Spoon Reviews

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Wed, 04 Jul 2012 03:29:00 +0000

The Hour - Bernard DeVoto

"Since time immemorial, when bitchslapped by this bitter epiphany we have reached for strong drink--only to find that it is an exemplary of our contradictory ways rather than an antidote for them."

Home - Week 14 - Working Man

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 02:00:00 +0000

I'm back to work this week. I have been able to do yoga each morning, ride my bike to the office each day (approx 25min each way) and hit the weight room 3 times. I feel good and relaxed. The team did a great job while I was away and I was able to come back to 5 easy days of email cleanup, meetings and catching up on news.

With the return of regular days and regular exercise it seems that a regular sleep pattern has returned as well. I have gone to bed no later than 11pm each night and for the most part slept right through to 6am the next morning.

Although I missed a few weeks I have enjoyed my entries in this blog. The exercise of documenting the recovery has helped me in many ways, but I will probably stop talking about the recovery and return to my original purpose which is to muse about the little things and experiences that make me pause and say to my self "I should write this down".

Away - Week 13 - Road Trip

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 02:00:00 +0000

This was my last week before my return to work and as planned I went on a road trip: Vancouver and Seattle to be exact. My plan was to hang out with friends, walk around the respective cities, sample the local cuisine and maybe do a little shopping.

I left Ottawa last Friday afternoon. I had a couple of glasses of wine in the lounge prior to departing with every intent to fall asleep immediately in my seat on the airplane. Once on the plane, I sat down, placed my book in front of me, arranged my bag of candy (in flight necessity) for quick access and put a little Jack Johnson on the iPod. Without fail it was lights out. I woke somewhere over Alberta with my habitual smacking of the lips and a slow revolving look for someone to bring me something to drink. With my drink in hand I reached for the candy and started a rapid fire insertion of sweet morsels into my mouth with little chewing or swallowing. Pure bliss.

It was at that point that I noticed a significant pain in my left upper rib cage. The best way to describe it is a stitch (you know the kind you get when you run too hard). The problem is the stitch didn't go away. I was a little worried because it was making deep breaths somewhat painful. I wasn't too worried because of the explanation the rehab doctor gave me about the fact that they had cracked my chest open and I would experience all kinds of weird sensations for the next 6 months as my muscles and bones moved back into place. The candy probably didn't help either--we're talking a movie theatre size pack of Sour Patch Kids consumed in about 30 minutes.

Unfortunately the stitch didn't go away until Monday and it then graduated into my shoulders. I started on the Advil and Tylenols so that I could enjoy my trip. In Vancouver I visited with my sister and family and I stayed with my friend D. D. lives downtown and walking distance to everything. With D. the first order of business is always food. When I got off the plane we went straight to an all-you-can-eat sushi place. The following day we went to a place called the Banana Leaf. If you go to Vancouver you need to go to this restaurant (http://bananaleaf-vancouver.com/). You will not be disappointed. D. and I also did a little donut comparison: Lee's bakery on Granville Island vs. Honey's in Deep Cove. Each has their distinct style. Lee's is melt in your mouth, light, I could eat 3 dozen in a single sitting style donuts. Honey's is a caky, freshly dipped in honey, sinfully good 2000 calorie pastry, where if you can eat more than one you may end up writing you're own blog about heart surgery. Personally, I decided that Lee's was my favourite.

I was hoping to take some cool boat or hovercraft from Vancouver to Seattle, but poor planning and schedule convenience swayed me towards taking the bus. I had a good book and a pile of music I had ripped at D's. Four hours later I was in Seattle. I hadn't seen my friends F. and M. for almost 2 years and it was great to be at their place just hanging out. While we were having dinner the first night M. mentioned to me that she had not had a poutine in 2 years. I decided then and there that I was going to make poutine in Seattle. All I needed was proper cheese curd. It ain't a poutine without cheese curd. On Thursday I took the bus into downtown Seattle and walked up to Pike Place Market (picture above). If you like food, you this place is a must visit.

