"Heart, Why Are You Pounding like a Hammer; Why are You Beating Like A Drum"
“I get it everyday,
I’m getting used to it.
But everytime it hits,
My heart quits.
I wear a little smile,
While swallowing the dirt.
But underneath my shirt,
My heart hurts.”
Nick Lowe, “My Heart Hurts” from Nick The Knife, 1981.
After meeting with the surgeon today, we have decided to have the surgery on Wednesday, April 5. That is exactly 18 months from the last one.
Well, we are hoping that this is the last one and I must say I am disappointed to a degree to go through this again. On the other hand, having been through this once, I guess I am more prepared as to what to expect.
Pam and I decided to do this sooner than later and have a longer period to recover so I can work at full force next year. I think my jaw dropped when the surgeon came in and said, “How does Wednesday look?”
“Not too far off,” I thought.
“Perfect,” was what Pam said.
I guess I should be more careful in what I ask for, huh?
Last time I waited six weeks; this time six days. I knew it was coming and he assured us that this not an emergency. He also stressed this could be a few stitches as opposed to redo the whole procedure—but he also said he would know once I was under.
People usually ask questions—so here are some of my tongue-in-cheek Most Frequently Asked Questions and Answers:
Does it hurt? Uh…yes. They cut into your sternum, separate it and tear into muscle. It hurts like Hell. Granted I do not have much of a chest, but what I have (you know its tight and buff—ok it’s not) still hurt like the Devil danced on it.
Have they improved Urinary Caths? Sure they have, but guess what—no where in life does it make sense to put things up when things should be flowing down. I vote for a big diaper in the future—but that’s just me.
Are you out of it after surgery? Pam is still telling me stuff the first day that I have very little recollection of. Although I doubt I really said “I hope all of you bastards die a grisly death from the pain you gave me.” (That was a joke—I am not sure I used the words grisly and bastards—too many syllables. Hopefully I will be awake enough for Survivor on Thursday. By the Way—Wednesday is a good surgery day—nothing on TV.
Can you talk to people? Not really, as this is pretty taxing and using chest muscles to do “complicated tasks” like talking and breathing and slight movements takes a lot out of me. After five minutes of speaking to people, I usually wish to pass out. The good thing is, screaming takes too much energy. I used many hand gestures—one that kept reoccurring when people ask, “does it hurt?”
How is hospital food—SUCKS! I mean there is bad and then there is “would not feed it to Junior High kids who are too ignorant to know better” bad. The food was worst than that. Hospital food adds to people’s illness and discomfort and also forces them to leave quicker—“oh I could stay another day but then I would have to eat that item that vaguely resembles a mammal.” Pudding Cups and Ice Cream cups are good, though.
Do people lie to you? Oh yeah, you have tubes running in and out, you have blood on your shirt, and you are more pale than Lily Munster and people come in and say “Wow, you look great.” My first thought was, “Damn, how badly did I look before?” I often wonder how the rest of the patients look. First you are white, then yellowish, and then a kind of pinkish tone (all this may only be applicable for Croatians and Germans). People also lie when they say “This will not hurt.” Yeah, right. I think they should finish the sentence “This will not hurt ME; you, you should prepare for eyes to start watering at any moment.” The other lie, I noticed is when I smelled myself for the first time after not showering for three days and nurses (with tears in their eyes) commented that I did not smell at all. Heh heh, getting even is great. I smelled NASTY!
Are nurses nice? Most are, as I am pretty pushy and demanding (believe that or not) but every Wing has a Nurse Ratchet that comes in and chews you out and makes you feel like a burden. Actually, in the end, she’s the one you like the best because your hatred of her fills you with a desire to survive—if for no other reason than to get even with her. She needs to be paid more, in my opinion. They also lie when they comment how well you performed during surgery—“He did fine” they said. Yeah, I lied there in a comatose state with the best of them.
