I wrote not long ago about emotional growth as a result of a physical event in my life. I touched on the topic of that event, my open heart surgery.  Today I thought I’d share more of that story.

PART 1

WHO ME? Worry?

Over my life I’ve had multiple surgeries. Mostly with short recoveries and short rehabs. I never had any issues.

Despite those surgical successes I don’t watch medical TV shows. Needles on TV make me squeamish. I hide behind my hands when they appear saying to my husband “tell me when it’s over!”

Yet on the day in 2016 I was told that I needed open heart surgery I felt strangely peaceful.

In the late 90’s I found out that my aortic valve was abnormal. Instead of having three leaflets it only has two, so it’s bi-cuspid.  This isn’t common, only about 2% of the population has this. About 20 years ago we moved from Houston to Dallas and I started experiencing palpitations. A cardiologist decided to do an echocardiogram. That’s how my bicuspid valve announced itself to myself. This issue didn’t mean I couldn’t live a normal life but my heart would have to be regularly checked out. I was faithful to do so and learned that this valve can sometimes lead to “an enlarging” of the aorta and that started happening to me. For many years, the doctor watched it saying “Don’t worry, it’s not serious”. I didn’t worry and experienced no abnormal symptoms. But by fall of 2016 the enlargement had grown to a 5 1/2 cm. aneurysm on my aorta. It was serious, and it couldn’t be “watched” anymore, especially in someone with a bicuspid valve.

I’ve written before that I’m a spiritual person. I normally approach life calmly. There would be about 5 weeks to wait for surgery, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Dec 27. Even though it may sound corny, during that period I felt God surrounding me with peace. The impressions He gave me were so reassuring, so full of protection. He was helping me prepare for this new, unknown thing.

However, there was one aspect of this thing for which I didn’t know how to prepare. And, honestly, it made me nervous.

I knew a bit about the grisly details of open heart surgery. I knew my sternum would be sawed in half, my heart would be stopped and I’d be put on bypass machines to circulate my blood and breathe for me as surgery was performed. That my aneurysm would be repaired with a Dacron graft. Those things didn’t worry me.

What worried me was waking up with a breathing tube down my throat. It’ll feel too constrictive, I thought. My throat is very narrow and it’s an area of my body over which I like control. I have issues swallowing pills. And now there’ll be a Tube? Can I just push “Decline” on that?

I talked to myself. I will be Calm. I won’t freak out. Millions of people do this, and they get through it. Ok Lord, I’m trusting you. Can there be a miracle and I not even need the tube?

At each doctor visit I voiced my tube apprehension and my dear surgeon would say that it would be kept in as little as possible and removed as soon as it was clear that I could breathe on my own. I made sure he knew I had a very narrow throat. I sought more reassurance from nurse friends. One told me that most endotracheal tubes are removed as soon as surgery is finished so I’d most likely not even have it at all when I woke. I liked that. When people told me they were praying I mentioned the tube. Along with success in surgery I asked for prayers for minimal tube time. Despite that one concern, I kept sensing God had me.

sidenote: Can I just tell you a bit about my thoracic surgeon? He wasn’t the one we initially thought would be doing the surgery. I met him in his Plano office and instantly relaxed. He seemed like a down-home Texas guy who’d be just as happy in a fishing boat as in an operating room. Humble, soft-spoken, patient, good listener and very kind. Later, nurse after nurse in the hospital sang his praises to our family and that’s not common. One said, “I just love that man.”

Surgery day came, Dec 27th. Four a.m. that morning I washed with strong antibacterial soap. Prior to leaving for Plano Heart Hospital my daughter French-braided my hair to keep it out of the way. I was wearing the required loose clothing. Before I knew it we were in pre-op where we met my anesthesiologist, greeted my surgeon, an IV was inserted in my left arm, someone drew X marks on each foot with a black sharpie, and then they gave me the happy juice. I said bye to my family as I was wheeled into the big room.

I saw lots of machines. Several people helped me scoot onto a narrow, hard, metal table. Those around me seemed poised, ready to get working. The happy juice was working. I heard lots of medical jargon. The last thing I remember was someone shaving my abdomen with a disposable razor in an area where I really had no hair growing. Strange. I’d find out later why.

All faded. Family waited. If things went well I’d come out the other side with a repaired aorta, and possibly a new aortic valve. Wait and see.