While I was walking around I noticed Beechers Handmade Cheese (http://www.beechershandmadecheese.com/). Hmmm... I wonder if they make curd. I didn't any curd on display so I asked. "Do you have plain cheese curd?" The woman behind the counter said "sure do". "Would you mind if I test it?" She looked at me funny. "Taste it, I mean." She handed over a nice piece of curd. It was solid and cool to the touch. So far so good. I put it in my mouth: salt (but not too salty) and squeaky. "Perfect!" I said. She set me up with container and it took all my self control not to mow through the cheese on the bus and make up some story about how the yanks don't make curd cheese. I made the poutine that night along with some pan fried haddock. I think it was a success.

On Friday I made a quick visit with F. to the Seattle Space Needle and then hopped on the bus back to Vancouver. Saturday morning I was back on the plane and headed for home. Sunday I woke to no pain in my shoulders or chest. Funny.

This trip was a great way to transition back to my regular life.

As I re-read the above paragraph's I realize I don't sound too much like a guy that just had heart surgery: donuts, bags of candy and poutine. Aside from some of the pains I feel, being winded when I climb a hill or stairs and remembering to take the medication I don't really feel any different than before. I have to say seeing the scar in the mirror kind of freaks me out occasionally.

Home - Week 10 - Bike rides and downward dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Mon, 12 May 2008 01:00:00 +0000

This week started with meeting the rehab doctor, Dr. P. The appointment is part of the overall rehabilitation plan and it consists of a complete physical examination with a thorough medical review of my current cardiovascular status including blood work. According to Dr. P. I have "the blood pressure of a teenager", my heart and lungs sound great and I should be able to return to the shape I was in the past.

The highlight for me was the blood work. Two numbers are real important: LDL and HDL. These numbers indicate the cholesterol levels in my bloodstream. In December last year my LDL (bad cholesterol) was 4.09 and my HDL(good cholesterol) was 1.36 . For someone without a valve problem and blocked arteries, these are not terrible numbers, but for someone that was in my condition the LDL needed to be 2.0 and HDL 0.9. I'm happy to say my LDL is 1.1 and HDL is 0.79. The HDL is a little low so I will be adding Salmon Oil to my supplements and my increased activity should help get that number up. The good LDL number is probably a result of the Lipitor which means I'll have to continue taking that pill for a while. I hope that in my meeting with the cardiologist in June we will be able to reduce the dosage.

Although there is no change to the Lipitor dose, we were able to reduce the Metoprolol from 100mg to 50mg a day. Metoprolol is a Beta Blocker and it helps reduce blood pressure, angina and risks of having a heart attack. It's other affect is that it keeps my heart rate (HR) down. I figure with my overhauled pumper and a good exercise plan I'll get this one off the list in June. Currently I exercise at an HR of 120 with little perceived exertion. I'd like to start taking that number up as my fitness returns however the Metoprolol will affect the effort. After talking about this with Dr. P. he recommended a reduction in the Metoprolol and said that my cardiologist will need to make the call on cutting it off completely.

At the end of our meeting I got some other things confirmed: (1) I could get back on the bike; (2) I could go back into the gym and start resistance training; (3) I can go back to Yoga without issue; and (4) there would be no problems with sports like paddling. I mention this because of my continuous paranoia about my chest bone. The Dr. explained to me the healing process and also said that the bone actually heals stronger than the original bone. I don't know if I buy that 100%, but it still makes me feel good.

That was Monday. Needless to say I walked out of the OHI with a significant bounce to my step. I have been on the bike twice this week and aside from a little muscle pain, an embarrassing cadence and harry legs, I'd say I did OK. I have also started my yoga sessions again. So far I'm getting my downward dogs in every second day. Let's just say that my flexibility needs work. The breathing was smooth, the transitions between positions was smooth, but the positions were not stellar, including the downward dog. I have learned, especially with yoga, that with practice everything gets smooth.

I finished the week off on Friday with buying a sea kayak. Remember that paddling question above, there was a reason. For a long time I have wanted a sea kayak and today I finally picked it up. I won't actually start paddling until mid June, but I'm pretty pumped about the whole thing.

This week was a good week.

