Wednesday will make two weeks since I had triple bypass surgery. Still very uncomfortable and bloated. My message to everyone: Take care of yourselves. You really want to avoid this at all costs. If you're heavy, lose weight. If you're a smoker, quit. If you're a diabetic, eat right, exercise, and be the healthiest you possibly can.
A few observations:
* Hallucinations aren't always extraordinary or pleasurable. The morphine played games with me, most of them quite mundane. I hallucinated a trip to the hospital cafeteria with a doctor I don't believe I ever met. I hallucinated conversations with hospital staff. Worst of all, I hallucinated an additional five and a half hours of torture with the breathing tube stuck in my throat, hitting against my insides, making it near-impossible to breathe.
* The most memorable hallucination was of Richard Dreyfuss. Yes, someone I have never appreciated. I put him in the same category as Robin Williams, Hugh Grant, and Julia Roberts. Yuck.
But in my hallucination, Dreyfuss was my roommate. For the first night following surgery, he was on the other side of my room, generally quiet, but occasionally coughing. In the morning, he put on his 1940s newspaper man's hat, adjusted his gown, nodded, and exited. Later I discovered that I was in a private room. Funny, if I could have my choice of celebrity, he sure wouldn't have been Richard. Johnny Depp would have topped my list. But the morphine thought otherwise.
* Yes, there is plenty of incision pain, but the worst things for me have been the bloating, constipation, water retention, swelling, nausea, and vomiting attributable to the body's response to the anesthesia and the pain killers. Though I weened myself off the pain meds early on and have only had a few Tylenol during the past few days, my body is so distended from nearly 20 pounds of excess weight. If I could only shed all this, I'd be sore but otherwise fine.
* For the first time in my entire life, my breasts aren't firm and perky. Muscles were no doubt cut that have made them less alert. Hopefully, once I build my muscles back, they will spring into action once again.
* When I first started dialysis, all the nurses recommended that I wear sweat pants in order to be more comfortable. I resisted this, holding to the aesthetic notion that sweat pants are a sure sign that one has given up. Well, since surgery I have been wearing nothing but sweat pants as my jeans don't fit.
* I am sure that I have never been so exhausted as I have been during these past two weeks. Some days, even slightly turning my head or uttering a few words was dizzying. One evening I took three hours to eat dinner, falling asleep with the sandwich in my hand. This extreme weakness was emotionally exhausting as well, carrying with it the belief that I would always be like this, that things would not improve, that I couldn't take one more second of this.
* For the most part, friends have been very supportive. Though I have not heard a peep from some, this is the exception rather than the rule. I have appreciated the emails, the gifts, the cards, the prayers, the calls (though I was often too weak to talk for long), the visits, and the homemade meals. So very much appreciated.
* I am so tired of all this, so very ready to be back in the land of the living.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
How I View the Practice of Medicine
This whole bypass thing has made me look at how I view the practice of medicine. It's about time, isn't it, that I ask, "What do I really feel about medicine?" since it's such a huge component of my life and has been a major player since the age of 13.
My friend Susie, who has listened to my despair regarding my situation and has given me much-needed pep talks, has often shared her views on medicine. She is a big believer. She feels that doctors and the technology that they employ are often miracle workers. Susie gave one of her kidneys to her friend Ron, and she is convinced that I too will receive not only a kidney transplant but a pancreas as well. She is firm believer in the good that medicine does in the world. Though Susie doesn't talk of God per se, perhaps a way of thinking of Susie's view is to see doctors, especially surgeons, as God's servants on earth, bringing God's healing energy to patients.
This is a beautiful image, and one I'm sure a lot of generally healthy people share. I wish I shared it, but I don't. At best I think of medicine as a small business owner no doubt thinks of the government. The government says it's here to help, but in fact any encounter with the government just means more paperwork, more taxes, more time and energy expended on tasks one would rather not do, more of one's life zapped by things one finds distasteful, unpleasant, and inconvenient. On my worst days, I think of medicine as I think of the so-called defense industry--a monster that is zapping resources, destroying lives, and is only interested in profit at all costs.
I primarily look at medicine as the force that has put restrictions on my life, not as a force that has kept me alive.
Needless to say, this is a piss-poor attitude to take. I consider medicine the default position, what I am doing until God answers my prayers. And of course I realize that it's difficult to get the best out of something that I resent and don't trust, sometimes even despise.
My friend Susie, who has listened to my despair regarding my situation and has given me much-needed pep talks, has often shared her views on medicine. She is a big believer. She feels that doctors and the technology that they employ are often miracle workers. Susie gave one of her kidneys to her friend Ron, and she is convinced that I too will receive not only a kidney transplant but a pancreas as well. She is firm believer in the good that medicine does in the world. Though Susie doesn't talk of God per se, perhaps a way of thinking of Susie's view is to see doctors, especially surgeons, as God's servants on earth, bringing God's healing energy to patients.
This is a beautiful image, and one I'm sure a lot of generally healthy people share. I wish I shared it, but I don't. At best I think of medicine as a small business owner no doubt thinks of the government. The government says it's here to help, but in fact any encounter with the government just means more paperwork, more taxes, more time and energy expended on tasks one would rather not do, more of one's life zapped by things one finds distasteful, unpleasant, and inconvenient. On my worst days, I think of medicine as I think of the so-called defense industry--a monster that is zapping resources, destroying lives, and is only interested in profit at all costs.
