Once I awoke from surgery and knew I had, in fact survived, I had it all planned out.

My Recovery Agenda.

I would continue to ‘blog’ the whole open heart surgery thing that I had started, making jokes along the way of all the little details, but once the magic “Six-to-Eight Weeks Recovery Period” came around, (I would choose the “six weeks”) all would ultimately transform back to normal.

Or actually, BETTER than normal.

I remember how my cardiologist in the beginning would argue that maybe I did indeed have symptoms of a leaky valve and hole in my heart and just didn’t realize it. That maybe I  had grown so accustomed to how I felt, I didn’t even notice.

Perhaps six weeks after my surgery I would become two-hundred percent better!

Even more energized!

I would be able to run laps around myself before surgery!

I would then proudly write in my blog how I was already back to running a mile, maybe even two, and doing so, even faster and stronger than I ever had before!

I would be supersonic!

I would start training for my “recovery 5k,” where I would break any and all of my time records by leaps and bounds! I may even start training for my first-ever half-marathon! And then maybe even a full marathon!

It would be great!!

With all this on my horizon, I could certainly deal with a measly ‘six-to-eight weeks’ recovery time!

Drop in the bucket!

I was prepared.

I had gathered a good stash of novels that I was anxious to crack in to.

Those six weeks would fly by!  And after that, I would become the true, real-life “Wonder Woman” I was ready to be!

Nothing like setting your expectations on the high side, huh?

That ain’t how it happened…

 

The next day, after our “Pirates” preview and my debut out, I called to notify my medical team of the dizzy spell I had experienced because that’s what my recovery papers said to do and plus, I didn’t want that to happen again.

It was agreed upon that it sounded like, most likely, a possible side effect of the beta-blocker medication Metoprolol I was on, seeing’s how I am normally pretty sensitive to medication. I was advised it was okay to go ahead and skip the next dose since I had my follow-up appointment the next morning with my local cardiologist. I was also told that although most OHS patients are on Metoprolol for about three months, those who don’t tolerate the medication well may get taken off sooner if their heart rhythm remained regular.

This was my hope, as I hate taking medications.

The next morning when I woke up, the dizziness was magnified tenfold.

Forget the nip or two of Jack’s rum, this felt like I had consumed the whole bottle!

I had trouble walking and even standing. I had no energy and felt down right awful. My husband helped me shower and I did little of nothing with my hair and makeup routine. I felt so bad I didn’t even care.

When I arrived at the doctor’s office, the nurse could tell right off the bat how incredibly bad I felt.

The doctor walked in and observed the same thing. He had heard via the nurse about the dizziness.

He listened to my heart.

I remember him saying something like, “Oh wow! Do you feel that?”

The “hard beating” as I described it, was something I felt very often and I just assumed that this was my “new normal” heartbeat after surgery. You know, stronger and harder.

He ordered an EKG there in the office.

My picture-perfect image of the EKG I remembered from the hospital was no more.

Once again there were peaks and valleys.

Come to find out, they were PVC’s (premature ventricular contractions) or extra heartbeats that were disrupting my regular heart rhythm.

I had gotten some PVC’s before surgery due to my floppy valve, and most people have some PVC’s from time to time and never even know it.

I was just having a lot.

So many, that the doctor believed maybe they possibly were causing the dizziness and low energy.

This sort of thing was not uncommon after OHS, especially within the few weeks after surgery when the heart finally realizes it’s a bit irritated and decides it may want to freak out a little bit.

The treatment for the PVC’s?

Metoprolol.

Metoprolol…

To Be Or Not To Be?

THAT is the question….

So back I went on the medicine and actually within a few hours of taking another dose I felt much better.

I was sent home with a forty-eight-hour heart monitor just to see how often these irregular heartbeats were coming.

I would also get an increase in the medication dosage and I would start taking it three times a day instead of just twice, spacing out the dosage hoping to steady the rhythm of my heart.

There was one problem with this: Metoprolol was also prescribed to treat high blood pressure, meaning it would lower my already normally low blood pressure.

I knew this because it happened in the hospital when I was first given the medicine until the dose was adjusted.

I couldn’t risk “bottoming out” right now though.

I had two days left to help my son get ready for a two month stay in Japan.