Home - Week 8 - Flying Solo

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:00:00 +0000

First week on my own. The feeling I had on Saturday morning when I woke was the same I used to get when I was a teenager and my folks had gone somewhere for the weekend. There is a stillness that seems amplified by the fact that you are the only one in the house. Every disturbance is concentrated: house cracks are louder, clocks have thunderous ticks and even the fridge compressor wines to its high pitch and then stops with an echo.

My chest is feeling much better these days so I can actually sit straight up without the protective tuck or roll I was required to do for the first month. As I sat up in bed, bug eyed and disoriented, the cobwebs started to dissipate and all my plans for the day, the week and the month started to flood my brain. I started to itemize all the errands I would do (with the truck), I figured out when I would do my walks, I started meal planning for the week and for about an hour I sat their thinking about doing stuff. When I finally got out of bed, I did the walk around. You know, you walk around your house almost like you want to make sure everyone is gone and you're alone. I used to do this every time my folks left me alone.

With my action plan ruminating in my brains I took care of the first order of business: Latte. During my recovery, for some reason or another, I decided I wasn't going to hit the espresso maker. I fired up the Rancilio, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and proceeded with my coffee morning ritual. Things are getting back to normal.

This week was more Rehab sessions. The sessions themselves are designed for people who are 50+ in age and unfamiliar with exercise and healthy living. That means that I don't fit in very well, but the way I look at it, I'll see how adaptive they are with their program for a 37 year old that knows about training plans, diet logs and periodization. So far the physiotherapist have been pretty conservative, but I'm still technically in my eight week healing period. I have Rehab every Monday and Wednesday. The sessions consist of a consultation (5min) with the Physio, an aerobic workout (40 min), a set of cool down exercises consisting of weights and stretching and then a "talk" about some healthy exercise topic (i.e. hydration). During the exercises portion of my sessions this week I had to use 1lb weights (thats right one (1) pound) because I'm still in the healing period. Fortunately I have checked my ego permanently at the door of the OHI.

Home - Week 7 - One final game

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 01:00:00 +0000

From my first day of recovery I have been terrified of the possibility that my chest bone (sternum) doesn't heal properly. The healthcare team has warned me with every movement that I must be careful not to disturb the healing of my chest. The consequences are painful and repair is unlikely. I can't lift anything greater than 5 pounds. I have to be careful when twisting in bed. When I sneeze, laugh, cough or yawn I need to cross my arms in front of my chest. At the beginning the amount of pain I was felt any time I moved my chest was reinforcement enough. After a while though, the pain wasn't so bad, but by then I was fully brainwashed to protect my chest at all costs.

The healing schedule for my chest, as described by the physiotherapist, is the following: after 4 weeks the bone begins to mend, after 6 weeks the bone can withstand movement, and after 8 weeks the bone is healed. When I met with the surgeon 2 weeks ago he said the x-rays showed the bone was healing and everything was good. I was still pretty worried because I was still having pains in my chest and occasionally I'd get a popping of bones around the sternum. It was nothing too significant, more like a knuckle crack. This week I decided to call the nursing coordinator (NC) at the OHI to confirm that I could start driving and to ask some questions about my chest.

Once I was on line with the NC I gave her my name and surgery date. She said, "oh ya you're a young fella aren't ya".

I acknowledged that I was young from a certain perspective and then proceeded to ask about the driving. She answered, "how do you feel and how are your walks going?"

To which I replied "I feel good, I still have some numbness and soreness in the chest. I'm doing 2-40min walks a day".

She then says "OK you can drive".

"That simple?", I say.

She says, "yup".

Feeling good about the driving I then started telling her about my worries that my chest may not be healing correctly. She replied "when you look down at your chest and breath in, does one side come up before the other?"

"That simple?", I say.

She says, "yup".

I say good bye and hang up. Of course the first thing I do is look down at my chest and breath in. Both sides came up at the same time. All is well and I am ready to drive.

Today (Friday) is my mom's last day here. After suffering through another night of insomnia, I woke late and went in to pick up my truck. It was a little funny to start driving, but not as foreign as I thought it would be. When I returned home, my and I had lunch and then decided to play a game of crib. One final game. As it turned out with the time line my mom set for herself in combination with a couple of interruptions we weren't able to finish the game. As much as I need to move on to the next step of recovery, I'm going to miss having my mom and dad around. Very few of us get to spend 8 solid weeks with our parents anymore. We're all too busy. I'm glad the game was left unfinished. Too me we didn't say "good bye", we just said "until next time".

