This one is super long, but I'm okay with that. I'm writing it all; I'm writing it once; and then I'm putting it firmly in my rearview mirror.
From SD, we got sent to CO. Lovely hotel, lovely lake, lovely town. Even a farmers market. Lovely, masked and socially distanced farmers market.
About midnight overnight between April 21 and 22, I woke up in pain. Some of the worst pain I have ever experienced, and I was awake during my heart surgery. I finally had to wake My Favorite. I threw up and started feeling better. We got me back in bed and thought it was okay—until it wasn’t. It was time for the ER.
We were in Frisco, CO, which is about 9000 feet. Small town, small hospital, but an ER. It didn’t take them long to diagnose a bad gallbladder and say it needed to come out. I did not care at this point because I was on a morphine drip, thankyouverymuch.
I’m realizing that if I write this in my normal style, it’s going to be a novel, so we’re going with facts, so we can get this one told and move on.
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| Gallbladder has to come out, but check out the morphine eyes |
Gallbladder came out, but the doctor had thrown a stone. Small hospital. They sent me by ambulance to Denver. It was a trauma hospital, so yay! Totally equipped to remove a thrown stone.
Got me in the same day, got me out the same day, My Favorite came and got me (his work had given him 48 hours off to take care of me), and we headed back up to Frisco.
By the time we got back to Frisco, something was seriously wrong. As much pain but different. It was my lung. Back to the ER—the same night after I’d been sent to Denver earlier that day!
Everyone realized that I had been sent out of Denver without pain killers, so we were all 99% sure that was the problem. Except this pain was different, so I kept saying that. ER doctor suggested another MRI, just to be sure. He even joked “the worst thing that can happen is you’ve got a blood clot on your ling! Hahahahahaha!” Hahahahahaha, we all laughed.
However much longer (morphine drip again) and after lots of people being amazed I was back, doc comes back in.
“Guess what!??? You’ve got a blood clot on your lungs!” We all wtf’d together, and they admitted me for an overnight of IV Heparin (the blood thinner).
After My Favorite got me checked in, my really cool doctor came and asked how I was doing. I had a splitting headache. We batted around ideas for a bit about what meds I could take with all the morphine I'd been given ~ and why the hell was my head hurting with all the morphine I'd been given??? ~ until it dawned on me I hadn't had a cup of coffee since the morning of April 21 and it was now almost April 23. She brought me burned, stale, nurses' station, hospital coffee and it was, I swear to you, the best cup of coffee I have ever had. And my headache went away.
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| Doing great back at the Frisco hospital. More morphine eyes |
My Favorite stuck around a while, walked me seven laps around the ward, and then I shoo'ed him away. He had to work tomorrow. I was fine ~ seven laps! ~ he could come get me the next afternoon when his shift was finished.
When it came time for me to sleep, the night nurse (Stephanie S.) came in and stressed that, even though I was doing really well, I should call her if I needed anything, especially to get up. I was attached to the IV, in those weird hospital slippers, and really, it would just be easier. I did mention that I was swollen. She made a note of it; took off the compression socks that someone else had put on me (these are on wrong; do you usually wear these? no? you shouldn't have these on...). But there had been morphine. And surgeries. So, we weren't too worried.
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| Swollen, but doing well |
Sometime in the night, I had to pee. Called her, she came in, we joked a bit, sat me up, stood me up ~ and I had stood up too fast. Told her maybe we should sit back down for a minute. And that's when it gets fuzzy. I don't remember a whole lot except flashes and Stephanie. I know she almost immediately took my blood pressure and the systolic was 66. She tried the other arm, and it was the same.
After that, all I know is her voice asking me if I was with her. When I would mumble no, she would do the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing... My image of her is sitting behind me, arms wrapped around me, holding on tight. I know this didn't happened physically, because she had serious work to be doing, but I have no doubt she was doing this emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. I have no idea how long she fought for me, but I know she was doing battle and that she saved my life.
At one point, I looked over and saw that the first nurse assisting Stephanie had been replaced by a second nurse. The second nurse was at the machines (what machines? I don’t know), scowling. I remember she looked annoyed. I remember wondering if I had annoyed the first nurse so she had left and the second nurse was scowling because I was a bad patient. I remember not wanting to have annoyed her.
The next thing I knew, there room was full of people talking about very bad things and the doctor who had given me coffee was being told I was conscious. She came over to me and I asked “how much trouble am I in?” She said “Well, there's been a cascade, but it’s still manageable.”
I remember the doctor giving me her phone and it being My Favorite. I told him I needed him to stay at work; we were going to need his medical insurance. Stephanie came by to wish me well at her shift change. I hope I see her again someday. They wanted to give me blood, but I hadn’t been typed yet and the hospital didn’t have any O-negative. They hung what I was to learn was the second bag of plasma. They talked about an ambulance and agreed there wasn’t time. I asked for my pillow, Bear, and my computer because I had a deadline for a client. They humored me and put my computer bag on my gurney. I closed my eyes and was in a helicopter. I managed to tell them my husband is a pilot; they said “then you’re family. We’ll do right by you.”