PART 2

BREATHE

About four hours later woman’s voice said, “We are done with surgery.”  Oh, I’m alive, it’s over. I heard her as if in a fog. Like waking up from a resistant sleep. It took effort to be awake. I felt no pain. I was in a big hospital room, like one I’d seen earlier that morning. I saw and heard my husband and kids. Mike told me the surgeon reported that all went very well and he was able to preserve my original aortic valve – that it didn’t need replacing. Great news. But I couldn’t celebrate much with them because … the tube was in the throat.

It wasn’t just in there, it was breathing for me. Forcing me to take breaths. I felt groggy, out-of-sorts and didn’t want to be forced to breathe. This Bully Tube Thing felt large. Like it was maybe 2 inches wide but it probably wasn’t. Not only was it making me breathe but when I didn’t obey – an odious alarm blared. Who would have chosen a breathing tube alarm to sound like a circus horn that a mean clown honked in your face? But it did and it was annoying! And mine was honking.

When it did the nurse loudly urged, “Liz, breathe. Breathe, Liz.”  I had never had to be told to do this. I was going to be told a lot. She was also urging me to stay awake so I could breathe. I’d rather sleep, nurse. Why was it so hard for me to get my breathing situated?

During this time swallowing reflex caused me to swallow even though there was nothing to swallow. It only reinforced how invasive this tube was because I felt it more fully. Note to self: avoid swallowing.

This reluctant dance went on. Alarms honking, Nurse commanding. Trying to breathe like a person. Feeling tired, wanting sleep, wanting a time-out from this game. Alarms honking…and repeat. It was a haze of activity, My kids decided to go home, rest and come back later. That was a good because if they stayed during this struggle I’d be concerned about them. This was not like the other medical procedures where I woke up and issued strange, funny drug-induced declarations. As in those surgeries, Mike was there to support me. I’m so glad he was.

Two hours later I was more alert, better able to assess my body. Apnea events were occurring, which were frustrating. I wanted to rest so badly. I made a motion to Mike that I needed to write something.  I wrote “apnea”.  I hoped the nurse would know that it was the reason I wasn’t breathing correctly and can we stop this now?

No. I was unaware that I was losing a lot of blood from 2 large drainage tubes that were now protruding  from my abdomen, right from the place where someone had shaved me that morning.  The blood loss in those drains along with my erratic breathing were causing concern in the nurses. Mike noticed their apprehension and tried to ask one of them what was going on but she didn’t want to give answers.  He kept alert and eavesdropped. He heard one of the two nurses wonder if they’d “have to open me up again.”

Oh. Ok. That’s why I was struggling. I’d woken up in a medical tv show and couldn’t cover the screen with my hands.

I can honestly say that I’ve never felt as fragile in my body as those long hours after this procedure. I realize now why it’s called ‘major’ surgery.

I kept watching the clock on the wall. Four hours had passed. By now the tube had become the teacher and I, the student. The alarm became the principal’s office. I wasn’t being a stellar student. Details are shady. I received a unit of blood, the first of three that day along with 2 units of platelets. I remember trying to consciously relax and cooperate. I somehow communicated for Mike to bring my Peace and Calming essential oil and hold it so I could inhale. If I ever needed that oil’s help, this was it.

This breathing tube I never wanted to meet needed to become my ally. Someone somewhere must have been praying for me. And my blood started clotting.

Six hours had now gone by with tube. Mike was being as supportive as he could.  I know he was as ready as I was for the end of this show. I tried to get past my impatience, to be at rest in my body.

Finally the nurses were satisfied. When they decided it was safe to remove the tube, they sent Mike out into the hall. And the first of many “removals” was performed.  They asked me to take a large breath in through my nose and exhale as 2 of them pulled it out. Relief at last.

How did I last six hours with that thing?  I credit divine help and prayers of many. They enabled me to accept my present reality. I know now that the dreaded tube was keeping me alive. I had to depend on that machine for breath and I thought all along that I’d be able to do it all by myself. Thank God for the tube!

Nurses later told Mike that they rarely have a patient calmly endure the tube. They typically get agitated, try to pull them out or scratch at their neck. I completely understand, and am thankful that I wasn’t panicked or scared even over such a long time. As I recovered over the next 4 days I heard many tube alarms going off in all the rooms around me. My sympathies were with whoever was fighting for breath in their fragile state.

