Tags
A-fib, blood thinners, Harris Methodist, huge nasty catheters, love weenie, lovely and efficient nurses, stiff upper lip, stroke
Back in February of 2013, one Saturday night, I had a stroke. Fortunately, it was a little bitty one, and I was back in the classroom on Tuesday, though it took the brain a bit longer to fully compensate for the very minor damage, and settle comfortably into a new normal, slightly different than the old normal, but equally functional. I had fun for about a week walking up to colleagues, peering curiously at them, and asking: “what’s your name again?” The brain is a wondrous thing, and God looks out for English teachers and the authors of scruffy little blogs.
I had the stoke due to Atrial Fibrillation–A-Fib, which had been diagnosed the previous summer. Medication kept it under pretty good control for nearly six years, but on Friday, I underwent cryoablation. I’ll let you take the link, gentle readers, if you’re interested, but it is remarkable. We live in an age of medical miracles.
I had the procedure because I was finally experiencing A-fib about 20% of the time, as determined by a month on a portable heart monitor, which was a neat little radio transmitter–about the size of a watch–worn around the neck as a sort of pendant, attached to four stick-on contacts about the chest. The transmitter transmitted to a specially programmed cell phone. The thing–rented–was damned expensive, but may have saved my life. Any episode of A-fib greatly increases the chance of stroke, but the blood thinner I’ve been taking all along–Pradaxa–and will take the rest of my life, helped there.
The experience was interesting indeed. Just before the action, I asked my surgeon if he was feeling particularly precise and skillful. He laughed and assured me he felt that way every day. A surgeon that can laugh at himself is always a good sign. The cath lab looked like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. There was a huge multi-screen monitor, and all kinds of high tech goodies strewn apparently haphazardly about, as well as a great many personnel. I lay down and the anesthetist told me I’d be out in about 30 seconds and I was indeed, which probably wasn’t a bad thing, because they shaved my nether region and threaded four catheters in four spots on my groin up and into the heart, etc. If I had known, I would have gotten a bikini wax…on second thought, probably not. Don’t want to scare the horses and stampede the women and children.
They used those–and another one in my left wrist–to poke around inside my body and heart, a process that took about 3.5 hours. I was of course, obliviously unconscious. Because they added another blood thinner for the procedure, they had to wait for about two hours after I woke up until my clotting numbers were right, and then two nurses, simultaneously, pulled out the catheters, one on each side (nurses, not the two catheters…oh, you know what I mean). One of the bloody things was blue, about as big around as your thumb, and long enough to reach the heart–I’m 6’ tall. It’s impossible to describe the feeling when she held that up for me to see. No it’s not. I said: “that’s a long one.” Let it never be said I am not observant and astute. The nurses thought it humorous anyway.
Remarkably, there was no pain there, and the only bruising I have is on the left wrist. The only pain was when the nurses applied surprisingly powerful direct pressure to those four wounds for up to 20 minutes, but as my love weenie was there, between them and in easy reach of their powerful hands, exposed and hiding as best it could, I thought it the better part of valor to keep a stiff upper lip, as it was surely not going to do that.
Then it was off to a hospital room in the Harris Methodist Cardiac building, where I was attended by three lovely and efficient nurses, several equally engaging technicians, and a variety of other folks, all of whom delivered first rate care. The charge nurse, an experienced former citizen of England, even said she wants to read my book(!) until I was released to the tender ministrations of Mrs. Manor just before noon today. I have discovered the primary function of any hospital is to deny patients more than a hour or two of undisturbed rest, and Harris Methodist is expert in that regard. I had to lay flaccid in bed for 12 hours, so with the help of two books and an Ancient Alien TV marathon, managed to stay awake until 0200 and then proceeded to breeze around the hallways, my rear end flapping in the breeze due to the standard hospital gown, which requires rear end breeze flapping.
In any case, I feel fine, but am tired. I’m experiencing no apparent problems, but it will take a bit more time to know if the procedure did the trick and cured me, once and for all, of the A-Fib. I’m also on three new meds for up to three months. I’m a prescription drug druggie!
I say all that, gentle readers, to let you know why I didn’t get a Saturday article published as usual, though I will be posting Sunday Funnies, as usual, in a few hours. As always, thanks for patronizing this scruffy little blog, and it’s good to be alive! That sort of miracle has always been around.
God Bless You Mike.
Dear Michael Elliott:
And you.
Hello Mike,
One year ago I too had Cardiac Ablation for A-Fib. One through the groin and another through the chest. Seven hours total. It worked for about 4 months then it came back. Had shock treatment in June and all is still back in rhythm. Got off the Beta-blockers and blood thinners in December. Keep up those meds and you’ll be a new man.
Dear James:
Glad to hear you’re doing so well.
Oh wow dude, should have let us know before, so we could have sent you prayers or good vibes or whatever you needed. But sure glad to hear you made it through everything ok, and hope they got you fixed up so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.
Dear jello33:
Thanks so much, but I generally follow the advice of Dr. Evil, who said: “the details of my life are quite inconsequential.”
Yours is one of the few blogs that I follow in full and regularly. For the sake of your devoted readership as well as your own, I wish you a speedy, complete, and permanent recovery.
Dear Howard:
I’m honored, and thanks!
Hilarious, pard! Sure glad you came through that daunting procedure and are so chipper! Heal up!
Glad things went well, Mike. Stay healthy and safe.
Glad to hear it went well. Hope you feel good enough to get back to your little charges soon. I know I miss mine when I am out o& the classroom.
Dear wardalanm:
Thanks! I expect to be back in the classroom on Tuesday. I miss them too.
Wishing for the best recovery.
Dear Bruce:
Thanks!
God keep your servant Mike healthy because we all need his humor to get through the day. Amen.
Dear Mike,
Through the years, having regularly read your scruffy little blog, I feel like I know you well as you, from time to time, share tidbits about your life.
Sorry to hear that you needed the procedure but happy that it went well, that you are recovering quickly and will be back at school soon.
Now tell the truth. While those nurses were, well, nursing you, did you crack a “while your down there….” line?
Allyn
Dear Allyn:
Good Lord no! When I’m around women these days, I don’t even admit to having a penis! I barely admit to being male. Can’t be too careful…
God Bless Mike! Hoping for a swift and speedy recovery.
Steve
Are English teachers in the same set as Drunks and sailers?
1 of Ronny’s favorite sayings from 60 years ago.
Dear Rodney Stanton:
It seems that way thus far…
Thoughts and prayers for continued healing!
Dear March Hare:
Thanks! Thus far I’m just dealing with a bit of bruising and feeling like people were poking around inside my heart and body in general, but plenty of sleep should fix that.
Mike, You have my prayers and greatest understanding. I have been down the road you are now on. I too had A-fib years ago (2013) and had an ablation to “solve the problem”. The ablation worked until about a year ago when a heart valve decided to go bad. Open heart surgery to fix that problem. I really, truly pray your ablation takes care of your A-fib.
I am sure Mrs. McDaniel has got you on a short leash while you rehab. My wife sure had me on one, as I am sure most wives would.
Dear John Priester:
You’re most kind. I’m taking it pretty easy, and I hope all goes well for you too.