I vaguely remember ICU and, yes, emailing my client to explain I would be missing my deadline. I met the nurses. The life-flight nurse came running in to give me swag, since we were family. They finally had my blood type and hung a bag. I emailed my attorney (hi Mrs Pike!) and my executor (hi Elder!), introduced them, made some updates to my will, and waited. I called Dr. B (who is different from Dr. Bella, for the new readers; she's an ER doctor out of Boston and one of my dearest friends) and asked her to please help My Favorite make the right decision if things should go sideways; that she was part of my plan and he would need her, and to not let him keep me on a machine. And waited.
A side note: I am almost phobic about bowel movements in public. The thought of being bedridden and having a stranger wipe my butt? Almost paralyzing. But I’m me, so I took the bull by the horns and said to the nurse, “tell me it’s okay if I have to use a bed pan, even if I have to poop.” She said, “oh! Totally okay! You’re expected to; I’m trained for it.” The she looked at me, made a decision, and said, “and if it helps, I’m paid really well to clean you up.” It helped.
My Favorite called…or maybe texted…? But he was going to have my mom come out so I wouldn’t be alone while he was at work. Then we remembered COVID and her being 78 and maybe that wasn’t smart. He called my sister instead. Somewhere in here, they hung another bag.
Finally, a doctor came in and told me I was stable (although, I think I might have seen him before... This is when I remember him best). I had massive internal bleeding from one of the previous procedures but he was going to go in and fix me.
They rolled mw into surgery, and one of the nurses said my streak reminded her of Magenta from Rocky Horror. They started singing Time Warp. I announced “my surgical team is the best surgical team evah!” Then I muttered "let's do the time warp again..." I had just enough time to wonder if that would be the last thing I ever said, decide I was okay if it were, and then the anesthesia went on.
It obviously turned out okay. Here we are.
Some other things to remember:
My sister came. I needed her, and she came. Those two sentences are the defining sentences of our relationship for the rest of my life.
The company found relief for My Favorite and told him to get off the hill and come find me. With the help of my sister, he even found the window of my room. Everyone helped me get to the window, so we could see each other.
The ICU night nurse’s name was Daniel. He kept me clean, kept me from being scared, was deeply kind. I wish I had had the chance to say that to him. He didn’t like the look of my incision site and the way it was still bleeding, so had his charge nurse come in. She didn’t like it either. She asked for trauma to come by and see it. Only trauma ended up with a horrible car accident and, as she put it, "real trauma, insides being outsides" so he would come in before he left for the evening. He came in, couldn't find the light, turned on the flashlight on his phone, gave it a cursory glance, and said, "it's a clot; it's fine." and walked out. In a little bit, Daniel came back in, and asked me if trauma had been by. I said yes, but that I wished Daniel had been in there. When he asked why, I said that I wasn't sure trauma had really looked. To which Daniel replied, "yeah.... I wondered about that. I made a note for day shift." I wish I'd had the chance to say thank you. Day shift nurse came in, looked at it cursorily, and said it was a clot, some of the night nurses liked to find drama. A doctor from Surgery came in, had seen Daniel's note, and asked what was going on. I explained all of it, and said "So, the two people who have looked closely are concerned. The two people who looked cursorily aren't. I'm asking you to please look closely, see what's really there, and make a decision based on that, not just based on what you expect to see. If it's fine, great! But I want to make sure." So she did. She said "When you first look at it, it looks like a normal post-operative clot. But, if you look closer, it's not. Something's still bleeding. They made a good catch last night." (Note, it would take the rest of the week for Surgery to finally agree with her and stitch it up. Even then, the man who did it was disinterested and wanted to go home and did such a poor job that it is the one thing that still acts up to this day.)
I was bandaged on my tummy and rolled out of ICU to a room. And I kept not being released. The company needed My Favorite to fly two days next week for relief reasons. I suggested he fly these two days, while Sister was still with us and then he could be off for the full two weeks the company had given him. She agreed and we had a plan.
She sat. I lay on the hospital bed. We talked. I napped. We napped. And doctors kept coming in. I was to find out later I had severe pancreatitis, was borderline septic, and still had the blood clots, so yeah, I was a mess and no one was quite sure how it had all happened.
