Heart Surgery of a different kind

For the past nearly four months I prayed that I would hear from my wife, and that she would just call me to let me know how she was doing. My prayers were finally answered this morning, and I got my wish. She called me at about 1:00am, and while I was very glad to hear her voice, after we hung up, it occured to me I need to be more careful what I wish for. She sounded great, her voice very much music to my ears, but an anchor to my heart. I hate to admit that I was not as ready to hear from her as I had thought. Still, I have no regrets, Even though hearing her voice only cut deeply into my heart with surgical precision. I do not believe it was her intention to hurt me. Once again I have control over how I choose to respond. I choose to respond to her in love. I may never ever be her husband again, but I really do not wish to lose the friendship too. She is a very significant part of my life, and married or not, she is more than my friend, she is my best friend, and to the larger degree she is my family. Can I consider her like a sister? We are at least that close. I value her friendship, and her as a person. I cannot think of anyone in the world that it matters more to me what they think of me.

Another day pretty much down the tubes

I can't believe this. I have been feeling kinda lousy for a week now, but it seems to be getting worse, not better. I went to bed last night about 1am, and here it is nearly 2 in the afternoon, and I only woke up a little while ago. Some might look at that statement and go "But it is only Tuesday, and you slept 12 hours straight? Oh... here, let me pull out my miniature violin and play "My Heart Bleeds For You!"

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful to have the sleep, especially since last week I was getting an hour at a time. But it concerns me too, because my heart has been slipping in and out of rythym so much. I am just sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.

The pain of healing

There are different kinds of pain, just as there are different kinds of injuries, and there are different kinds of healing.Accross the board, healing is painful to differing degrees. I also believe that pain is a very individual thing. It bothers me when you know what you feel, and physicians dismiss you. I received only one snide remark from my cardiologist, and it hurt my feelings enough that he did not believe what I said, I more or less quit going to see him. I have missed a lot of appointments. The keep scheduling them, and I keep missing them, but my visiting nurse plans on making me go next week. I guess I probably should since I have been having problems.

Anyway, to pick up where I left off yesterday.... once I got home, things changed. No longer on the morphine, the pain became more of an issue. I was on some really good pain medication, but it still hurt more than I ever though possible. I gained a new appreciation for my mother who went through a quadruple bypass, yet never once complained. I guess I am a wuss. Mom was among the strongest women I know. It really is a toss up between her, and her older sister Jean. Jean was something else. One day maybe I should write about her.

Many things that I had taken for granted before surgery I found to be difficult. Eating was difficult because many of the foods I liked for some reason did not taste good anymore. But additionally, I found myself more prone to choke on what I ate. Little things like sitting and laying down were difficult, and in fact I was unable to lay down to sleep. I tried many times, but would hurt and panic, and would head out to the one chair in the house I could sit in with the least pain. But sleeping still evaded me since I was unable to use my CPAP at the pressure I was accustomed to. After some days of complaining to my doctors, the pressure was reduced by 3 cm, and that helped considerably. But I spent many nights pacing and praying. I was prone to panic attacks following surgery, and took a lot of valium to keep me calm. Many times I would walk until I fell down... I do not really know how many days I was unable to sleep, but I know my poor wife was at wits end. I really thought I would never get better.

I was unable to cough, or take deep breaths, and found it difficult and painful to get in and out of cars. Even the weight of the fabric my shirts were made of resting on my incision was uncomfortable. One of the things I was not fully prepared for was the emotional aspect of healing. Apparantly it is common for people following heart surgery to have extreme emotional swings. So many days I would find myself in tears for no apparant reason. My family and friends were so supportive, I cannot begin to tell them how much I appreciate them.

(more to be added to this later)

BREAK BBL

Ticker-ing Away

Last night was not a good night. In fact the past week has been becoming more and more of a pain as each day passed. I cannot begin to wonder why it is that I have more problems at night, I just assume the air is heavier or something. Beyond that, I do not even want to know. It is enough for me that for whatever the reason, my heart seems to work better in the daytime than the nightime. I am afraid if I knew the reason why, I might never sleep at night again. I have a hard enough time with that now.