What do you hate to hear from a doctor? When they stand there, whisper to others, look at a chart or device or something and then they mutter “Hmm..have we tried (insert your favorite Greek or Latin laced medical term here)? Oh we have, we’ll let’s wait and see.” Then they noticed your blood pressure has shot up and they ask you why you are nervous. I also hate the long drawn out “Uh-huh’s from these guys.” Further, I hate it when they bring in the living will guy. I always have visions of that scene from Monty Python and The Holy Grail--“Bring out your dead/This one’s not dead yet/Clunk/He is now, thanks!”
Does the surgeon ask unneeded questions? Yep. First time I saw him the surgeon while I was lying there before surgery he asked how I was feeling. Who cares how I am feeling? I want to scream, how are you feeling? You are not mad at anyone or feeling tired or anything? You are calm and sober, right? No hangovers, no fights with anyone, you have your parking space secured, your favorite team won last night, they have not cancelled your favorite show—anything that will add to his discomfort, I figure, is not helping me. Then he asked what music I wanted to hear, and I said “The Beatles” and ten seconds later after hearing the first few bars of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” (one of my most hated Beatles songs) I was out. Seems to me he should play what he wants—although I think I would draw the line on “Death Metal” and “Disco.” “Death Metal” does not put people in a “survival mode” and any Doctor who likes Disco probably did not graduate at the top of his class.
And lastly, do you think you will be all right? Normally I would have some smarmy, smart-alec, answer here, but I will be fine. This is the most serious I will be; the one thing this surgery taught me is that I need to help others in life as much as they helped me. I think we all have a role in the intermingling of our lives and I am not too proud to say that I would not be here without the skill of the doctors and nurses and the care of my wife, my cats, my family, my friends, my colleagues, and my students. If you were sent this blog and have the patience to read this far—thanks for being a part of my life—and we still have a long way to go. When the surgeon says 95% of the people make it through fine, then I am probably less worried about death and more concerned with fixing it and getting this over. There are many people in worst states than me. I will be up and around in three weeks after surgery (although they make you walk the next day as I restart Cardio-rehab). I hope to see you soon.
So there I have it—hoping to be more positive about this than I was last time, hoping to make some jokes about it, and hoping to feel as good in a few months as I do now.
More later…
I’m getting used to it.
But everytime it hits,
My heart quits.
I wear a little smile,
While swallowing the dirt.
But underneath my shirt,
My heart hurts.”
Nick Lowe, “My Heart Hurts” from Nick The Knife, 1981.
After meeting with the surgeon today, we have decided to have the surgery on Wednesday, April 5. That is exactly 18 months from the last one.
Well, we are hoping that this is the last one and I must say I am disappointed to a degree to go through this again. On the other hand, having been through this once, I guess I am more prepared as to what to expect.
Pam and I decided to do this sooner than later and have a longer period to recover so I can work at full force next year. I think my jaw dropped when the surgeon came in and said, “How does Wednesday look?”
“Not too far off,” I thought.
“Perfect,” was what Pam said.
I guess I should be more careful in what I ask for, huh?
Last time I waited six weeks; this time six days. I knew it was coming and he assured us that this not an emergency. He also stressed this could be a few stitches as opposed to redo the whole procedure—but he also said he would know once I was under.
People usually ask questions—so here are some of my tongue-in-cheek Most Frequently Asked Questions and Answers:
Does it hurt? Uh…yes. They cut into your sternum, separate it and tear into muscle. It hurts like Hell. Granted I do not have much of a chest, but what I have (you know its tight and buff—ok it’s not) still hurt like the Devil danced on it.
Have they improved Urinary Caths? Sure they have, but guess what—no where in life does it make sense to put things up when things should be flowing down. I vote for a big diaper in the future—but that’s just me.
Are you out of it after surgery? Pam is still telling me stuff the first day that I have very little recollection of. Although I doubt I really said “I hope all of you bastards die a grisly death from the pain you gave me.” (That was a joke—I am not sure I used the words grisly and bastards—too many syllables. Hopefully I will be awake enough for Survivor on Thursday. By the Way—Wednesday is a good surgery day—nothing on TV.
Can you talk to people? Not really, as this is pretty taxing and using chest muscles to do “complicated tasks” like talking and breathing and slight movements takes a lot out of me. After five minutes of speaking to people, I usually wish to pass out. The good thing is, screaming takes too much energy. I used many hand gestures—one that kept reoccurring when people ask, “does it hurt?”
