[photo not of me]
The day finally arrived when I was admitted to Christchurch hospital 3pm the day before my newly scheduled open heart surgery. I had already wistfully said goodbye to my current physical body, knowing I would not look the same again. I was not particularly nervous this close to things as I simply followed what staff told me to do and adjusted to being in hospital. I'd had more time to be nervous in the lead-up. It is risky. I find it annoying when people say "Oh you'll be fine. It's so routine these days." Bullshit! It is NOT routine for anyone going through this and surgeons know anything can happen. And it did.
I had a chest Xray, blood tests and an IV put in (uggghh!). I never noticed when I 'went under' in the operating room the next day. I just thought it was quite a big room with medical personnel preparing equipment. The next thing I remember hearing was medical staff discussing which day it was. I went under on a Tuesday. Apparently it was now Saturday. I could not understand how I had lost 4 days. My surgeon and registrar later explained: Things did not go as hoped. My surgeon tried to repair my mitral valve but found it was too far gone (no surprise there). She decided a bioprosthetic valve needed to replace it. I had already said NO to a mechanical valve as I don't want to be on blood thinners the rest of my life. The surgeon completed her work and went home. I was sent to ICU. I have stainless steel wires holding my sternum together. They are probably permanent
However, a few hours later she was called back to the hospital in urgency. I had to be opened up again. There was a blood clot and the edge of the pericardium had uncontrolled bleeding. There was also a lot of fluid pouring from the drain in my chest. These issues were corrected and I was sent back to ICU for an extended stay (originally expected 1 day). My poor daughter had to go through a very anxious time to see if I would pull through.
By day 4 in ICU they exturbated me. No wonder my voice is a mess at present and my throat is still sore. I remember catching a first glimpse of my hands back on Ward 10. They looked like puff balls. I was full of oedema but the meds gradually sorted that out. My days consisted of swallowing a horrendous amount of medication, being tortured by phlebotomists/vampires - many of whom failed to get a vein the first or second times they tried. My blood pressure was consistently low so I ended up with a couple of blood transfusions. My chest hurt. A lot. The main drains had been removed, the bladder catheter was removed once I was back on the ward but they took out one of my side drains and an IV line. Mistake. A few days later I had to have a procedure involving an incision in the side of my back to insert a new drain after waiting for blood thinners to clear my system. The local anaesthetic was truly painful. I think I vocally let them know I was not passively being sliced into again. Half a litre of fluid drained off the lung sac within 30 minutes so it was certainly necessary. The drain remained in for several days.
You don't get any sleep in hospital. There is too much groaning, coughing, farting, medical observations to be done, and pain. I had some morphine and paracetamol, that's all and by the time I left 3 weeks later, all I was allowed was paracetamol. The nurses were generally very nice. I quickly learned to refuse more blood test attempts each day if the phlebotomist couldn't get the needle in properly by the second attempt. I told them to go away and get someone competent. Most of the time this worked but by 3 weeks my arms were packing it in - black and blue with veins running for the hills.
The food is better than expected and I learned to wear adult pull-up underwear as the laxatives kicked in. Any coughing or sneezing meant I had to hug a folded sheet to try to protect my split sternum from the pressure. Yes, it hurts a lot. This is the most difficult physical thing I have gone through in my life. Some have it easier, some worse. I was a bit unlucky but I have survived and I mean to get better/ fitness-wise than I was before. That is going to take a lot of time and work and patience.
Covid 19 means you cannot have friends and family visit - just one designated person. My daughter arrived from Palmerston North. She had hoped to be down to look after me for 3 weeks after my operation but my very lengthy stay in hospital (3 weeks instead of 5-7 days) meant she spent most of her time at my place, on her own, trying not to get covid. Such a shame.
Thank you to those of you who followed posts on my progress. Although I was too weak t participate on Facebook I did read the comments. My next blogpost will look at the process of going home and trying to rebuild body and psyche.
Photo not of me.
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