Prior to March 2004, I never gave my heart a whole lot of thought. I had had a few problems, but I figured it was nothing serious. In fact, on Sunday, March 7th, 2004, I felt good enough to take a vigorous bike ride in the rain (it is Washington, if you don't go out in the rain, you may never go out!) , I pedalled only about 6 miles, but I felt great! It was nice. The following morning I had every intention of enjoying the day, but was sort of dreading the Appointment I had coming up with the cardiologist on the 11th. I woke up and the heart went into arrythmia, and I packed a bag, just in case, took a shower, and sat on the back porch and had a cigarette (yeah, yeah, real smart, I know!) as I waited for the ambulance. They took me to the hospital, and I was cardioverted (shocked) to get the heart back into rythym. Anyway the cardiologist met with me after the procedure and decided since I was already in the hospital, we would just do the procedure a couple days early. He gave me the choice whether I wanted to wait till Thursday, or just get it over with. There have been many times since that I thought I should have run screaming from the hospital at that moment. The next decision I made changed my life forever.... "Sure, Doc, lets get it over with." How was I to know that the uncomfortable and invasive test called an angiogram was actually going to find anything. Every other test, including the one with the radioactive dye injected into the bloodstream I had passed. I guess I figured they would find nothing with this test as well.

An angiogram is in invasive technique, but the results are absolutely conclusive, where a tiny incision is made in your femoral artery at the uppermost inside of your thigh, and a special catheter is inserted which will be fed from the groin, directly into the ventrical of the heart.

Sounds like fun, huh? You betcha! So I was stripped and put in a gown, and put on a guerney (sp?) and wheeled into an operating room. A cold operating room. The test was done, and the doctor explained that there were three blockages, but even then it really did not register what he meant. While the incison was being stitched up, and pressure applied, the Cardiologist conferred with a heart surgeon, and another cardiologist. Pretty much the moment he informed me I would be going in for triple bypass surgery early the next morning, the lights went out. I really do not remember much about the hours that passed (about 16 hours) between the test and the surgery. I only know that for the first time in my life, I was scared for my life. I think I may have been given a sedative, because I really am foggy about the events of that time, and what I do remember is only that I was very vocal to my wife about being afraid. That, and falling out of bed.. lol.

The surgery was textbook perfect, I am told. In spite of my sleep disorder, I came through fine. (Obviously or I would not be here today typing this!) After the tubes were pulled out of my throat, and nose, I was able to move a bit, and was allowed to sit up in a chair, and was given some stale graham crackers and a cup of decaff coffee. To me, it was the best thing I ever tasted. I actually savored it! I had made it! What I did not realize is that the worst was still to come. The Healing process. No one really prepared me for what was to come and the whole emotional thing that comes with it.

Over the next few days, a lot was going on. I kept getting out of bed because I hurt, the nurses kept putting me back in bed. They finally got tired of that, and I slept in the chair when I slept. My compression bandage was removed (glad for that, it made my arm ache), my stomach tube was pulled,(ouchie!) my catheter removed, (double ouchie!!) and I was slowly graduated to more solid food, if either word is applicable in the hospital... solid, or food... neither word truly describes whatever it was they served me. I do recall one night I saw the menu was roast beef, and I was looking forward to that. My tray arrived with some mashed potatoes and a bowl of broth. I asked "Where's the beef?" (pun not intended) and they pointed to the bowl and said "right there." I pretty much knew it was going to be a long recovery.

Over the course of the next few days I was poked, prodded, and violated in pretty much every way I thought possible. That was until my doctor ordered suppositories. (Too much information? Yeah.... I thought so too. Moving on.....) They had me up and walking with a walker, dragging my IVs along behind me, and were doing test after test, and xrays, and of course there were the pills which seemed to never end. In all I spent six days in the hospital. When I returned home, my healing became much more interesting. In part, I think, because there was no more morphine. I was on some wonderful pain pills, but they did not truly kill the pain, merely dulled it.

At home I faced new challenges.

The little things, or as my brother would say, the small shit.

