With a Nod to Tennessee Williams

Like Blanche Du Bois, I am depending on the kindness of strangers.

We're still in Indy and John is continuing to provide entertainment and educational opportunities for all. His cath showed more mitral regurgitation (valve opening too wide) than mitral stenosis (valve opening too narrow), and the tissue around the valve was too calcified for them to be able to suture a mechanical valve to anything. So the best way to improve things was to slow his heart rate down. While the docs were discussing that, John went into complete heart block at a rate of 30-40, thus solving their dilema for them. So he got a pacemaker, and some changes in medicines allowed by the pacemaker. Then he started having rapid abnormal rhythms (V Tach, for the medical out there). Amiodarone didn't control it completely, so after a night of sustained V Tach requiring cardioversion (mild electrical shock), he went to the EP lab for them to find the tissue initiating the abnormal rhythm and albate (cauterize, get rid of) it. John threw a monkey wrench into the proceedings by refusing to go into V Tach in the cath lab. So they nosed (cathetered) around his left ventricle, found several places where conduction problems were indicated, and ablated those. Whether any of those were the true offender remains to be seen. Probably at 2 AM some day. That's when he likes to go into V Tach. Now about all those strangers:

Everyone here had been so kind to us. John's nurses love him - understandably, since he is the world's only perfect man. But they are also being very nice to me. I have solemnly promised not to answer call bells on any other patients, and they are letting me do all kinds of things for John and haven't thrown me out yet. Doctors and nurses that took care of John other places keep dropping by the room to visit and see how he's doing. They've begun to look for me in the cath lab waiting room, since I've spent 3 days there in the past week. The cafeteria cashiers chat with me. And the lady that I pay to get out of the parking garage shows me her knitting progress for the day, and looks at mine. But the greatest kindness of all was necessitated by the NFL.

In case you've missed it, the Super Bowl is coming to Indianapolis. This means a lot of money and a lot more inconvenience. What hurts the hospitals is that most family members are being kicked out of their hotel rooms. This isn't being mean or just wanting more money - the rooms have been booked for months for the game. The hotel I'm in is hosting media in all it's rooms, so I have to be out by noon on Tuesday. I've known this since we made our reservations - never dreamed it would be relevant  - I underestimated John's ability to come up with dramatic events in a short period of time. There are no hotel rooms available within an hour of the hospital. So I'd been thinking I'd end up bunking in the recliner in John's room. The hospital has showers for family members, and John has a pair of PJs that I could run around in and be decent. But a stranger came to our rescue. One of the residents that has taken care of John is taking me in Tuesday noon, for the duration. I am overwhelmed by such an act of kindness, and am very grateful to her.

So I thank all the kind strangers - that have taken me in, not thrown me out, talked knitting with me, smiled in the cafeteria line, laughed in the cath lab waiting room with me, listened to my hospital horror stories, and respected me as a nurse. I'm grateful to Fr. Nabil and Fr. Radislav (not strangers!) who have come and prayed with us. I'm grateful to all the doctors-nurses-nurse practitioners-fellows-residents-interns-miscellaneous who have put their wonderful brains together to figure out what is best to do for John; we can tell that they care, and he is better for their care. Not everybody who depends on the kindness of strangers has to end up like poor Blanche.

On Being Off the Clock

I'm no good at being in a hospital and not on the time clock. After 20 years, when I'm in a hospital I want to DO THINGS. Things that visitors can't do, aren't supposed to know how to do, and certainly aren't supposed to want to do. There was an emergency on John's unit today; I sat there gritting my teeth and repeating to myself, "I'm not on the clock. I'm not on the clock .  .  ." Nurses are nice to me; after determining that I'm harmless, they let me do lots nursing things for John. Doctors are nice to me; they speak medical shorthand to me and I translate when John needs it, which isn't often after 34 years with me.

I must still ooze hospital from my pores - today a cafeteria cashier asked me if I wanted to pay with my employee card. I do still have the walk. John says that we'll be walking along together at the same speed, and when we walk through a hospital door my walking speed increases and I leave him behind. And I feel so at home in a hospital - any hospital, but the bigger the better. Today when I came back with my lunch I walked right past John's room; I was looking at the storage layout of the unit. Hospitals are in my blood. There's just nothing to be done about it. 

