My Once Broken Heart

This should have been published November 23, Thanksgiving day. I slack.

Six months ago, 180 days, my heart was not beating. My blood was being diverted through a machine. My lungs were made to function by a machine. I had two large tubes running into my body. More would be added later to *remove fluids the other two were allowing in.

Sixish hours later I was in the recovery room. I would find out later that the procedure itself was a text book success. My mitral valve was functioning like new. Woo-Hoo! The post-op complications that came later, as soon as the next day were another thing. Think; ‘The surgery was a success but the patient died’ sort of thing. No, I did not die, all the way anyway.

There was one part in particular that I wanted to share about. I was told this would happen by one or the PAs that work alongside the surgeon. In recovery, they will use medications to wake you and check that your brain is functioning. A cognitive test. Apparently, you can throw a blot clot during surgery and have a little stroke or something, damage your brain. The thing is, they wake up while you are still intubated. That tube is there, down your throat so a machine can breathe for you. When you are awake, it feels more like it is choking you than helping you. A LOT more like it is not helping. They do this, leave it in, in case you are damaged and then they can quickly knock you out again. Faster and easier than re-inserting the tube.

This is an AWFUL sensation. My remarkable ICU nurse Britany was trying to convince me I was OK. How? buy saying repeatedly, “You’re OK. You can breathe, just take big gulp-like breaths.” It works. Taking a gasping breath in gets you air.

The logical, front part of your brain understands this. The little reptile portion of your brain that is responsible for reactions, for keeping you alive by initiating the flight or fight response to things, that makes you pull your hand away from things that can burn you, etc., that part of your brain doesn’t know or care. To it, you are choking to fucking death and it is filling you with adrenaline and fear. I recommend not experiencing this if at all possible.

This part went on for far too long. Long enough in fact I was able to curtail my panic and laugh, as much as possible with a tube down my throat while gasping, gulping for air. I do not recall now what was funny, only that amazing nurse Britany said to someone, “I think he is laughing at you.”

They removed the tube and rolled me off to Cardiac ICU out of recovery. I had passed the test. I wanted to say the first test but I do not know if it was the first one or not. Just the first one I recall. The next test came the following morning and it did not go so well.

I was woken up at 5am by the X-Ray guy and his portable machine. This became a regular thing for the days I was there, both in the ICU and regular room. It becomes important later but, I am ahead of myself.

Nurse Britany came in doing her nurse thing a couple hours after my X-Ray and informed me “We are going to sit up, see how you feel.” Sounded good to me. I was comfortable. No pain or discomfort at all. Also, not feeling drugged at all either. Felt normal except for the big tubes below my rib cage, I could feel those.

Now, it is important to know that there were two IV ‘towers’, one on each side of the bed. There were several little grey boxes on each one with a different medication in each. There were at least eight and maybe more, I did not count. They all fed into one big tube at my collarbone. (This is my recollection. I think they left that one in place until I left ICU.)

The time to sit up had arrived. She explained this cool way to put my elbow on the bed, make a fist and push down on it with my other hand. Sounds odd and I explained it poorly but, it works great! A small push and I was sitting right up. Feet over the side of bed, pretty decent posture, zero pain or discomfort. Then the alarms started.

I heard them but at that same moment, other things distracted me. I was suddenly covered, head to toe, with a cold sweat. My entire body got cold, clammy, and damp. The sensation you feel when you are about to vomit. I did not feel sick. I was going to comment to Britany that I did not feel right when everything started to go dark. From the outside in, my field of vision was collapsing in on itself.

Now there were more people in the room. One of them was telling me I needed to lay down. I could hear her but could not move. I had to turn my head to see Britany. It looked like I was looking through the tube from a paper towel roll, somehow with both eyes. The dark was closing in. Britany was moving her hands quickly around the array of boxes on the tower. I do not know but assume someone else was at the other tower.

The person that had been telling me to lay down had their hands on my shoulders pulling and pushing me gently to try and get me down. I had heard her but could not move. The weird sweat felt gone but the darkness was still spreading. The alarms were off and I was lying flat looking up at a very small part of the ceiling. I felt myself gasp, take a very big breath, like I had been underwater for too long.

My vision was coming back. Two people left the room. My surgeon walked in. “What happened?” Nurse Britany said, “His pressure crashed.” Doc, “How much?” Britany, “70 over zero.”

Doc came over to me, “How are you feeling?” Me, “Fine now, but…” and I proceeded to tell him what I felt happened. Then I asked him, what was that, what happened? Doc, “You died a little.” He turned, talked a bit to Britany, and left.

Well, that made perfect sense! I had all the exact same “You’re fucking dying!!” alarms going off as I did when they had woken me up while intubated. Only this time, I could not move, react. I was kinda paralyzed. I was absolutely terrified. I knew I was dying. I felt like I was dying. I was watching everything fade to black.

I asked amazing nurse Britany, “What the fuck was that? What did he say?!” I was feeling pretty normal by now. As normal as possible considering.

She explained to me that dying, the process of, is basically your blood pressure going to zero. What mine was trying to do just a few minutes before. (This whole thing was 4-5 mins) So, she says, “Yes, you were trying to die, did kinda die a little. But, I had you, was ready with the drugs!”

It did not really hit me, sink in for a few hours. Maybe the meds but, I was not processing the best.

I had “Died a little.” The day before my heart was not beating. I was not breathing for myself. Then, I tried to die for real.

That was the first of a few post-op complications, including trying to die a little again about six hours later. I will share those stories in other posts, this has gotten bothersomely long.