I miss my brother Joe. He was a big man with an even bigger heart. I think sometimes even he surprised himself when he would come up with something wise to say. He was a jokester, loved a good yarn, and the longer he could string you along, the happier he was. He was in his element. For the pain in the ass he could be, it seemed the older he got, the wiser, and even more lovable he became. In the last couple years I have missed him a lot. How I wish I could talk to him and get his unique perspective on things. But it does not take a large stretch of the imagination to hear his voice, and even conjecture what he might say.

Joe had a theory on life. (A theory? Give the man a few minutes he could theorize your ear off!) It was a simple theory. Here it is, Joe's two rules for living:

Rule Number 1: Don't sweat the small shit.

Rule Number 2: Remember, it is ALL small shit.

Thats it. Nothing groundbreaking there. It is something we have all heard at one time or another, and in fact, we are all familiar with the 1997 publication by Richard Carlson under a slightly different title, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff--and it's all small stuff" Only difference between the two men. Joe had been telling me his rules for living since the late 80's, and Richard Carlson made money by writing a book about it. But I am getting off the track here.

What would Joe say to me now if he were here? He would probably call me a jackass, and tell me to go after her. I'd probably spend some time in jail if I did, but if he were still here, he might visit me in the slammer, and ask me what I was thinking listening to him. Gee! Thanks a lot Joe!

But it is not really Joe that I wanted to write about this morning, it is the small shit he kept telling me not to sweat. Small stuff..... thats what it all boils down to. The little things. It is the little things about a person that we fall in love with.. It is the little things about a person that drive us crazy. It is the little things that piss us off. It is the little things that we fight over. It is the little things we miss when it is all over. Little things, in and of themselves do not necessarily destroy a marriage, but they do destroy the communication. Why? Because as Joe told me not to, I sweated them. I sweated ALL the little things. When there were no little things, I think I even made them up.

To be perfectly frank, I don't even know what we fought about for all those years. Little things. What time are you coming to bed? How hard is it to throw your empty cigarette packs in the trash? Why can't you take of your shoes in one room instead of one in the main entry, and one in the bathroom? Why can't you quit correcting my english? Why can't you turn off the lights when you leave a room? Little things. He said, she said. No wonder we drove each other crazy. The only thing we actually ever agreed on was that we both liked Bold III in the laundry. (Another little thing; surprise, surprise!)

But, in spite of our communication problems, when things were right between us.... What am I talking about? Things were never right between us. We fought like cats and dogs from day one, and it simply got worse as time went on. She bent over backwards for me, and time and time again, I took her for granted. I spent ten years tearing her down... and I wonder why I lost her?

Little things.

Little things I never really thanked her for. The first thing I remembered coming out of triple bypass surgery was her taking my hand and telling me I made it. I don't know that I ever told her how much that meant to me. It was a little thing. Her talking to me and keeping my attention focussed on her as they pulled my tubes out. I was terrified, but she was there to keep me calm. Little things.

Then there were the doctor's appointments where she wanted me to go, and I acted put out and told her she did not need me to hold her hand. Little things. (I should have done). Countless little things over the years. Perhaps it was one of the times she just needed me to listen, and not try to figure out how to fix her problem. Perhaps it was one of the times I wanted to go somewhere, but she would rather have stayed home. Perhaps it was any number of the little things I did that irritated her. At this time, it is all a moot point (perhaps it was the time I corrected her when she said "Mute" when she meant "moot"?) and there is nothing that can be achieved by dwelling on it. It is now another little thing.

The problem with little things is that they are important to us. They are OUR little things, and to us, they seem big at the time. It is only after mucking things up royally as I have done, and looking back on it that one sees things more objectively. We usually realize that the little things we were fighting over were not worth fighting about in the first place. I do not remember who it was that told me that I needed to choose my battles very carefully, to make sure that whatever it was was worth fighting about. Since I cannot remember, I probably wasn't listening at the time. Ah heck.... let the Credit go to Joe. He liked getting credit.

I think it is important to realize that there are both good little things, and bad little things. It kinda depends on how you see them. This is especially difficult for men I think. "What whiskers in the sink?" Some of us really don't see them, in the sense that it does not bother us necessarily, why should it bother our spouses? I think the same thing applies in reverse. "I always hang my bra in the shower rod... Deal with it!" It is difficult for us to make the paradigm shift necessary to see things from the other point of view. Not only men, but women too.... we all have a hard time looking at things from another perspective, even though we are looking at exactly the same thing.

