A day late, but what can I say, Saturday turned out to be not a great day. Had a busy morning: long walk to watch my grandson, Asher, play ball hockey, then out to lunch and home where I may have overdone it with the exercises.
The afternoon and evening I was tired and the body just felt out of synch. So, I decided to take it easy and do nothing. Thus, this comes one day late.
Oh my, she said when I took off my shirt.
It was not, however, in admiration of my athletic physique. I know guys who are harrier than I, but I am a hairy guy. The lady who had the chore of shaving parts of my arms and legs and my chest in preparation for surgery knew she was in for a bit of a challenge by looking at my arms.
But then I removed my shirt.
“Oh My!” she gasped.
Still, she got the job done without having to change electric razors. Something, she said, she has had to do on occasion.
Theresa, the super nurse
I’ve spent time in three Edmonton hospitals and have had a fair number of nurses and staff looking after me: the University of Alberta Hospital in 1996 with my ruptured aneurysm, the Royal Alex for my prostrate cancer surgery and now the Mazankowski Heart Institute for the aortic valve replacement.
I can honestly say I was impressed by the level of care at all three. But the Mazankowski may have been the best. Not because they have heart specialists, which obviously is most important, but also because of the little things the staff do. Every time a nurse came into the room, shared by two of us, he or she would ask if we were comfortable, is there anything they could get for me, was I warm or cool enough. One asked me if I would like the dividing curtain moved about a foot so I could see the clock of the wall.
One nurse in particular stands out: Theresa (I didn’t ask her last name because I thought that would be inappropriate) who was my main nurse for most of my stay on unit 4A5. She was such a calming influence, patiently answered all my questions, no matter how silly some of them were, and always seemed to just be there whenever I needed help with anything.
I will always remember the morning I was to go home. Having been told the night before I would probably leave the next day, I spent an even more restless night than normal and that morning I was anxious. Scared I would even say.
Theresa talked to me for quite a while, calmly explaining that I was as ready to go home as any patient had been, that I was well on my way to recovery, that there was nothing to be worried about and, if I got overly anxious or concerned about anything, here was the phone number that would get me directly to the ward desk. And chances are, I would probably get her on the phone.
Besides, she said, I was going home to be cared for by my wife Lynne, herself a registered nurse who would take excellent care of me.
So, I left the hospital telling myself she was the second-best nurse I had ever had. She was only No. 2 because Lynne will always be No. 1.
Above and beyond the call.
My second night in the hospital I just could not sleep in the bed, so I got Theresa to help me into a chair. I spent the rest of the night dozing on and off there. The next morning Jim, the physiotherapist, arrived to take me for a walk and when he saw me in the chair asked if I wouldn’t be more comfortable in a recliner.
“Yes, of course,” I replied, “But I don’t see one of those anywhere.”
“Just give me a few minutes,” he said and left.
He returned shortly pushing a recliner, which became my bed for the remainder of my stay. Recliners are not usual issue, but he knew where there was one not being used. Just one more little thing that makes the Mazankowski special.
Sleep, finally sleep
What I would give right now for eight hours of sleep…heck six hours, four hours, even three hours of deep, refreshing, uninterrupted sleep. I honestly cannot remember the last time I had eight hours of sleep.
I do know that in the first 14 days post-surgery only once had I slept more than two consecutive hours. Sleep came in one-hour increments. And according to my Fitbit I hadn’t had more than nine minutes of deep sleep.
Things changed on the 15th night. I actually slept three hours, then two hours. Unfortunately, I was then wide awake at 5 a.m. and unable to get back to sleep. Since then I have been sleeping better, although it’s just light, restless sleep. The most deep sleep I’ve had in one night, accumulated, was 49 minutes.
The problem is I have to sleep on my back and I am NOT a back sleeper. I always sleep on my side. But, like everything else, it is slowly improving.
Most surprising aspect.
I have to say the most surprising thing about this whole experience has been the lack of pain. I had anticipated I would be in a lot of pain for a lot of days. I mean they were cracking open my chest and then cutting through muscles and the wall of my heart.
But the hospital did such a great job of pain control. Even since I’ve been home there’s been surprising little pain, and for that I am most thankful.
Then I watched a video
A few days ago I was thinking of how conscious I was about my chest and how I was trying not to do anything to negatively impact its healing. Then I was out walking, took my pulse, which registered at 92, and I realized there was a lot more to heal than just my chest.
What about the heart, you idiot? The surgeon had to cut through the wall of the heart, cut out the malfunctioning aortic valve, sew in a new valve and seal things up. So I watched a video of how the surgery is done. Tough to watch the sternum being cracked open and the scalpel cutting through muscle to get to the heart and then cutting through the wall of the heart. Fascinating to see how they insert the new (in my case, tissue) valve and sew it in place.
Then I did a little reading and discovered the ventricles have thicker walls than the atria. Which makes sense since the ventricles have a greater workload pumping blood throughout the body and lungs. Plus, the left ventricle, the one the surgeon cuts through to get to the aortic valve, has thicker walls than the right because it needs to pump blood to most of the body while the right ventricle only has to fill the lungs,
That’s when I figured my pushing my pulse into the high 80s or 90s was probably not helping the healing process, putting undue pressure on both the wall of the ventricle and the incision where the new valve is sewn.in. So, starting today I’m going to be more aware of the heart and tell myself to smarten up and take it easy for the next few weeks until I see my cardiologist.
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