scottyrocks
I'll Lock Up
- Messages
- 9,178
- Location
- Isle of Langerhan, NY
I found the physical pain of open heart surgery far from the worst of it. It didn't hurt all that much, really -- surprisingly less painful than I expected.
But psychically? Man, it kicks your ass! Did mine, anyway. I was like a wounded animal, and snarly as one, as my lovely missus can attest.
The operation itself was painless - I was on my back, out cold for 6 1/2 hours.
As soon as I was awake I was kind of myself. But I couldn't talk, being intubated, and I was gesturing for a pad and pencil so I could write. The nurses were putting me off, telling me to take it easy (I hate being told to take it easy) because they knew I wanted the tubes out. They put me out, and the tubes came out I don't know how much later. It could have been anywhere from 2 to 12 hours.
Once detubed, it took another few days for them to remove all the other things that were stuck in my body, the worst being the abdominal drainage tube. It felt it was touching every nerve in its path. Pulling that out felt like my whole body was shoved into an electrical socket, if only for a second.
But then I wanted to get out of bed. As soon as I could I didn't get back into it, sleeping, instead, in a chair. The bed was royally uncomfortable.
They got me a physical therapist pretty quickly. She took me walking around the floor in greater distances each time, until we finally got to the stairway. She wanted me to do the old same lead foot up and down, but I practically ran up and down the stairs. She wasn't happy about it, but I felt great, if not a little dizzy after the first attempt.
And then there was the juggling of my pre-hospital meds. I had been on an insulin pump which needed to be removed pre-surgery. Post-surgery I decided I no longer wanted a machine hanging on me 24/7 so I told them what my regimen had been pre-pump (12 years prior) and they set me up.
The recovery, once I got out of the hospital, however, was bordering on torture. The worst part was water in my left lung which was supposed to drain in a few days but didn't. Almost constant coughing (ever cough with a recently split-open front?), and a cough medicine meant to stop it did little good. I was having trouble eating, and all I wanted to do was sleep, exhausted and nauseous from coughing, on top of the recovery process in general.
Finally, three weeks after leaving the hospital I was back, having a liter or fluid drained from the bottom of my left lung. I instantly felt better. My Dad said I looked like I had come back from the dead.
I went back to work after nine weeks of being out. I was 15 lbs lighter than when I went in, and tired very easily. I normally stand most of the day, but sat down frequently during classes because I had to. I've gained back about half the weight I lost, and am right where I want to be.
No, I still don't have the energy I used to, and psychologically, I have come to a point where I have stared my mortality in the face, and have come to realize that it does exist. I do most of what I used to do, but everything is more difficult. But I'll just have to live with it. No other choice, really.
It's been two years come the 30th, and I've never written it all down, or this much of it, anyway. There is more, but I'll stop with what is here.
My thanks to those who have taken the time to read it, although it feels good to just set it down on 'paper,' so to speak.