How is hospital food—SUCKS! I mean there is bad and then there is “would not feed it to Junior High kids who are too ignorant to know better” bad. The food was worst than that. Hospital food adds to people’s illness and discomfort and also forces them to leave quicker—“oh I could stay another day but then I would have to eat that item that vaguely resembles a mammal.” Pudding Cups and Ice Cream cups are good, though.
Do people lie to you? Oh yeah, you have tubes running in and out, you have blood on your shirt, and you are more pale than Lily Munster and people come in and say “Wow, you look great.” My first thought was, “Damn, how badly did I look before?” I often wonder how the rest of the patients look. First you are white, then yellowish, and then a kind of pinkish tone (all this may only be applicable for Croatians and Germans). People also lie when they say “This will not hurt.” Yeah, right. I think they should finish the sentence “This will not hurt ME; you, you should prepare for eyes to start watering at any moment.” The other lie, I noticed is when I smelled myself for the first time after not showering for three days and nurses (with tears in their eyes) commented that I did not smell at all. Heh heh, getting even is great. I smelled NASTY!
Are nurses nice? Most are, as I am pretty pushy and demanding (believe that or not) but every Wing has a Nurse Ratchet that comes in and chews you out and makes you feel like a burden. Actually, in the end, she’s the one you like the best because your hatred of her fills you with a desire to survive—if for no other reason than to get even with her. She needs to be paid more, in my opinion. They also lie when they comment how well you performed during surgery—“He did fine” they said. Yeah, I lied there in a comatose state with the best of them.
What do you hate to hear from a doctor? When they stand there, whisper to others, look at a chart or device or something and then they mutter “Hmm..have we tried (insert your favorite Greek or Latin laced medical term here)? Oh we have, we’ll let’s wait and see.” Then they noticed your blood pressure has shot up and they ask you why you are nervous. I also hate the long drawn out “Uh-huh’s from these guys.” Further, I hate it when they bring in the living will guy. I always have visions of that scene from Monty Python and The Holy Grail--“Bring out your dead/This one’s not dead yet/Clunk/He is now, thanks!”
Does the surgeon ask unneeded questions? Yep. First time I saw him the surgeon while I was lying there before surgery he asked how I was feeling. Who cares how I am feeling? I want to scream, how are you feeling? You are not mad at anyone or feeling tired or anything? You are calm and sober, right? No hangovers, no fights with anyone, you have your parking space secured, your favorite team won last night, they have not cancelled your favorite show—anything that will add to his discomfort, I figure, is not helping me. Then he asked what music I wanted to hear, and I said “The Beatles” and ten seconds later after hearing the first few bars of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” (one of my most hated Beatles songs) I was out. Seems to me he should play what he wants—although I think I would draw the line on “Death Metal” and “Disco.” “Death Metal” does not put people in a “survival mode” and any Doctor who likes Disco probably did not graduate at the top of his class.
And lastly, do you think you will be all right? Normally I would have some smarmy, smart-alec, answer here, but I will be fine. This is the most serious I will be; the one thing this surgery taught me is that I need to help others in life as much as they helped me. I think we all have a role in the intermingling of our lives and I am not too proud to say that I would not be here without the skill of the doctors and nurses and the care of my wife, my cats, my family, my friends, my colleagues, and my students. If you were sent this blog and have the patience to read this far—thanks for being a part of my life—and we still have a long way to go. When the surgeon says 95% of the people make it through fine, then I am probably less worried about death and more concerned with fixing it and getting this over. There are many people in worst states than me. I will be up and around in three weeks after surgery (although they make you walk the next day as I restart Cardio-rehab). I hope to see you soon.
So there I have it—hoping to be more positive about this than I was last time, hoping to make some jokes about it, and hoping to feel as good in a few months as I do now.
More later…
posted by Eric Sweetwood at 8:10 AM
1 Comments:
Eric:
Keep us informed when you are able to comment on your blog. I know this is going to be difficult for you but it will be done and then you can go on with your life.
Lou
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