Support System

 I don't remember getting from the wheelchair to the operating table. I do remember that there was a gurney involved, because I remember being asked to move from one flat surface to another. "Mr. Savage, can you you move your butt over just a little bit more... That's good." A nurse took my pants and underwear off. I don't remember the removal of my shirt, nor being dressed in a hospital gown.

What I remember more than anything else was how bright the lights were. I entertained myself by watching the floaters in both eyes dance around against a white background -- not the usual milky orange that I would normally see when my eyes were closed. And then the clouds rolling in from the outside edges, battleship grey and swirling around my field of vision. Was this death? If the clouds completely occluded my vision, would that mean I had died? I wasn't afraid, just curious. Was this the great mystery that only the dying understood? But the cloud cover was never complete. The white always peeked through, with those damn floaters, which I get more and more of as I age, still dancing.

It seems odd to me that I thought so little about my own death when for everyone around me that was the first thing on their minds. For me, the whole ordeal was about the discomfort and inconvenience. The plan, for a while now, is that I will be taking care of my surviving parent when the time came. If I'm not there, who would do that for me? My kids? Gaby? Gaby has his citizenship interview and test on Thursday. He'd have to reschedule. And I've got Etsy orders to ship. Would anyone even think about closing my shop?

The surgery was done a couple of hours after we arrived at the hospital about 5:30 Wednesday morning. A little after 5am, I had awakened sweating and unable to catch my breath. My old plumber, Big John, had retired after a heart attack. He described feeling as if an elephant was standing on his chest. For me, it was more like I had spandex tightly wrapped around my upper torso, which prevented my rib cage from expanding the way I needed it to. Also there was a small intense pain in my solar plexus that felt like I really, really needed to burp. So I took a couple of Tums. They didn't help. All this woke Gaby up, who asked if he should take me to the ER. We got dressed (ish), and Gaby ran a few red lights on the way there. My GP works for Integris, so they already had all my medical and insurance information. The put me in a wheelchair and whisked me right in. They put three stents into the arteries around my heart, pushing them into my body through the radial artery from my right wrist. (That was actually very painful, and apparently I flinched because I was told to lie still.) Afterwards I was moved to a room in the ICU (ICU7). 

I slept most of the day, but was aware of my family arriving and being in the room. My mother, a retired RN, was very interested in looking at my vitals on the monitoring screen next to the bed, and explaining what it all meant to everyone else. This annoyed my daughter, who didn't want to think about any of that stuff. (When Sarah told me about that a day or two later, I reminded her that her grandmother was fascinated by those things because of her old profession, but also it was a coping mechanism. She said she knew that.) 

My favorite part of that day was listening to my kids' conversation, though I had to have them move their chairs closer so that I could hear better. McCauley had gone on a first date with a girl that he met via a dating ap, and he liked her right off. Sarah said she was glad for him.
My least favorite part of the day was when they turned off Survivor. Seems they assumed I wasn't watching it just because I was asleep. 
Later in the evening, our good friends Zach and Frank came by, having driven all the way from Mustang for a ten minute visit. We love these guys.  
Gaby took the opportunity to go home to check on the dogs and shower. It was the only time he left my side.

Gaby. Gaby called my family. He called my boss. He texted and Facebooked with friends. He ordered my meals,  fed me, helped me pee. He scratched my forehead and did a lot of other trivial things because the IVs in both arms prevented me from bending my arms. He got me blankets and pillows, and straightened them for me and helped me adjust the bed when I couldn't get comfortable. He slept when he could, which was not much, in the recliner in ICU7, and on the uncomfortable couch in room 517 after I had been moved. He only left the room to go eat and go to the restroom, and usually then only when other family was there for me.
When we finally got home on Friday night, He laid down next to me in our bed, buried his face in my shoulder and started to cry. Which made me cry. It was the first time I had really felt the emotion of what had happened, but not for me. For him. But I wasn't actually physically strong enough to cry, so I had to stop.

The next time was because of McCauley. It's been handy having a minion living next door after he moved in last summer. This weekend he took care of the dogs, and made deliveries, and just stayed. I had made a date with him to go to dinner and shopping for his birthday, which was on Friday, but now we we're all joking that I had to cancel because something had come up. I didn't know how he was feeling until I saw his Facebook post. Again, a big sob, not for me, for him. But I don't have the strength, so I just had to deal with the tennis ball in my throat.

One of the things he delivered was my phone, which had been left on the drafting table in the studio. Gaby had been telling me about some of the good wishes I had been receiving, but that was my first chance to see it for myself. I have friends. I have people who love me. I called our best friend Charla via Facetime, and we chatted for a while. I wanted to do the same with other friends: Ted, Brian, Melody, but I didn't have the strength to hold up the phone.

Besides not being able to use my arms, the lack of strength was what bothered me most. I would get winded just trying to straighten my blanket. The first night I was home I slept fourteen hours. I told my mom about how exhausting it was just trying to take a shower, and she said that the first time she took a shower after a surgery she had had recently, she felt like she had climbed a mountain. But it's been getting better. I've been taking a lot of naps. The minion and the man-spouse have been doing the lifting and the driving. I'm watching a lot of TV. McCauley drove me to the post office and the grocery store. Gaby drove me back to the post office to mail a couple of Etsy orders -- one of which was sold while I was in the hospital.

Main thing now is figuring out the diet. I hardly ate anything in the hospital. Most of that was because my mouth was so dry that nothing but fruit and salads sounded good. Our friend Michael brought a care package with a lot of snacks that I couldn't eat. S'alright, Gaby needs to eat too. In fact he's taken it upon himself to eat all the salt-filled foods we have in our cabinets and fridge. Once that's done, he'll join me on my diet.
He fixed me an egg white omelet Saturday morning, with spinach and string cheese. It was really good. Sunday morning I was feeling well enough to cook my own omelet. It wasn't as pretty as his, but still good. I looked up what a heart healthy diet was supposed to be. Discussing it with Gaby, we figured out that most of the problem with the diet are just simple fixable things. We buy ingredients at the grocery store that are healthy, but we also buy chips, cookies, and ice cream. And when we are (I am) in a hurry, it's too easy to stop off at a fast food place and pick up something to eat in the car. From now on, it's more meal planning, watching the salt and fat intake.

So that's the project for the next year. Just learning how to live healthier.

Thank you, my friends, for your support.