God…there’s so much. The night nurse who made me afraid I was going to die because she seemed so incompetent. The shower that felt so fucking good and made me smell so much better. The other nurses who made me know I was going to be okay. Calls from Elder, who found my hospital and room phone number from NC. Realizing that we hadn’t kept Gnightgirl in the loop. Texting Apollo instead of Starbuck because I knew she must not get any of this news without him right next to her. The constancy of Sister and My Favorite. When My Favorite first walked into my room, I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed. Gut-wrenching, terrified, sobbed. I was vaguely aware of running footsteps in the hall and the door being thrown open ~ and then being closed very quietly and gently. The first afternoon he was with me and I fell asleep with my hand on his leg as he sat in the chair next to my bed. I woke up more than an hour later to him still there, my hand still on his leg, in a dark room, with him quietly looking at his phone. The Hampton Inn where Sister and My Favorite were staying was almost directly across the street from the hospital (I think, maybe, Sister walked it once...?), so it got a lot of hospital traffic. One afternoon, My Favorite walked in and the front desk clerk offered him her condolences. Luckily, she had the wrong guest ~ but it certainly put things in perspective. Being told the first night out of ICU that I needed to order dinner soon, or I would be stuck with what they had on the floor, which was only Jello, graham crackers, and milk. Jello, graham crackers, and milk has never sounded so good. The graham crackers and milk became my breakfast for the next several months. For weeks, the only things I wanted to eat were graham crackers and milk, hummus and crackers, and so-well-done-it-breaks-if-you-drop-it carne asada; we came to call it "jerky steak."
Once I was released from the hospital, the three of us went for dinner at Red Lobster. I wanted crab. It was the closest to normal I had felt in two weeks ~ or forever, depending on one's perspective. The next morning, we went down for breakfast before Sister had to leave. They found me a spot to sit and wait while they made me a waffle and got me coffee. I was so tired, still, that I needed to rest my head. But I also knew that if either of them came back to the table to find me with my eyes closed and my head back, it wouldn't be good. So, I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and held my thumb up, just in case they brought my plate.
We stayed in the area for 3-5 more days ~ I don't remember and tbh, I don't think I knew at the time ~ to make sure everything took. But when it came time to leave, we were given strict instructions not to take me above 9500 ft, or the stent they put in to repair the bleeding could give way under the pressure. Normally, no problem. But we were in the Rocky Mountains. Here's one of the reasons to have an aviator around ~ he found us a way out of the mountains that kept us under 9500 ft. We got up above 9000 a couple times, but never broke the limit. I couldn't drive for longer than 4-5 hours a day, with stops every 1.5-2 for walkabout because of the clots. So, My Favorite mapped out Denver, CO to La Verne, CA in 4.5 hour sections. I slept. My stent and lungs hurt. From the stent or the clots? Probably both. Breathing wasn't always easy. My Favorite was always there, always steady, always working on getting me down the mountain, finding me food I could eat, and a clean place to sleep. We stayed almost entirely (entirely?) at Hampton Inns. They would be clean, comfortable, well-located, and 100% reliable. And hat tip to them, because they always were. Hamptons are now like coming home. Which is why I now love me a Hampton.
I also have a soft spot for Salt Lake City. Now, in fairness, I've always kind of liked it; since last summer, I have a soft spot. It was so clean. The city was fresh. And warm. And we were officially out of the mountains.
Eventually, my GP from Philadelphia found me a doctor in San Francisco who could take the stent out at the end of October (it needed to be in for six weeks {eight weeks?} but I couldn't fly until it came out, so I could go home and get it done at Penn Medicine). I pretended to be more alert and out from under the anesthesia than I was so I could get back to the hotel and My Favorite. We found ourselves a cute place, not far from the hospital. They called him and he pulled up and got me (he couldn't wait in the hospital because of COVID so he sat in the parking lot for I don't know how long, waiting, so he would be right there when I was ready).
My clots were gone; my stent was out. I would be on the blood thinners for another month, but then it would be over. Then it was over.
There are some interesting changes. I still can't eat peanut butter or peanuts; other nuts are iffy. Chocolate is no longer my go-to dessert, but I do love something lemony these days. Although I'm driving longer than 4-5 hours at a time now, I still chart my gas stops to hit every 2.5-3 hours for walkabout. The days of driving 9, 10, 11 hours at a stretch are over. That's probably best anyway.
The US medical system is a fucking disaster. "Just do this..." is an impossibility. Prescriptions are insanely cost-prohibitive. I sobbed at a CVS in Ukiah, CA because nothing was working the way it was "just supposed to."
My friends are... my lifeline. Literally. In ways they understand now and I won't ever forget. Dr. Bella wanting to know what the doctors were saying, so she could tell me if they were right. Nurbanu asking for My Favorite's number, so she could be in touch with him, as well. Nobel sending me prayers so often it felt as if she sent them every time she said hers. I know she prayed for me every time. My godmother, whom I haven't seen in nearly 30 years, offering to come sit with me if I needed her. BIL handling everything so that Sister could be with me and not worry about home.
The pictures are here now. They aren't nice. There's one that I sent as Proof of Life when I first got to ICU that probably scared people. I thought I was sending reassurance. Looking at it now, not so much. There's blood. And me in hospitals. But there's also me not in hospitals. Skip if you want. I understand.
My first word when I woke up after each surgery was "David." No one is surprised.
And thank the Goddess, the adventure continues.
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