Hello to both my readers, I’m back. Once upon a time, I thought I was immune to gravity. My intimations of immortality were in error. Allow me to explain. Becoming calendar enhanced and retired, vacant time ensues. Nature abhors a vacuum. In place of work, Nature provides visits to medical specialists where there were none before. For several years, I made an annual Autumn visit to the local friendly cardiologist. He would listen to my heart, frown, and tell me my heart murmur is getting louder. Eventually, the day would come when he said it was time to engage the services of a heart surgeon. Last October, I reached that time and place. It was show time at the Cardiac Corral.
He referred me to Duke Medical Center. (Author’s note- Duke Medical Center is outstanding and shall always be spelled correctly. Dook basketball is puke and shall never be spelled correctly.) For those of you who have not enjoyed heart surgery or are squeamish, consider stopping reading at this point. For post-op cardiac patients, if you know, you know. Actually, no one should read the rest of this story.
The journey to open heart surgery begins with a call from Duke Cardiology. The next step is a visit to a Cardiologist to enjoy a heart catheterization. Initially, the diagnosis was a need for a relatively simple aortic valve replacement. This might be doable by stenting tonight on the old cardiac campground. The cardiac cath, as the pros call it, would determine if stenting was the answer. To get the cath, you lie on a table surrounded by ominous machines. Then a total stranger shaves your naughty bits. The staff is very professional; they neither pointed nor laughed as I lay there exposed to the world. After some pretty good drugs, you don’t mind the exposure. They played rock music during the procedure, ending with “A Horse with No Name.”
Unfortunately, the cath found that in addition to the faulty valve, I had one completely blocked artery and a partial blockage of another. Welcome to the wonderful world of open-heart surgery. I asked why I was still alive with a blocked artery. Turns out the heart is pretty smart. It developed smaller arteries called collaterals detouring around the blockage. Got to love collaterals. Ask not what your collaterals can do for you. Ask what you can do for your collaterals.
Surgery set for late January, which was postponed due to the Blizzard of ’26. Fun fact: Coronary Artery Bypass Surgery is medically abbreviated as CABG and pronounced like leafy green “Cabbage.” I checked into Duke on Super Bowl Sunday, the night before surgery, for some pre-op stuff, including yet another full-body shave. Once you take off your clothes to wear the hospital gown, your dignity is gone with the wind. Strangers poke and prod you. Always be nice to anyone nearing you with sharp metal objects. While we watched the Super Bowl halftime show starring Bad Bunny, I collected a harem of nurses who wanted to see Mr. Bunny perform. I was the Prom King of Floor Six for a bright shining moment.
Surgery Day dawned before the sun came up. Got wheeled into the operating room with even more intimidating equipment surrounded by masked people. I asked them to remember to count the sponges before the Spicy WD-40 happy juice sent me into LaLa Land. When I awoke, it was a day later. I had more tubes coming out of me than an octopus has right arms. Tubes hooked up to a bunch of boxes the size of car batteries, where spooky, angry-looking fluids were draining out of my body.
The surgery had gone well. My faulty valve had been replaced by a donated cow valve. My possible 2 CABG job had been cut back to only one bypass on closer examination. The most challenging in-patient part of the recovery was living with all these tubes inside me. They kept bumping on internal parts unused to being bumped. It was an uncomfortable tubular experience lasting about a week. When the drainage stopped sufficiently, they released me to go back into the wild on Saturday. There is a certain amount of fatigue inherent after open-heart surgery. The fatigue remains in place but seems to be fading. Much to the relief of anyone within earshot, I was unable to get out more than a few words before descending into a coughing fit. After a post op visit to Duke in which a Roto Rooter drained some chest fluid away, the coughing subsided.
My wife Lani never left my side the entire week. She is my hero. She sorts out all my exciting new pills for me. I would not be able to sort them due to post op fuzziness. Curiously, due to my new cow heart valve, I have developed an overwhelming desire to eat lawn grass. Fescue is very delicious.