I am not saying that this is right necessarily, only that it is normal. The little things get out of control, and the way in which we choose to deal with the little things is so much more important than the little things themselves. How we deal with the little things reflect on how we deal with the big things as well. In my case, I thought I dealt with the bigger stuff okay, but turns out that I was wrong. I could not see past my own nose to spite my face. There were some whoppers of some big things in my life both before and during my marriage. I did not handle those any better than I handled the little things. I would like to sit here and divvy out the blame on why the marriage took a flaming nosedive into the ocean, but I can't. I did enough of that while I was married. The truth is, the only person I can blame is myself. Sure, sure, it took both of us to build the marriage, and both of us tore it down... I know that, but the reality is that I alone shoulder the responsibility for how I chose to deal with things during my marriage, and I alone shoulder the responsibility for how I choose to deal with things now. She has her responsibility, but that is up to her to decide, and up to her to deal with. It is not my place to point fingers at anyone but myself. I made a lot of mistake. More than I probably am aware of, but at this point, I have no regrets about being married. None. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, only this time I would try to think a little more before I acted, and especially before I spoke.

I choose to be different than I was before. In the past I would have been bitter, and angry over something like this. Oddly this time I am not. I simply made the choice to love her anyway. Sounds stupid, I know, but it worked. I suppose what it did was force me to focus on the positive of this, not the negative. And to think, she thought I could not change! I do hate change, but this one has been long overdue in coming.

There are two more little things that she might need to know if she ever read this.

Little thing number 1: I love her.

Little thing number 2: I am sorry.

An idiot who knows, speaks the truth as he sees it.

In all the old movies, the leading man smoked. The gorgeous starlet smoked. During World War II, cigarettes were routinely inluded in the C-Ration Packs, and in the younger generations, ie: Vietnam, the first Gulf War, and I have no idea about now, it was not uncommon for soldiers to be given a break from marching, "If you have them gentlemen, Light up Now! 5 minutes!" Of course, that meant that the non smokers were penalized, since often they were not smoking, they were directed to continue marching. As a result, many began smoking just so they could take a break with the boys. These are stories I have heard, though I never actually expeienced them personally. If it is not so, let me know, and I will retract these statements.

What I do know for certain is that from the advent of the silver screen, radio, and television, not to mention printed material, tobacco companies endorsed many billions of dollars worth of advertising, and from the turn of the last century onward through the 1970s, it became more and more fashionable to smoke, then it petered down somewhat as the lawsuits began to roll in. R.J.Reynolds went on the marketing offensive with Joe Camel, and the C-Note Campaign. Phillip Morris began issuing Marlboro Miles and Marlboro Gear. Most cigarettes offered various premiums and gimmics to get you to buy, whether it was in the form of mail in offers, or in gimmicky displays with merchandise included in the special packaging. Lighters, Flashlights, Ashtrays, Coffee Cups, Can Coolers, T Shirts, and Jackets lined the shelves of every gas station and smoke shop, and convenience store. Each display jockying for your attention.

How many bozos like me collected Camel Bucks, and ended up with a ton of junk like etched beer mugs, pilsner glasses, dart boards, darts, beach chairs, towels, back packs, jackets, shirts, flashlights, lighters, pool sticks, and even tiffany style lamps? In hindsight I realize now that the best thing I could have done was not to open any of the stuff I purchased with the C-notes, and better, not to open the cigarettes in the first place. At least then I might have a collection that might in... oh say, 200 years be worth the cost of the cigarettes. Obviously, better still would have been to not purchase the cigarettes at all, and put the money in an IRA for the 20 plus years that I smoked. Yes, that would have been ideal. Insead I chose to smoke for 20 odd years, and it cost me more than I imagined it would. When we are young, we are bullet proof.... at least in our own minds. "It won't happen to me." we think, even in the face of evidence to the contrary. We watch friends and family get sick and die from smoking related illness, and still we believe foolishly it can never happen to us.

