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Friday, April 17. 2009
Humbled
Yesterday I had to give my sister the urban, contemporary definition of the term “teabagging.” She was not amused. And then right on queue she told me I had been spelling “Vicodin” incorrectly. We also discussed putting food in the freezer, which is about head high. I told her it was too hard. You see, I’ve gotten a lot of food from friends to carry me through this recovery period and my lovely sister suggested I put some in the freezer.
My lovely sister, being the eldest and therefore more know-it-all than I, told me about her experience as a cardiac nurse at St. Anthony’s Hospital in Milwaukee. She would stop in to see the patients who had undergone bypass surgery and often enough she would see them at mealtime. This is the humbling part. Their wives would be feeding the male patients because lifting the utensils to their mouths was “too hard.” My sister, the dutiful nurse, would explain to them they had to start feeding themselves just to get those arm muscles back in action. She would return to visit and of course the wives were still feeding the men.
Now, the most humbling part of my lovely sister’s homily: the women who had the heart surgery would be feeding themselves, the husbands didn’t — or wouldn’t — feed the wives. Yeah … what’s your point … whatever …
So, I had to admit I just didn’t want to take the time to wrap stuff and put it in the freezer. Fine, okay, it has nothing to do with being physically too difficult. Sisters … I’m so blessed she lives in Tampa. Actually, I’m blessed we can talk on the phone and have these little chats.
Thirteen years ago she moved to Sandy Eggo from Colorado to assist me in my recovery from my first heart attack. Now that was truly a blessing. Life is a humbling experience.
But Thursday I was able to put on shoes and socks without help. Doesn’t seem like a big deal, but between the chest wounds and the right leg, the “harvest leg” as the doctors refer to it, bending over to slip on socks and then shoes and then tie the shoes, well that was absolutely painful. Not to mention, my right foot was often so swollen it was nearly impossible to get the right shoe on my foot. So, I either wore flip-flops or slippers.
The “harvest leg” is what they call the leg that provides the pieces of vein for the bypass. In the good old days, the docs would cut open the leg the whole length and remove a couple feet of vein. In my case, they cut open three spots, took out just enough vein for the four bypasses and sewed the three spots back up.
The one spot by my groin wasn’t for vein harvesting though; that was for the camera so the docs could see the arteries from inside as well as outside. I remember my angiogram on the 16th of March; I was awake, albeit a bit stoned, while they rooted around my heart taking pictures and sizing up the blockages. Strange sensation, it didn’t hurt and, in fact, they were half way done before I knew they had the catheter in my veins and arteries.
At any rate, it’s three weeks post-op and I’m up and walking everyday. On Wednesday the doctors said my recovery was coming along better than expected and in fact the chief nurse was extremely excited to see me walking as well as I am; it seems most people who undergo heart surgery don’t do the rehabilitation needed to fully recover from such an invasive procedure.
Years ago I vowed to never be a cardiac invalid, that I would do whatever was needed to avoid such a fate. Well, I slipped a little along the way because I ended up having heart surgery anyway, but still, in 1996 the doctors said I would either have heart surgery within ten years or be dead from heart disease. Maybe I did a few things right, like riding a bicycle instead of an automobile, because I outlived that prediction by three years.
Now, with the rehabilitation from the surgery, I’ve renewed that vow to never become a cardiac invalid; life is too short to be confined to such a closed and solitary existence. That has become clear in the few short months that I have been confined to this little condo, with brief respites provided by the love and care of friends. By June 1st I will be back on the Trusty Trek and by July 4th pedaling as I did two years ago, nay, five years ago, when I could put in 25 miles a day, 3-4 times every week.
Maybe I’ll get another car, or maybe I won’t, but I’ll continue to push myself physically every day. It’s too easy to relax into a sedentary lifestyle and continue to get fat. I’ve proved that already in my life. Now I’d like to prove I can outlive both my eldest brother and father, both of whom died at the age of 62. I’d like to celebrate 75 years, just because there is still so much in life to celebrate — like the friends and family that keep me warm and comforted. Makes me humble just thinking about it.
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