A bit of an update: Got home yesterday. Flight from CC to LAX was uneventful. CC encouraged me to use the airport's wheelchair service on both ends, and very glad I did; walking would have been WAY too stressful on my body, and it was great for my wife to have that extra help with the luggage.
I'm learning to listen to my body. I overdid it on Friday, for reasons I'll explain in a moment. Later that day, and early Saturday, marked the first time I did not feel as good as I had been feeling. I've been telling people that I don't feel like I had major heart surgery, which included an aortic valve, a root, an ascending aorta and a single bypass. That swift in-hospital recovery obviously led to a false sense of security, which as I've read here can be a common trap. My heart clearly does NOT like pushing the boundaries, especially burning the candle at both ends.
A little background…
In normal times, my situation would have had an extra level of stress. While recovery from the actual heart surgery has been fairly straight-forward, there was a wrinkle: Like many people, my bowels did not want to cooperate and "wake up" the way they should have post-surgery. This is called ileus. That led to some bowel discomfort and a night from hell (for me AND the poor nurse who was charged with clean up) during the first night in the step-down unit.
During a scan of my abdomen to rule out a bowel blockage, they noted a "possible" abscess, or tiny infection (<2 cm) near my prostate. That set off all kinds of alarms and visits with a urologist and infectious disease doc. After a day of trying to figure out the right solution – either remove the abscess immediately and culture the infection, to determine what drug should be used to treat it, or treat with multiple antibiotics NOW – the surgeon (who is the final arbiter) ruled to start treating with antibiotics. He felt it would be best to wait to treat the abscess until after six weeks post-surgery, which is the most sensitive time for an infection to occur.
To treat NOW meant I would need a picc line inserted in my arm but more importantly, that my caregiver – AKA my already stressed-out wife – would need to learn how to attach the IV. This is not something she is wired to do, and it's a tricky process that requires compete sterility. As a result, every 12 hours, for three sessions, a nurse came to our hotel room in Cleveland to teach us how to do this on our own. Each drip takes an hour, with prep taking another 30 mins. That meant less sleep, which triggered Angry Heart.
Combine that with an early flight back on Saturday and I was extremely fatigued.
So was my wife. We typically split chores. I ALWAYS do the grocery shopping and know where everything is in the various stores. After ANY trip our routine is that I go to the store, she unpacks.
This time was different. I couldn't help. That meant the burden for EVERYTHING was on her. After a two-hour drive from LAX, and jet-lagged to boot after a highly emotional two-week trip, she had to get to the store to restock our bare cupboard.
BUT… these aren't normal times. Thanks to the coronavirus, the shelves were empty. She was able to find basics. By then she was exhausted. I was exhausted. We skipped the day's IV treatments (doctor said it was fine to do.)
By 6 pm – 9 p.m. Cleveland time – I was exhausted. I turned in for the night, knowing full-well I would be awake by 1. (Need to get back on CA time ASAP.)
That got me to wondering what the word "rest" after surgery means, and I think I'm starting to figure it out. Let's just say I told my biz partner I'll be on reduced bandwidth for at least another week or two, if not longer. Then again, in an odd twist of fate, so will everybody else.
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Herb Greenberg
San Diego CA
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