I could have put up a different picture, instead of the strike out tobacco hat.... I could have posted a picture of my brilliant red and angry looking twelve inch incision on my chest.... Oh... its up here somewhere, probably in my photo albums, but I figured you did not need to see it here, on the front page, all up in your face and all. Perhaps that is what we need though.... a little more "up in your face action". Thankfully though, cigarettes are being taxed out of reach of many, so maybe that will help. But if not, then what we will have is a bunch of poor, sick, and dying people.

WORD.

She Meant Every Word I said

I ran across an old piece of scratch paper with these words on it, and I cannot remember why in the heck I wrote this phrase down, but it must have been important at the time. It sounds very much like the title of a country song, and for some reason I like the way it sounds. It does at least make an interesting lead up to something I want to talk about anyway.

It makes me think about many years ago, in a time so far away that it barely seems like a reality. So much water underneath the bridge in the years that followed. Can it even be said that I am the same person I was then? What about her? I could go on about so many things, but really all I was thinking about were the vows I composed. So long ago..... what ever happened to those two people we once were? I miss them.

I had planned on putting up a webpage of sorts for the Mrs to be able to keep posted on the goings on in my life. This forum seems as good a place as any. I doubt if she will ever read it, let alone subscribe to yahoo. Who knows? I cannot say I know her anymore. She likely feels the same as I do. She probably wonders if she knows me. Niether one of us is the same person we were back then. I also need to get out of the habit of referring to her as the Mrs. We have not been together in over a year, and the papers were signed long ago. She moved away, and I am still here. Still... there is a part of me that still feels close to her. I suspect that may never change. Moving on is difficult, letting go is even more so.

Too bad in addition to the loving promises for a future together, over the years many angry and hateful words crossed my lips. Too bad that words cut far deeper than you would expect. I, of all people, should know this the best. Nevertheless, I will always be thankful for the time we had together, and for the few good times we shared. I blew it. I know that. Blame it on being pigheaded and stubborn. But, on the positive side, I learned a lot, and even though the cost was painful, and great, I would not even trade a moment of my time with her. Sucks I guess, we were soulmates. Too bad we screwed it up by getting married.

Of Minimal Importance; 3rd entry for August 18, 2005

Okay, for a do nothing sort of day, it would appear that I have been busy. I managed to locate my old blogs online and have put them in here before I got too many entries into this new one. No biggie. I actually liked the way I used to write, but things went sadly awry a long time back. Anyway, I had no reason not to bring the whole mess into one place. Why not? People might actually read these and realize I am basically a tweekazoid after all. LOL I do not know precisely what a tweekazoid is, but I am sure it is not a good thing.

Sugar High: 2nd entry for August 18, 2005 11:30am

Gee.... that was fun. It is just a part of this whole mess I have decided I need and want to be in control of. My blood sugar when I checked it was 410. For anyone who is not in the know about diabetes, that is not a good number. Diabetes has significantly impacted my life, and the life of my family. With at least 3 other diabetic members of my immediate family it has had a very profound impact. Especially when two of those other three are now deceased, and were both amputees before they died. Anyway... I took my morning meds, injected 60 units of insulin, and took a little nappy poo. When I woke, sugars were 115. A much more reasonable score. Now the trick is keeping them there.

As I mentioned prior, my life is pretty much completely out of control. and I have decided I want to take control of those areas I can. Okay. So... a quick rundown of the stupidity factor. All of my issues are pretty much in the realm of my control. To a degree anyway. For example, my health. I am the only one that has control over that, and that is what this blog is about. (Partly anyway) I know I need to lose weight, do anything I can to strengthen my heart. watch my diet, control my blood sugars, exercise, and for goodness sake, lose the cigarettes! These things I have control over. Since the heart surgery I have managed to find excuse after excuse to pick up a cigarette. What am I thinking, really? I mean, they nearly killed me, and here I go and smoke anyway. Not to mention the stinking price.... the cost is too great. So... ixnay on the okingsmay. I did it before, I can do it again. I simply need to quit looking for excuses to continue, and find even one reason not to.... like maybe, I dont want to die? Good enough. Smoking is easy. What is hard is the diabetes. That involves more than just not doing something. That is a whole lifestyle change.