Now to update everybody on John: After a bunch of testing they have demonstrated and quantified his mitral valve stenosis, and decided that they can repair the valve instead of replacing it. It will be a cath lab procedure instead of heart surgery, which is always preferable. They will thread a catheter from his femoral vein (the one in the groin) up to the right side of his heart into his right atrium, through the atrial septum to his left atrium, and then to the mitral valve. They will inflate a balloon in the valve opening, to spread the valve leaflets out and let more blood get through. His cardiologist said that surgery can be done if necessary, but this is certainly worth a try and will almost certainly do the trick. His mitral stenosis is quite severe, which is what I've been telling everybody, no matter how minimal it looked on echo.

Nothing will happen tomorrow, so we'll just be hanging out. We really enjoy just hanging out together. They'll do the valve on Friday or Monday, depending on the schedule. He should go home all fixed up. And I'll have learned my way around another med center. Off the clock.

It's a Nuisance, Not Crisis

ROAD TRIP!

I'm in Indianapolis, after an adventurous day. This is actually quite typical of my marriage to John. He went to work yesterday and passed out, falling on a very convenient box full of plastic cups so he didn't even get a bruise (no word on the fate of the cups). So after scaring his co-workers and taking an ambulance ride, he seems to be fine.

Discursus for background: He had Hodgkins Disease when he was 19 and got 4 rads of radiation. He's been dealing with the results of the radiation ever since - 2 heart surgeries for scar tissue in his coronary arteries, 1 brain surgery, carotid artery surgery, lung cancer, and scarring of his mitral valve. And all that radiation didn't work anyway. The Hodgkins came back as our 3-month anniversary present. He got chemo that time, and it did work. If he'd just waitied a few years until the chemo protocol was out, all this could have been avoided. And life would have been much less exciting. 

Anyway: We've been watching the mitral valve for a couple of years. The scar tissue is narrowing it and causing congestive heart failure. They kept him in the hospital overnight to be sure he was okay, then his cardiologist came in this morning and said he was sending him to IU to get him valve replaced. Today. ASAP. So John left by ambulance a little after noon. I followed after getting the dog boarded, the trash to the street, John's things packed, my things packed, food packed for the week, the dishwasher unloaded and reloaded, and I don't remember what all else.

As I said, this is typical for us. Whenever he has an emergency his mother just sighs and says, "It's a good thing he married a nurse." And he does have emergencies. (NB - He's never had a crisis. To a critical care nurse anything that can be gotten over is a nuisance, not a crisis.) And he's the least dramatic person on the planet. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer last summer and told he'd probably survive a few months, all he said was that he would try to live long enough to do the taxes. This is not duty and self-sacrifice on his part; there are few things he enjoys more than doing taxes. This was an incentive toward survival. (I'm not too normal myself. The first thing I thought - and, of course, said - was that at least he could have a port for chemo this time. His last chemo was before ports were invented. The oncologist was shocked. He shouldn't have been. He's known me for years.) The incentive worked; this kind of cancer doesn't go into remission but it's at bay, reduced from before chemo, and he's been promoted to maintenance chemo. So paying taxes is actually good for you. 

So anyway, road trip. We're here for a week - or 2 - or goodness knows how long. Thankfully I have an understanding boss and veterinarian. Jethro the dog is happy as a clam. Being boarded at the vet's is vacation time for him. He has a wonderful time, then comes home and spends a week sleeping it off. We may need a week sleeping it off, too. When we all get home we'll form a mammal mound on the sofa, put on ESPN, and recover from it all. Until the next excitement comes along. It really is a good thing he married a nurse.

May Your New Year be Boring!

I'm celebrating the New Year with a sigh of relief. I am SO happy to see the backside of 2011 going out the door. To briefly review the debacle that was 2011:

• I started the year with mono and a fibromyalgia flare.
• I ended May with a  nasty car accident; I had a head injury and a broken collarbone.
• John's cancer was found in June; he had lots of hospitalizations and chemotherapy.

On the good side:

• We're both alive (which we have no business being), to the consternation of our doctors.
• John has kept his job and our health insurance.
• I've come out of retirement, and have a job that I love.
• We've added a new member to the family: Jethro the dog.

To sum up:

• As a dear friend once said, normal moved and left no forwarding address.
• We haven't been bored.
• It could have been worse.
• I don't want to take one of those tests that tells how stressful your year was.

So I wish you all the best thing I can think of - a very, very boring 2012!