I primarily look at medicine as the force that has put restrictions on my life, not as a force that has kept me alive.
Needless to say, this is a piss-poor attitude to take. I consider medicine the default position, what I am doing until God answers my prayers. And of course I realize that it's difficult to get the best out of something that I resent and don't trust, sometimes even despise.
Finally Getting the Whole Story
Friday was a difficult day. As is so often the case, I found out that the whole bypass thing is much more than what it was initially billed to be. This happens quite often. I am told a rosier story than is the actual course of events, I buy into the rosier picture, and then I am given the whole story.
One of the components of this pre-op day was a consult with a cardiac surgeon. I must say that he was the best listener I have ever encountered in a doctor. He didn't trivialize my feelings, and he didn't give me "shut up" messages by telling me about how other patients have it much worse or how facing difficult tasks is everyone's lot. He actually listened, with eye contact and with empathy.
I told him that my mid-section was already "mutilated" with the insulin pump and PD tubing and transfer set. I asked him to not only think of me as a patient but as a woman and do his best to keep my chest as attractive as possible. I wondered if he could approach my heart from the side. He said that is sometimes done with single or double bypass but not with triple. He said that he had been a surgeon at Columbia, Emory, and UCLA, and had pioneered non-invasive surgery especially for women, making the cut under the breasts, but that was not an option for me either. (Unfortunately, he will not be doing my bypasses, as the method for operating on me is the run-of-the-mill M.O., he is saved for more challenging, fancier operations.) In short, I'm looking at a gash about eight inches long that will show even with a modest scoop neck. Then he told me about the two cuts below my breasts, the two shunts in my arms, the shunt in my neck, and the two IVs in my wrists.
Add to this the cuts in my legs. When I asked the young physician's assistant if it were possible to only take veins above my kneee so that I could wear skirts, she laughed and considered this strange, as if to say, "Why should someone like you be concerned about being attractive?"
So I am not feeling good about any of this. I was feeling fine about it prior to Friday's pre-op appointments, and now I feel as if it's yet another way that the medical profession is restricting, inconveniencing, ostracizing, and isolating me.
One of the components of this pre-op day was a consult with a cardiac surgeon. I must say that he was the best listener I have ever encountered in a doctor. He didn't trivialize my feelings, and he didn't give me "shut up" messages by telling me about how other patients have it much worse or how facing difficult tasks is everyone's lot. He actually listened, with eye contact and with empathy.
I told him that my mid-section was already "mutilated" with the insulin pump and PD tubing and transfer set. I asked him to not only think of me as a patient but as a woman and do his best to keep my chest as attractive as possible. I wondered if he could approach my heart from the side. He said that is sometimes done with single or double bypass but not with triple. He said that he had been a surgeon at Columbia, Emory, and UCLA, and had pioneered non-invasive surgery especially for women, making the cut under the breasts, but that was not an option for me either. (Unfortunately, he will not be doing my bypasses, as the method for operating on me is the run-of-the-mill M.O., he is saved for more challenging, fancier operations.) In short, I'm looking at a gash about eight inches long that will show even with a modest scoop neck. Then he told me about the two cuts below my breasts, the two shunts in my arms, the shunt in my neck, and the two IVs in my wrists.
Add to this the cuts in my legs. When I asked the young physician's assistant if it were possible to only take veins above my kneee so that I could wear skirts, she laughed and considered this strange, as if to say, "Why should someone like you be concerned about being attractive?"
So I am not feeling good about any of this. I was feeling fine about it prior to Friday's pre-op appointments, and now I feel as if it's yet another way that the medical profession is restricting, inconveniencing, ostracizing, and isolating me.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tapping Into the God Consciousness
This morning, as I lay face up on the table at the acupuncturist's office, I received some powerful images. As is generally the case when I am lying in the dark with needles placed in the apppropriate acupoints, visions passed before my consciousness.
For the most part, these images are of people I have never met, or at least have no memory of ever having met. They are photographically detailed, but more than that, they are animated, as if the people are living and breathing in front of me. I love these beautiful moments when I dip into the river of humanity, the collective consciousness in which tiny snatches of lives lived long ago and/or far away are presented to me. I may see two Middle Eastern men drinking tea in a cafe, or a young Austrian girl with flowers in her hands, or a woman's face streaked with joyful tears, or a man in a shabby suit hopping on a bus.
These images always strike me as intimate, even though there is nothing cloaked or sexual about them. The intimacy is in the fact that I am being allowed to see these precious, seemingly inconsequential moments that compose each of our lives and have been the stuff of human existence for eons and everywhere on the planet. They strike me as incredibly lovely for their very ordinariness.
Sometimes I am given images of objects--say, a book, a shoe, a painting, a view from a window, a dinner plate. Again, I am struck by the intimacy of these encounters. These are the forgotten possessions of people who lived long ago or far away or may be living right now, participating in the vast ocean of humanity.
