya go!!!!

I never could muster up enough energy during his shift to make a good Potter joke, though.

All the nurses were great, even those that would silently creep into my room on the hunt for the late-night blood draws, always doing so apologetically.

 

The Heart Pillow: My New Best Friend

I can’t remember exactly when I was given my new-found friend-I’m thinking right away, when the drugs were still very predominant.

The purpose of the heart pillow is to press it upon your newly placed incision to give it extra support when you have to: move, cough, or sneeze. You don’t want to do any of these things without it! I think I carried it around with me everywhere for at least two weeks. (It also helps later on to shield your healing chest when your seventeen-pound cat attempts to snuggle with you as he once did before surgery).

(I called these “my vaping sessions” even though I still really don’t know or understand the concept of what “vaping” is..)

Along with the heart pillow was the breathing exercise apparatus. Ten to twenty breaths needed to be performed every hour in this tube to help reduce build up in your lungs and express fluid preventing pneumonia. After each one of these exercises you had to cough, so I was sure to keep my heart pillow close by.

Once I got to feeling better, my husband and I had a “Lord of the Rings” and “IT Crowd” fest in the hospital room. The heart pillow also comes in handy when you have to laugh-probably the most painful after heart surgery-but totally worth it- laughter is the best medicine, after all!

My husband didn’t leave my side. He slept at the foot of my hospital bed on a couch that converted into a sleeper. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful and supportive man to stick by me through all this craziness. Thank you Lord-he is truly a blessing!

 

When the last of all the tubes were removed, it was time to get up out of the hospital bed and start walking, which was Thursday. It was hard at first having to use the assistance of a walker, but pretty soon I graduated and was strolling the halls in the arms of my fella.

I am incredibly amazed at how the surgery itself really wasn’t NEAR as bad as I had imagined! (I mean, I lived and went into it thinking I was going to die.. but seriously!) The body’s ability to heal so fast, really is unbelievable!!! It was truly a piece of cake!!!!

I can honestly say the worst thing of this whole surgery deal was the freak migraine headaches I experienced.

Now, I have always had migraine headaches since I was a teenager. Ironically my neurologist explained that once I got my valve and hole repaired, not to be surprised if the migraines ceased all together!!!! I could totally handle saying goodbye to those nuisances!

But… oddly enough, and this is very rare, I started getting multiple migraines a day starting the second day after surgery.

The doctor explained it as my body’s way of “freaking out” due to the trauma of the surgery and in time they would hopefully get better-which they have!! I am hoping they will, as my neurologist explained, be saying “Sayonara!” Forever!!!

My surgeon explained I was doing great and was even “ahead of schedule!” He was planning on releasing me on Saturday…

My husband and I looked at each other,

Saturday?!

We were perfectly content in the safe compounds of my hospital room and the halls of the cardiac unit where caring nurses such as Harry were there to fall back on…

But NOW WHAT???