Home - Week 6 - A flicker of light

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 01:00:00 +0000

When I was 9 years old our family moved into our first house. The biggest and most novel feature of this new house was a fireplace on the main floor and a slow burning stove in the basement. This was a "country" house and my dad's thinking was that the majority of the heating would be done with the stove.

The novelty of the fireplace and stove remained for quite some time. Who gets tired of making and feeding fires with huge pieces wood? As we got settled into the house we also needed to establish a discipline of feeding the stove so that the house stayed warm throughout the day and night. Whether I was the beneficiary of a traditional sexist father (boys do men things and girls do women things) or ultimately the sucker of a more savvy sibling (my sister); I don't want to speculate, but I became the designate for ensuring that the fire in the wood stove remained active throughout the night.

Although the stove could handle some pretty serious pieces of wood, a maximum load with the minimum efficient air intake would last roughly 6 hours. I was 9 and to bed early so my dad would typically get the stove set before heading for bed. That meant that between 4am and 6am the house was out of heat. It was a struggle for me to get up into the freezing house, make my way downstairs and get things heating again. Over time I would simply sleep downstairs and feed the fire constantly through the night. For the first few hours I would leave the doors open and use just the grill so that I could look at the fire. There was something about the flickering light, the smell and the sound.

I wasn't always the perfect fire keeper, but between ages 9 and 16 I spent many nights falling asleep in front of the fire. It didn't hurt that the couch we moved down to the basement was incredibly comfortable. The purpose of sleeping downstairs was simply to avoid getting up early and/or making several trips downstairs to feed the fire. Yet I think over time the fire became a comforting catalyst to slumber.

This will be my fourth entry in this blog where my sleep patterns are central to the theme (Home - Day 4 - Restless Sleep; Home - Day 6 - The Afternoon Nap; Home - Day 13 - The All Nighter). I'm starting to think the hardest part of my recovery has been dealing with a schizophrenic sleep cycle. For the last 3 weeks I have slept miserably. My spirit, energy and mood are all affected by a broken sleep. I decided to return to my childhood to see if I could conjure up an old friend. I grab a big blanket from the bed and head down to the main floor. I flick the switch for the fireplace (gas) and I hunker down on my couch and watch the flames. No sound and no smell, but still a flicker of light that seems to have a hypnotic affect on me.

I wish I could report that this new tactic triggers an unconscious reaction and immediately sleep overcomes me, but it doesn't. Some nights I think the flickering light of the fire actually does help; other nights I think whatever troubles I'm having are beyond childhood comforts, homestead nostalgia and plain old wishful thinking. The sandman runs from me as if I were the embodiment of a mushroom cloud.

At some point a "normal" sleep pattern should return. I hope I won't need to resort to medication. In the mean time I'm plowing through my reading list (4 books last week) and exploring some new concepts around the midnight snack.

My session at the OHI rehab. clinic was a bit of a bust. I think I probably set my expectations a little too high. The 3 hour session ended up being a series of short meetings with various people to schedule various information sessions and visits. I was hoping to actually ask some questions. Apparently my next appointment in a week will be with a real physiotherapist where we set goals and establish limits for physical activity. For the moment I feel pretty good physically. We've had to cancel some walks because I have been brutally tired from a lack of sleep, but when we do get out and walk I feel pretty good.

1 more week and I get to drive!

Home - Week 5 - Organizational Shredding

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 01:00:00 +0000

This week I have moved my things (laptop, books, magazines, ideas book, etc.) from my comfortable spot on the couch by the fireplace up to my study. The intent with moving to the study is to keep some form of discipline for doing something in the morning and afternoon that resembles work, or at least productivity. Without the stress of course.

I have been feeling better and better physically and so this week I decided to start on some small projects that don't require too much physical work and have established permanent residency in the "need to do" portion of my personal projects list. First on this list was to organize my files. I had done a little organizing before my surgery for things like my will, insurance, mortgage, etc., but what I'm talking about is a complete cleansing.