I once read what I take to be the most wondrous definition of God--that which lovingly remembers our lives in every last detail. Even as I write this, I am moved to tears. To think that we are not forgotten, but that every thought, every smile, every gesture, every tear is lovingly remembered.
It is during times like these in the acupuncturist's office that I feel I am tapping into the God consciousness, moments in which I, too, am lovingly remembering lives that otherwise might have been lost without a trace. What could be more intimate than this.
Today, the images were of a different sort. I saw a white-sheeted hospital bed. I could not see the person on the bed, but I felt deeply connected to whomever it was, as if it were me. All I could see were various apparati on the bed, though they didn't look like IVs or monitors. They were more colorful, more playful than ordinary medical equipment. As I beheld the bed, an intense white light surrounded its mid-section. This light was approximately three feet in diameter at its most intense. No doctors or nurses were in the room. The bed simply glowed with this white light that appeared sentient, alive, full of wisdom and love. The image disappeared, then reappeared as if to reinforce its message: I am protected, I am loved, I am richly deserving of complete and miraculous healing.
For the most part, these images are of people I have never met, or at least have no memory of ever having met. They are photographically detailed, but more than that, they are animated, as if the people are living and breathing in front of me. I love these beautiful moments when I dip into the river of humanity, the collective consciousness in which tiny snatches of lives lived long ago and/or far away are presented to me. I may see two Middle Eastern men drinking tea in a cafe, or a young Austrian girl with flowers in her hands, or a woman's face streaked with joyful tears, or a man in a shabby suit hopping on a bus.
These images always strike me as intimate, even though there is nothing cloaked or sexual about them. The intimacy is in the fact that I am being allowed to see these precious, seemingly inconsequential moments that compose each of our lives and have been the stuff of human existence for eons and everywhere on the planet. They strike me as incredibly lovely for their very ordinariness.
Sometimes I am given images of objects--say, a book, a shoe, a painting, a view from a window, a dinner plate. Again, I am struck by the intimacy of these encounters. These are the forgotten possessions of people who lived long ago or far away or may be living right now, participating in the vast ocean of humanity.
I once read what I take to be the most wondrous definition of God--that which lovingly remembers our lives in every last detail. Even as I write this, I am moved to tears. To think that we are not forgotten, but that every thought, every smile, every gesture, every tear is lovingly remembered.
It is during times like these in the acupuncturist's office that I feel I am tapping into the God consciousness, moments in which I, too, am lovingly remembering lives that otherwise might have been lost without a trace. What could be more intimate than this.
Today, the images were of a different sort. I saw a white-sheeted hospital bed. I could not see the person on the bed, but I felt deeply connected to whomever it was, as if it were me. All I could see were various apparati on the bed, though they didn't look like IVs or monitors. They were more colorful, more playful than ordinary medical equipment. As I beheld the bed, an intense white light surrounded its mid-section. This light was approximately three feet in diameter at its most intense. No doctors or nurses were in the room. The bed simply glowed with this white light that appeared sentient, alive, full of wisdom and love. The image disappeared, then reappeared as if to reinforce its message: I am protected, I am loved, I am richly deserving of complete and miraculous healing.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Envisioning Protection for my Kidneys
When you see me going through surgery, please see my kidneys being fully protected. Just as with the angiogram that I had a little over a week ago, bypass surgery is often damaging to the kidneys, as they do not like the way blood flows to them during surgery. (During open-heart surgery, a machine does the heart's work, and it doesn't pump the same way that the heart does.) Any further deterioration of the kidneys would most likely necessitate hemodialysis done in a clinic rather than a continuation of the at-home peritoneal dialysis I am currently doing.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Triple Bypass
Triple bypass surgery is scheduled for Wednesday, Nov. 18, at 5:15 a.m. Prior to that, I will spend two days--Nov. 13 and Nov. 17--at the hospital in pre-op tests and consults.
One friend said I must feel scared and overwhelmed, but I actually don't. I really don't feel much at all. It just seems like another thing to do, that's all. I'm really calm about the whole thing. I sure hope no one else tries to stir up any drama or worry because I sure don't have any.
The only thing is that I have a tremendous amount of work to get done in the next 12 days. Massages to give. Mom to take care of. But mostly a lot of research and writing I must finish for a client. Whew!
Please see the surgery as going smoothly and my recovery proceeding quickly without incident. And then see me getting on the transplant list, as I was told I would not get on the list if I didn't go ahead with the bypasses. But that doesn't necessarily mean that I will get on the list even if I do the surgery.
One friend said I must feel scared and overwhelmed, but I actually don't. I really don't feel much at all. It just seems like another thing to do, that's all. I'm really calm about the whole thing. I sure hope no one else tries to stir up any drama or worry because I sure don't have any.
The only thing is that I have a tremendous amount of work to get done in the next 12 days. Massages to give. Mom to take care of. But mostly a lot of research and writing I must finish for a client. Whew!
Please see the surgery as going smoothly and my recovery proceeding quickly without incident. And then see me getting on the transplant list, as I was told I would not get on the list if I didn't go ahead with the bypasses. But that doesn't necessarily mean that I will get on the list even if I do the surgery.
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