Part Two

Early the next morning, Thursday, I woke up in the ICCU. It was about 6 AM and I realized I had just been in the hospital for my first 24 hours. The educational video told me to expect that I would all but sleep through the rest of the day following surgery. And that the next day would include a painful session of forced coughing to void any mucus that had settled in the lungs while on the heart-lung machine. I had been extremely cautious about moving the wrong way, let alone coughing, because I knew how painful it would be - we're talking about a fresh break in my sternum and that pain wouldn't be disappearing any time soon. I also expected to be moved from ICCU to my own room this day. As it turned out the only event that went as planned was that of being taken out of bed and placed in a chair. This maneuver triggered the most pain I would experience over my entire hospital stay. I can't believe the two nurses handling me really intended me to seat myself that way I did, but they allowed me to drop into the chair under the power of my own arms and THAT put enough stress on my chest to send me through the roof! For the next 10 hours after that I answered "no" whenever someone asked me whether I would prefer to be in my bed. I ate, drank, listened to music and slept comfortably in that simple reclining chair all day without a single complaint. Other than that, everything I had prepared myself for ended up being contrary to my own course of events following OHS. I never had to undergo that horrible lung-clearing sessions. One of the wrist IV's came out that day. The huge neck IV came out that day. Not only that, my huge chest tubes were yanked out (the pain from this effort was almost as intense as that of being seated) toward the end of the day, so now I was disconnected from that bubbling machine. Even that nasty urine catheter was pulled that day - all from a sitting position in my steadfast friend, the chair. Eventually I was transported to my room shortly after dinner time (it seems there was a shortage of spaces in cardiac care that day).

Once I arrived in my own room I became mobile in a short time. I got into bed on my own. I used the bathroom on my own. I figured this to be essential to regaining my independence. At the same time I began to notice a new kind of alertness in me. Over the years I had grown accustomed to a fogginess in my head from day to day. It was especially pronounced when I drank coffee to excess (practically every time). But where was this light-headedness now? After all I had just been through a seemingly stressful ordeal with OHS the day before. Shouldn't I be feeling tired? A lack of motivation at least? I had not gained an appetite for solid foods yet. But beginning with that evening's dinner I was thinking about consuming something chewable. Within an hour or so I was greeted by Vikki again, and then later by my family. Immediately the comments started ... "God Pete, you look at least ten years younger! It's just amazing". What in the world did they mean? I hadn't anticipated any of this. All I had hoped for was assurance that my heart was not going to fail me when I least expected it. However, I could also sense that my heart was adjusting to it's new change in blood supply in addition to working overtime to heal itself. My arrhythmias, which were evident before and would continue the rest of my life, were very pronounced now. Every once in a while I would stop what I was doing or saying because a surge in my heartbeat and the resultant pulsation in my chest would be so strong as to cause me to look down and feel my ribs. Before settling into bed for the evening I was even able to take a short tour around the cardiac area to get a sense about where in DHMC I was located. It didn't seem as though my hospital stay was going to be as awful as I imagined it would.

Friday morning I woke up early again after a solid night's sleep. Now I was feeling as young as everyone was saying I looked. Still clear-headed, hungry for real food finally and ready to take on a full day. By now my need to take short breaths to avoid pain in my sternum was just a memory. I still had to be careful about how I turned in bed and reaching for things that were too heavy, though. I got up and took a walk before breakfast arrived. It was important for me to look out the window often - I wasn't used to being indoors so many hours in a row. During the first half of that day I strolled long and often. I felt no limitations and was not discouraged by any of the people taking care of me. I changed into my new surgeon shirt which was an important step since I couldn't comfortably wear anything over my incision the last two days. I was able to focus my eyes without glasses and concentrate enough to read a couple of chapters out of "Limits To Growth", my on-going spare time reading material for the past 20 years (you might say I'm a slow reader). I tapped into my Jazz CD's with enormous enthusiasm. There were more visitors too. Yes, it seemed like the sky was the limit that day. Then moments after a couple of my friends stopped by for a late visit things took a turn. Around 8 PM I started to feel exhausted. My nurse didn't like the temperature and oxygen count readings being constantly monitored on a remote display outside my room. Of particular concern was my resting heart rate which was holding in the range of 100 bpm! She called in the doctor on duty. Next thing you know I'm being visited by my friend, Dr. Jayne again and he's ordering a chest x-ray and an EKG. Before I got to sleep that evening I had the oxygen tube in my nostrils once again and a dosage of beta-blocker administered. A very sound sleep was the inevitable result.

I woke up feeling very refreshed again Saturday morning. My nurse told me that I came down with a low-grade fever the night before. Though this is not uncommon with recovering OHS patients, Dr. Jayne felt I was doing too much too soon and ordered the tests to be on the safe side. Even still, the results showed my state of health to be excellent. When my nurse saw me that morning she removed the oxygen, but not without a stern warning to restrict my activity. In the same breath she informed me that I was just about ready to be released as long as I could pass a couple of tests. The first of which I had no problem with, walking up a flight of stairs without getting short of breath. We performed that one right after breakfast. The other I knew would be the most difficult task of all - even before I was admitted on Wednesday. I needed to have a bowel movement. (Oh NO!!!!). I had such tremendous digestion problems in the two weeks prior to this ordeal how was I ever going to make a change after Wednesday's shock to my system? It proved to be basically impossible the whole day, despite numerous doses of laxatives. Compounded with the understanding that this was THE ONLY thing standing between me and freedom, it made it all the more difficult. Why is it that medical experiences of any sort always reduce to such embarrassing levels? I hated this situation. And my mood reflected it as I got grumpy and impatient with myself and everyone around me. Finally I pulled out the last resort I could possibly stoop to - I LIED! By 7 PM that evening, after an entire waste of a day I was a free man. My stay at the hospital, though not exactly an uncomfortable one, lasted a mere 84 hours. I was headed first to the house in New Hampshire where my family was staying and then on to Vikki's place for recovery in semi-rural Vernon, Vermont.

Surgery - Part One

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Last Updated April 7th 1997