Oww Oww & Oww

When they crack your chest, they tell you within six weeks you should start feeling normal again. Liars! They say that so you will go away and leave them alone. They say it so you'll agree to their operations and assorted tortures before you know the full extent of what you're in for. They say it because there is no other choice for you and they have to say something. They figure six weeks is a short enough time period to keep you from running out the door, screaming. It's a barbaric operation, about like surviving an autopsy.

It has been ten weeks. I hurt. I mean I HURT. I'm not kidding. My hurt rates enough narcotic to keep me semi-conscious and enough ativan to keep me from going on a killing rampage (since I am fairly certain all killing rampages begin with a great pain.)

My left boob--the purplest one--is really screamy sore, in the way that a badly infected tooth is screamy sore. I was told it's because they used the left mammary artery in one of my grafts. Since its blood supply has essentially been cut off, the boob is saying "OMGWTF where the hell is my blood supply? I better send a distress signal!!" It is still discolored and kind of lumpy looking. Meh. It's not like I had plans to pose for Playboy, but still.

My ribs and sternum are a nightmare. I can feel them move. I can feel the radiator clamps, or whatever the hell they used to clamp it back together, under my skin...like they're trying to poke out. With each breath, every rib gives me a little stabbity stab. If the damned sheet on the bed happens to touch my chest I gasp in pain. I just fucking hurt. All of me hurts. Sometimes I can no longer distinguish which hurty part is which.

Apparently in the fall of 2008 I had a fairly significant heart attack. I remember this because I had gone to the ER during a trip to Baltimore and said specifically, "I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK!" The ER said my EKG looked *beautiful,* and it was probably my stomach or pancreas. I said, "But what about this elephant sitting on my chest, stabbing me with a daggar?" They said, "It's your imagination." Bastards. FYI: An EKG does not show all areas of the heart.

I cut my trip to Baltimore short, came back to Memphis and was treated for Pancreatitis. They figured "holy crap she has a monster pain and it's not her heart, it MUST be her pancreas." Pfft. Shorty after this I developed an infection in my jaw and started losing bone and teeth. All of these symptoms point to heart disease. NONE of it was noticed until it was too late to fix.

My right coronary artery has a 100% blockage and the bottom of my heart is essentially dead. They didn't bypass this area because it wouldn't have helped--the tissue wouldn't revive-- it had been dead or dying for the past three years. THIS blockage was the elephant on my chest.

They did bypass the areas that could still be saved, the 70-90% blockages. I have significant heart disease and nobody noticed. I wish I could roll some heads but I don't know where to start. I had a "beautiful EKG," I have low blood pressure, I have normal range weight, and my fasting cholesterol numbers were ok. That's why they didn't notice.

My puppy finally made them notice. When I couldn't keep up with the puppy - couldn't breathe while walking around the ring at puppy class, that's when I finally got some attention. Instead of the crazy nut job with the constant pain, overnight I became the dying heart patient in need of immediate surgery.

At that point, I went into hyperdrive. I came home, arranged for care of dogs, revised will, made a new living will, paid everything that needed to be paid and set up auto-pay for everything else. Did every scrap of laundry, changed the sheets, vacuumed, and went grocery shopping for things that would be easy to fix (frozen meals)....because I knew when I got back it would be a long time before I could do any domestic crap again. I threw some toiletries in an overnight bag and went to the hospital, scared out of my mind and actively trying to not think.

The following days went by in a blur of pain. I got to go home as soon as my blood sugar levels came down to normal and I no longer needed the insulin drip. I was there for seven days.

I started to cry in the hospital. More or less I have continued to cry since I left. Apparently major depression is something common to all heart operations. They claim it's an affect of being on the heart/lung machine--part of "pump head," along with a host of other cognitive and emotional impairments.

If I had it to do over again, I would choose to just stay home and let whatever happen happen. In the future I will make sure I have a porch, just so I can crawl under it and be left alone, like an old hound dog. One thing's for damned sure, I will never have my chest opened again.

I see my Cardiologist Monday at noon. I may punch him in the mouth for good measure.