PART 3

ALL THE REMOVALS

No one tells you that when the breathing tube gets removed your mouth will be so dry, your breath so horrible it could stop traffic. Ice chips or water don’t alleviate it, only time.

No one tells you when you wake up your new body will have been turned into a human pin cushion. I counted 12 tubes, wires or catheters sticking out of me. My large scar was closed with derma super glue. The one little IV I had going into surgery had grown to 5, including two heavy duty ones, one leading deep into my heart and the other into a pulmonary vein. I had those half-inch drainage tubes coming out of my abdomen. They were a pain, but important because a lot of fluid had to leave. The drains themselves were stiff, cumbersome and I could almost feel them coiled around inside me as I moved around. And they had to stay for 3 days. Yippee.  Oh, I also had a copper pacemaker wire sticking out of my chest, in case my heart rhythm needed correcting. My sternum which had been sawed in half was now wired back together.

No one tells you post surgery you’ll start feeling hungry but you’ll have to eat a liquid diet for a day (jello and popsicles) and that when you can eat real food it will all taste metallic. Yes, the super strong drugs caused a horrible metallic taste no matter what I ate and it was going to last 7 days. Bad hospital food became worse hospital food.

Lungs, post surgery get filled with gunk. Coughing must commence. I was given a red, heart-shaped pillow to hug so sore chest muscles would be cushioned when I coughed. Breathing technicians appeared day and night. They tried to be excited about my treatment but I wasn’t doing the happy dance. Coughing hurt, but I had to do it.  Laughing hurt too, but I didn’t mind that.

My family took turns spending nights with me. My husband snored away on the hospital couch the first night so I fired him and my kids rotated night shifts. One of them was always with me, helping with little things we didn’t want to bother the nurses with. Nights in hospitals are never restful. I never slept the entire time, neither did my kids.

We diffused oils in the room and the nurses loved coming in because the air smelled so good. They said they could smell it from down the hall.

As you know, the nurses want to get you up and moving. My first attempt to stand was shaky. But nurses kept me going. Sitting was next. In a chair, often at 4:00 a.m. or other times of day. Then I graduated to walking, even taking the loop around the nurses station with my kids or husband. We’d drag along my IV stand and carry my drainage bag and off we went. What a cozy little parade. I’ll never forget how wonderful it felt to finally get a hot shower a few days later. Still attached to my machines with a nurse there to help me in case I had trouble. I got to put on my own flannel pj’s.

Each day I became more human as various tubes were removed. I was a little nervous about them getting pulled out but I needn’t have been. How nice to get one’s person detached from hospital aparatus. But my body looked as though it’d been through a battle with new scars, sutures, bruises. I’d been pumped with so much fluid I swelled up like the Michelin man. I guess that’s why they always tell you to bring loose-fitting clothes to wear home from the hospital. I was about 20 lbs heavier all from fluid. I also had medical tape residue all over. And two black mystery strings poking out of my tummy.

Four and a half days after surgery, on New Year’s Eve we left the hospital. Those first days at home were hard for me. It’s always hard for me to ask for help but I needed help situating myself in a chair or in bed at night because I couldn’t use my arms at all, doctors orders. At night my husband and son pushed and pulled me into a sleeping position and if I wanted to turn over I had to ask for help. We had to take my blood pressure and oxygen levels often. I had to adjust to a ton of new medicine. I still felt fragile but more functional. My exercise would be to walk around the house. Then sit down. I needed someone with me for a month to make sure I was ok and watch me and drive me to follow-up appointments. My husband and daughter tag-teamed over that month and gave me so much help, so much care. Friends did too with delicious meals.

After this ordeal, I was left with a renewed gratitude for God’s care for me, appreciation for the technological advancements behind my surgery, respect and love for a humble, skilled surgeon. My husband and kids also. What would I have done without them?

Parting thoughts: Nurses are wonderful. Especially the sweet one who massaged my toes.

Thank God for blood donors. You never realize how truly valuable a unit of blood is until you’re losing your own.

And Thank God He didn’t spare the tube. What I wanted initially wasn’t what I needed. My trust in His plan is stronger now. And because I endured six hours with that tube I feel stronger too.