I probably have at least 10 years of accumulated files that I have neatly transitioned every year from my filing cabinet to a legal box. The legal boxes have subsequently been stacked in an appropriate closet of my respective house. I dragged (mostly using my feet because I have the 5lb limit for my arms) each box to the center of the room, removed the cover and assessed the contents. 10 years is a long time and the contents of each box holds a small record of that period of my life. Each box discovery resulted in some "holy shit I still have that" moments along with the occasional nostalgic sigh, "good times, good times". Most of the time I give the contents the big WTF and put it in the disposal pile.

While I purge a decade of personal and professional records my mom is fully engaged with organizing every other storage space in my house and cleaning stuff that I thought was perfectly clean. I'm not about to argue or tell her to stop; it keeps her occupied, she enjoys it and finds it to be good exercise. On my part, I may have a little re-arranging to do when she leaves because I didn't have a valid argument at the time of re-organizing for why my beer glasses should be on a certain shelf instead of where they are most efficiently stored.

In my world every task, problem or adventure has a gear requirement and this organizational quest of mine is no exception. The majority of the records are financial or contain some kind of personal or confidential information and so it's not so smart to put it straight into the garbage or recycling. Translation, required gear: shredder. I had picked up a "cross-cut" shredder last year with the full intent of becoming more responsible in my personal filing and disposal. Needless to say that didn't occur, but as luck would have it I needed one now.

Its funny how sometimes a little personal property destruction at the hands of a home appliance provides as much entertainment as a Jerry Bruckheimer shoot-em-up movie. It's not as thrilling or dramatic as say taking a chain saw to a dilapidated picnic table, but shredding has a calm rhythm of turning order into an absolute chaos of confetti. Besides, swinging a chainsaw is specifically identified in my rehab brochure as only something I can do 12 weeks after the surgery.

So as my mom scrubs away at something or asks me "do you really need this" and my personal favourite, "when was the last time you cleaned this", I feed sheet after sheet into the shredder enjoying the pile of paper shards accumulating in garbage bags and watching progress as the boxes empty. I go until the overheat light comes on, take a break for a little Tetris and then back to shredding.

My rehab meeting happens this Friday (April 11) and I'm pretty anxious. I have had to fill out various questionnaires for psychological state, diet and fitness. I figure they'll use it to determine what specialists I will consult during the rehabilitation process. I'm looking forward to this meeting because it will set a reality for what is possible. I don't expect any restrictions, but I'll see when I get there. I'm still having lots of trouble sleeping and rarely falling asleep before 4am. The walks are going well although I seem to be struggling with deep recovery breaths. I even had my first beer (half beer really). It was no special occasion, I just decided I wanted a beer.

Home - Week 4 - Air Guitar

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 19:08:00 +0000

Several months ago I started putting together a playlist called "Air Guitar". It was going to be a collection of music that regardless of my mood I would bound to that infamous semi-stride pose, one hand plucking away at my thigh, the other hand stretched out from my shoulder with a slight bend at the elbow, fingers in arthritic positions, and all the while imagining I have wild hair as I bounce my head emphatically to the beat of the music.

With time on my hands I decided to go back to the list and see where it would take me. The first part of the list looked pretty good as it stood: Fat Bottomed Girls, Queen; Voodoo Chile (Slight Return0, Stevie Ray Vaughan; All Along the Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix; Over the Hills and Far Away, Led Zeppelin; and, Baba O'Riley, The Who. After some thought, I was missing some more recent tracks. So I added Alive by Pearl Jam. If you can keep your body still during this song, I know some good heart doctors you should talk to.

Recovering from surgery (and perhaps recovering from anything) is odd because you spend quite a bit of time just sitting there. For me it's sitting on my couch beside the fireplace. M. set me up with a pillow to put behind my back so that my feet touch the ground and I can maintain as best a posture as possible while I just sit there. I catch myself often just staring straight ahead. I give myself one of those head shakes that flaps the cheeks and jiggles the eyes back to focus. I pull my work table close to me and start looking at the playlist again.