The trial and error of the new medication dosage would have to wait until after then. The doctor also suggested that I have someone with me for the first couple of days during the new dosage just in case I did bottom out. It would take about twenty-four to forty-eight hours to get my system in check with the new dose. This worked out well as my husband would be home for a couple more days before having to return to work.

I was three weeks out of surgery.

Although I was a little concerned, if all went well with the new medication adjustment, I could still fall within the six-week recovery period.

I literally took this “six to eight weeks” (pardon the pun) to heart!

My son was packed and off to Japan, and I started the medication.

It seemed like the “palpitations” or PVC’s accompanied by lightheadedness and loss of energy, appeared shortly before it was time for my next dose. I would take the next dose and within an hour or two they would settle down and I would feel better once the medicine kicked in.

I was adapting to this whole thing. I understood that it would take some time, and I had that.

Two-and-a-half weeks to be exact.

I was ready to be back to “normal.”

I had settled into somewhat of a routine and all was going well.

I had started to do some heavier housework, I would walk the dog every couple of hours, do laundry, cook dinner. I would walk my little “laps” up and down the flat part of our driveway until I would reach at least a mile each day. I would then rest when I got tired (after all I would only be tired like this for a couple more weeks anyway, you know, per my recovery agenda).

One Wednesday I had done my morning walk, some laundry and light housework and was taking a break to do some reading and resting.

I had gotten up off the couch to fix lunch when it hit me- the dizziest of dizzies.

My eyes couldn’t focus. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My chest was pounding, not fast, but hard. Hard and slow.

It was like a wave of whirling sensations came over me very suddenly.

This was it. I pretty much knew I was getting ready to pass out.

I immediately sat back down in the recliner, drank some water and reclined so that my feet were higher than my head-I couldn’t remember why I needed to do this but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Another “wave” came over me.

I tried not to panic.

The blood pressure cuff was laying beside me.

I took my blood pressure.

I looked at the digital readout-it was really low, like eighty-something over fifty-five.

It registered my heart rate as being twenty-five.

Twenty-five?!

That couldn’t be right? I took it again and again, getting similar readings.

Ok, I can’t panic. Things get worse when you panic.

I just needed some sugar. I looked over at my mega sized bag of gummy bears on the coffee table. It was empty.

Crap.

I drank some more water.

I just needed to go to the kitchen and get something, orange juice, a muffin or something, but what if I passed out here alone?

Of course my luck, I’d hit my head and bleed to death all over the floor.

Ok. I would call my husband before I made the trek to the kitchen and stay on the phone with him. If I fell out, at least he would hear it and know to call 911, or at least our neighbor.

Ok, sounded like a plan.

The dizziness waves were coming and going.

I called my husband. He panicked too, but I told him I really thought I’d be okay if I could just get some sugar in my system, even though I was beginning to doubt that myself.

He agreed and stayed on the phone with me until I grabbed an opened bottle of Gatorade out of the fridge and a blueberry muffin off the counter.

The dizziness still making itself evident.

My husband wanted me to take my blood pressure again. I did.

It went from being really low to being at an all-time high for me.

It was one-hundred sixty over eighty-six. Heart rate was still registering high twenties low thirties.

Then my husband said it.

“I think we should call 911 and I’ll call the neighbor.”

Then it hit me. In the midst of seeming like I could fall out any minute, I remembered that I had NOT taken a shower yet!!

And to top it all off, I had the most rattiest of pajamas I owed on!

Oh, and of course no bra!!!

I would be found dead in this state by not only the 911 crew but by my neighbor!!!

For a brief stupid split second, I had debated on attempting to just take the risk and go up the stairs, even to just change clothes, but soon realized that climbing stairs, if I could even make it to the stairs, would be, no doubt, a death trap.

So there I sat waiting on 911 along with my neighbor to find me.

There on the couch, looking my absolute worst. Waiting seemed like forever. Feeling like the next “wave” would be the one that would consume me and take me out of this conscious world.

I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and tried to remain calm.

Finally, I heard a vehicle in the driveway. Thank God!

Three 911 personnel walked in and started accessing me with  heart monitors and blood pressure cuffs.

Another wave hit me and I closed my eyes.

As I continued to apologize for still being in my night clothes and not having the house straight and spotless as I normally would have when a guest would arrive,  I overheard an ever-so familiar phrase from my not-so-distant and embarrassing past:

“Aren’t you Ivy’s mom?”