POST-OPS THREE
It was November 1st, 2022, when they told me I had 6-months to live. It sure was a surprise to me - as well as being the absolutely last thing I'd wanted to hear at age 73. I'd always been the sort to blow off any of that 'medical' stuff. It had been my opinion that the rest and rehabilitation of the human body was one of life's lesser concerns and that the body could heal and reclaim itself nicely if just let to work. My big surprise was - therefore - made more stunning. My heart was about done. And it wasn't through diet, or any lack of exercise, nor obesity, etc. It was through a family line, genetic, flaw; which resulted, apparently, in males of the line, on my mother's and her sisters' sides, being born with a bicuspid (two flaps), instead of 'tricuspid' valve [three flaps]. That lack of a 'third' flap, in me, was proving fatal - it lessened the blood flow and the oxygen exchange necessary for breathing. My 'valve' was calcified near to a frozen-death, the doc said, as if two rocks had been slammed into place next to each other. They allowed little blood flow, and only a 'pinhole' through I could draw oxygen. That was the reason for my lack of air. Literally, I was suffocating, and in cardiac distress. In addition, above this valve, and because of this calcification, my aorta had seriously ballooned, like when you 'twist' a balloon and it forms a bubble. That 'bubble' could explode at any moment or under any stress, and I'd be on the ground and done. That meant 'dead' before I hit the ground! I'd been admitted 3 times, to Honesdale Hospital (Wayne County Memorial), because of what I called 'suffocation' - an inability to walk more than 20 paces without suffocation. The first time, the diagnosed a Panic Attack, and sedated me. The second time, they said I had pneumonia. The third time, the last, they brought me to their cardiology - which is when, after electro-cardio gram, and echo-grams, and a CAT SCAN, the 6-month's conversation took place. I had asked the nurse how things looked, saying 'OK?' - She wouldn't commit, and just said, 'No, I think the doctor's going to want to talk you you about this.' So, there I was; stuck in hospital bed, awaiting a cardiologist I'd never met before, to address me.
In spite of my dangerous fear and trepidation, I was trapped and there he was! His name - not important here - will be left out, as will my other doctors and nurses, though they were all engaging and quite companionable. In spite of that, I could feel the rush of terror trailing my neck. My 'heart' was about to become a hostage to a situation I'd never before experienced, knew little about, and was in total 'last-night-on Earth' denial of.
He was, maybe, 45 years old, tops. He sat down next to me, in a close-bedside manner, and said I was in trouble. I said, 'Is this true? How much trouble?' He said, 'Serious.' He had charts, illustrations, and the general references to talk. He was the Honesdale Hospital cardiologist, and he and one other fellow shared the practice. (I met the other guy too). Then, to allay my doubts and questions, he said he'd been a Navy Doctor; Middle East hospital ships, doing operations on the roiling seas in old and rickety re-purposed tankers that were shaky and often unreliable. For his work the Navy had paid for his medical training. He and his partner - the other guy - alternated: one week one of them in Honesdale (as cardiologists, not surgeons), and the other at Bethesda Naval Hospital, where he had a wife, family and house. Here in Honesdale, the two docs kept a simple apt. lodgings, where they switched off. I liked this man very much, right off, as a sort of bearer of bad tidings, but done correctly. He said I had little choice, if I wished to live; otherwise, go get my affairs on order and go wait it out. He said " don't know if you're a betting man, but if you are, this would be a very bad bet.' He explained the process, what I was up against, how it would work, etc. He was confident, and I didn't think it was merely a front. Then he said, 'This operation will be too much an undertaking for this hospital. We will have you transported to Geisinger Cardiac, in Scranton. You'll meet your team there, and the surgeons will brief you fully.'
By the time I got to Scranton, after having thought things over, consulted family and a few friends. and gotten over the electric-shock reality of the sting, it was about Nov. 12. In Scranton; Geisinger is a pretty great facility. They had treated my nearly-dead cancer-wife for 15 days, and actually brought her back from death. Her 'cancer ward' was on the same floor, and down the hall some, from, from where my Cardio would be. I knew the layout.
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The surgeon was the coolest guy I'd met, medically. That wasn't off-putting to me, just comforting. We talked really well together, kicking around options and dates. One never exactly looks to medical dudes for people to hang out with. I said, 'Doc, how's about you being my second opinion? Is that six month thing really true?' He said, 'Yeah, I'd say; But I'd also say it's probably a bit too optimistic.' He looked at his calendar, and seemed concerned when he saw the nearness of Thanksgiving, around which weekend he didn't want to arrange the operation. He and his assistant looked at me and he said...'I'd like to do it on the 13th of December, early ay daybreak, first op. of the day.' I replied, 'The Thirteenth? Really?' He said, It's OK. Be glad it's a Tuesday and not a Friday.' (By the way, that 13th date was also later changed, due to a 'clinical' which he had to attend, to Dec. 15; - which is when it occurred. There was like a five week period here, for me to reflect, muse over, and try to 'sneak' around. But, I knew my time was running out, and as each day kicked by, I settled in; fearful and depressed, but with some good family and friends to boost me.
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Sometimes the body can coax bad things out of good. Often, it's the other way around too : As in this case, the most horrid waiting period of my life began controlling me and taking over : Superstition, omens, angst - each of them combined to make me see. BUT, for the first time in a long time I, I saw people, and the world, and Nature and the cosmos and even the most ordinary things, as beautiful. The broad and deep night sky high over my head twinkled its timeless message:
Be Here Now!
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The next two weeks kept Kathy and I very busy, between catherizations, blood-tests, scans, pulmonary tests, and assorted other vein and Coratid artery probes and hook-ups. We finally just took a motel room; the traveling back and forth had become so annoying. If it turned out to be the cheapest and crummiest of Scranton's dung-heap motel offerings, (The EconoLodge, now re-named the Palace on Kane Street. A real doghouse). We were chap and at least this shithole offered a bed, and pillows. A night later, someone at the Hospital told us where to go - a preferred lodging, for 'seniors' and people with hospital business. That was much nicer. I then had to face, in the 'final' two weeks, a complete dental review. Starting from scratch - I had no dentist - and the new dentist had to sign off on NO mouth infections, and fax to Geisinger a very serious, filled-out form. I thought sure I'd fail - failure would have meant a postponement of the operation while dental work was done. 'Hey, the clock is ticking here!!!!! Help!' - fortunately, I passed. And finally, two days before the operation, I had to get a clinical Covid test, with good results; otherwise, yes, more delay!!!!!
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I was sure feeling squeezed. Not sure how, but those last days leading out to the 19th became manageable : prayer, well-wishers, concentration and observation. I hardly ate; everything made me sad and morose. The worst was Dec. 18. A friend had come down to help, and my sister too was with us. She's far more grounded than us, and knows how to handle all this.
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