I added something not so classic, but a great tune for playing it loud: Doesn't Remind Me, Audioslave. Again, if you can make it through this song without a foot tap or a little chin bounce, you need to give yourself one of the above head shakes. I liked where I was heading so I added Resurrection by Moist. Nowhere near a classic, but a great digression. I'm not going for a mixed tape history; this is an air guitar playlist. Every song is a whole new personal rock out session.

One of my favourite personal characteristics is that I digress in mid conversation. It must be annoying as hell for everyone else, but I'm fascinated how I can completely get off track often unable to return to the original thought. That's how I was starting to feel about this playlist and I embraced the digression and added What's the Frequency Kenneth by REM. I then thought Green Day. I had no GD. Whether you like them or not, the simple 3 chord nature of almost every song makes it impossible to not want to start plucking. Not in that classic way either. This is more of a bounce up and down pausing occasionally when you land to go from knee to waist in rapid succession with one hand while the other maintains the chord. Then back to the bounce. It was a hard choice, but I went with Welcome to Paradise.

Digression well in place I decided to brings things back with a few gems that don't get the recognition they deserve: Rockin' in the Free World, Neil Young; No Sugar Tonight, The Guess Who; Tom Sawyer, Rush (although I would describe this track more of an air drum than air guitar); and finally Detroit Rock City, Kiss.

I pushed the table back, adjusted my headphones, jacked the volume, moved my cursor up to track one and hit play. Then I just sat there... It didn't take long for fingers, hands and feet to start moving. With my mom in the room I wasn't prepared to start windmilling, jumping off the couch or kicking over furniture, but in my head I was in full air guitar mode.

The days are getting better. We're up to 2 full 40 minute walks a day. The pace is still slow, but there is progress. Sleep seems to be more difficult now, but I trying different tactics. My chest is still pretty numb; we met with the surgeon on March 26 and he was pleased with the x-rays and what he was hearing. My next big step is Rehab.

Home - Day 15 - Thresholds

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 17:41:00 +0000

I've always liked the word "threshold" because it seems to defeat the word "barrier" so well. Crossing the threshold and enter a new space, leaving behind that barrier that loomed. My daily walks are all about thresholds at the moment. Some would say I'm confusing threshold with milestone, but threshold is truly what I experience.

The first threshold is a literal one. It's actually getting my outdoor clothes on and getting out the door of the house. For me right now the effort is more mental than physical. Once out the door (and over the threshold) the walk has started. I push the button on my watch and we start walking.

The second threshold is a sensation I get in my chest when I am standing straight and walking. The sensation has two components. The first is a sensation of contracting skin into my scars. The second is sensation of muscles in by abdomen and thoracic regions being incredibly tense and unable to release. After about 10 minutes of walking (first set of lights in our current route) the sensation goes away.

While passing over the second threshold, the third begins. It is a seizing of the muscles around the upper spine. Some days the pain has been too much and I have not been able to cross the threshold. We just turn around and head for home--it's very discouraging. Other days I can get through it and then its just heads down walking.

The fourth threshold is the turn-around point. It means I'm halfway there and heading for home. It's a big one for me because I know I going to get the full time in. My watch beeps and we finish our stride, do a 180 and head back. It doesn't mean the trip back is any easier physically, but mentally it just seems easier. The distance to home is diminishing.

The last threshold is the same as the first. I walk into the house and I'm happy to be home and content with my walk. It's all pretty small in the grand scheme of physical accomplishments, but that's how my walking feels. My mom and I walk every day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. By Monday next week we'll have hit the 40 minute limit. After that we go for a while until the walk is comfortable and then we start pushing the distance within the 40 minute envelope.

Today is an important day because it's the 15th day I have been home and marks for me a threshold in my recovery. It means I have been home from the hospital for 2 whole weeks and I am starting to feel physically human again. I walk around the house more freely, I sleep entire nights, I can stay focused on a task for longer than 30mins and my appetite is returning.

As of today I will also start posting only one entry a week so that I can put some time into some other projects I hoped to explore while recovering from surgery. I still have some catching up on a couple of days after the surgery as well.

