Wonder where I've been? Well, I spent four nights at Marquette General Hospital this past weekend. My heart surgery is still scheduled for the 22rd of March, but I was feeling so funky that Nancy took me in to see why I was weak as a kitten, had gained 12 pounds in a couple of weeks, and had a heart rate that jumped to 180++ now and then. The docs did what they could to stabilise my stuff and sent me home to wait for the 22th. I think the phrase "congestive heart failure" were written someplace in real light print - like "Boy, mind your step or you'll be suffering from complete CHF."
Gee-zul-man, I peed out those 12 pounds (they were liquid, yanno) fairly well, once prompted by pills and restricted liquid intake, and the heart racing got pretty much controlled by a slate of pills (now) and 6 IVs running at once (while in room 443). My heart rate is way more steady now, though I'm supposed to pay attention and do something if it takes off again. I'm still being careful about how much I drink (I'm thirsty!!) and have all the strength I need to lift El Monstro to take a leak - but that's about it. Oxygen helped some, although it wasn't the instant panacea I had hoped for, and I'm not using a supplemental O2 supply at the house.
Boyoboy was it great to get back into our waterbed last night after suffering a hospital bed for 4 nights, but a few hours after hitting the sack - sh*t, things went a little sideways and I woke up with all the incumbent shortness of breath and the panic that comes with it -- and the knowledge that another night of good rest had eluded me. I moved to the sofa so I didn't bother Nancy too much and - - - eventually things settled down so I slept.
I woke this morning with a feeling of confidence that I was past the bad crap - then I got out of bed and discovered I barely had the strength to dig a pair of long underwear outa the drawer. What a bummer was that, I say!! The day moved along and I did gather some strength again, but it was a challenge to do stuff like open a bottle of pop. Putting butter and jam on 2 slices of toast took most of my stamina. Nancy later reminded me that the docs didn't repair anything this weekend, but rather that they just stabilised me so I can wait for the 22st and my intimate visit with Dr. Hartzell Schaaf (go ahead, look him up to reassure yourselves that I've got a real surgeon on the case, not just a junior college pre-med student).
Yeah, so today I was going to drive to the shop and just be mellow, but changed my mind on that when I got winded and dizzy walking DOWN a flight of stairs. Maybe driving wasn't such a great idea after all.
I've had to give up my job driving all night delivering nuclear medicine, dammit, and Nancy is getting pretty good at firing the outdoor wood boiler that keeps our house warm.
That's enough for now. I managed to bake a cherry pie today and a slice of it with a nice glass of milk sounds like dessert to me. I'm gonna go snack and then hit the hay (water). I'm doing okay enough, thank you, and if nothing else the docs know that there IS a magic phrase they can utter (a duck will drop down with the word if they get it right, a la Groucho Marx) to bring me back as a last resort when I'm at the doorstep of death. All they need to remember is to say:
See you on the salt!