Ugh... I hate change.

Punch Drunk

What possible excuse could I have for the title of this Blog, and for posting that horrible early picture of yours truly? I plead insanity. Insanity is a great defense... it is much better if you actually are insane. As best I can figure, crazy people have the luxury of simply not giving a shit. Why should they? In their little world, the weather is fine. In my world, it rains a lot. Of course, I do live in Washington, so I should be used to it. People here do not tan, they rust. When people come here on vacation and ask me what we do here during the summer, I usually say "If it lands on a weekend, we usually go on a picnic."

Punch drunk is a term used in boxing, refers to a condition in which the boxer, having taken a few too many shots to the head, has problems with his equillibrium. Maybe I have been hit with one too many birthdays. I dunno. It was the first phrase that popped into my head.... SO DEAL WITH IT! OKAY? That's it... no soup for you.

One thing I noticed, My mailbox remained empty yesterday. If anyone remembered my birthday, they forgot to send a card. I really was not expecting any. In the past, all I ever received was two or three anyway. Apparantly the people that normally remember simply forgot. The only person I really wanted to hear from of course did not call, did not write, and of course, that hurts. Still, I kind of expected it. But, I have no control over what they do, and I just gotta accept that. I do have control over how I choose to respond to my hurt feelings, and I choose not to let it get me down. It only hurts if I take it personally, and I choose to love her anyway. I am better than this, so, I will love her, and continue being her friend. She may be able to control everything else, but she cannot control my heart. So... should she ever read this, which I doubt..... she can take this as a great big "Neener, neener, neener!!" So much for acting my age, huh?

Diabetes running out of control, I am thirsty as heck, so am going to let this rest for awhile and go grab a drink from the trough. I think I can add to this entry later, so I will. After I take my meds and check my sugars.

"My 39th Birthday, and my first blog."

Thirty Nine today. Odd enough that my first entry here should fall on my birthday, but perhaps it is fortuitous as well. Today, based on a personal decision, is a turning point in my life as well. I have realized that there are many things in my life that I have no control over, and that has bothered me. I have decided that instead of stressing over these things that I cannot change, I would be better off changing the things I can, take control of those things I do have control over, and basically, quit feeling sorry for myself. The last couple years have been tough on me. I got so wrapped up in the stuff that was happening outside, I forgot to take care of the things inside.

That does not make any sense. Back to the "controlling the things I can" statement. My life has gotten out of control, and it has been that way for awhile. I intend to change that. Today is the day I begin. Mostly, that has to do with my health. I kinda figure if I can get my health in order, maybe my outlook will improve. 2004 was a crappy year. I had triple bypass in March and lost my wife and home in August. Actually, today is the one year anniversary of her kicking me out. We played the little mental games back and forth for awhile, but on Christmas Day she told me she was going for divorce. (Naturally after she had me babysit her cats for a week while she went on vacation.) So she succesfully ruined my birthday and Christmas. The birthday was my fault. I had a pissy fit over her letting the cats loose in the car while we were driving to the beach. (Who takes their cats to the beach?) Her idea not mine. Cats used my diabetic ass for a scratching post, and ..... the real fur started to fly before we even got 2 miles from the house. A year. It has been a year, but in this case it feels like so much more than a year. I signed the divorce papers, she moved away, and here we sit. A year later, trying to pick up the pieces and move on.

I intend on doing all that I can to improve my health in the next year. I need to make it a priority. So, I guess that is what this journal will be about. (excuse me, Blog.) By the way, I attached a copy of a pic I took of the kitties. Meet Abbott (Eyes open) and Costello (Blue Collar), our kitties. I am very proud of this picture. Sorry I had to muck it up for you by adding the watermarks.

As for today, it is still my birthday, and I intend to celebrate it as I have. I think I am going to go take a nap. LOL! I managed to sleep most of the morning away. I just decided to take a day of total relaxation. Kinda hard to do with all these kids running around this complex though. Thankfully school will be starting soon, and as I recall, that gives me about a three hour slot in the morning to get peace and quiet. LOL