Home - Day 14 - Easter Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

Today was another tough day mentally and emotionally. We got a full morning walk in, but the evening walk was tough on my back and we had to cut it short. I simply wasn't able walk and breath at the same time. We figure part of it is due to the cold and part of it is that we're going too late in the day after I've eaten. It's like all the muscles around my upper spine seize at once. We're going to try walking early and before meals which is the way we had started. With a couple of my down days we had slid into walking whenever I could muster the will. Time to throw that away. Although my mom doesn't mean it in a bad way she says "I don't want to push you... but, I pushing you."

Easter was pretty tame for us, my mom and I had a quiet easter dinner (Ham and yams) and watched a movie.

Home - Day 13 - The All Nighter

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I stopped counting the number of all nighters I have done for work in the last couple of years because it's kind of scary. I seem to be able to handle all nighters better than most and sometimes one all nighter has extended into two. I'm not beating my chest about this I just want to make the point that when comes to sleep deficit I figure I have some serious debt. The benefit, if there is any, of being in sleep dept, is that falling asleep is not a problem. Those who know me, know that I can pretty much sleep anywhere anytime. As a passenger in moving vehicles (plains, trains, automobiles) seem to be a favourite. Even with this ability to cat nap anywhere, I figure the debt is still pretty big.

My first couple of nights at home were not great from a sleep perspective. I had back pains and chest pains, I could feel the beating of my heart in my head, I was too warm, I was too cold or some other reason that disturbed my sleep. In this second week of recovery I find myself sleeping quite a bit. Afternoon nap, after dinner nap, pre-bedtime nap and full night time sleep. Sometimes I sneak in a mid-morning nap. I lie down I put the headphones on, close my eyes and I'm asleep. I'm sure some of it is related to my actual recovery, but I'll bet the majority of the sleep requirement is coming from past sins. I think my mind is saying to my body each day "dude, are you serious, we don't have to work tomorrow?". Followed quickly by, "dibs on the couch" and then "how about we listen to that Jack Johnson guy"; "hey he's got a new album you know". The banter ends when I've slipped my headset on. "Moby! 'da hell?". "Alright, let's give it a try". "Nice, I like it". "Hey grab that blanket." ...zzzzzzz. At a subconscious level this how I figure it's happening.

For those of you who don't think your mind and body talk, go on an epic hike, bike ride or adventure race. It has to be at least 12 hours, harsh conditions and some discomfort. The words emerge. "This is nuts". "Lets just stop right now." "Come on! Not more bushwacking. I hate bushwacking." "You got to be kidding me, is that another f___ing hill?". None of this is spoken. They are words that seem to occur in the back of the head, but resonate in the ears as if someone were beside you yelling. Then the other part of the conversation kicks in, its a calm rational voice, originating more from the heart and gut. "One step at time." "Just keep walking." "Comfort gear, smooth pedalling, just 5% grade, look at the hill not up the hill." "Stay focused."

I have to say the conversations about sleep are much more entertaining and of course lying down on a couch is a little easier than a 12 hour hike with 60lbs on your back. I figure by the time I'm fully recovered from surgery I just may have eliminated my sleep dept for the last 5 years. I'm probably averaging 3 hours of daytime sleep and 9 hours of night time sleep. That's a lot of sleep where I come from. I'll know it when that inner voice says "dude, I think we're good with the naps, how about you grab that bike of yours so that I can start some real complaining again?."

Today's another cold day. Cold days are really hard on me when we walk outside. We substituted the morning's walk with a trip to Bob's (as in Bob Loblaw). I figure with all the zig zagging and back and forth I easily got my 28 minutes of walking in. The afternoon walk was more like an 8pm walk. We went outside and it went reasonably well. I'm still feeling some back pains, but a couple of tylenol prior to the walk knocked the sharp edges off the pain.

Home - Day 12 - Case of the Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 13:21:00 +0000

Sadly today's blog is not a story involving a case a of beer. It was a pretty blue day for me emotionally and I just don't have the energy for a story.

We got a slow start to the day. Both walks were cold and tonight I couldn't finish the walk due to back pain and cold. I hope to be in better spirits tomorrow.

Home - Day 11 - Walking in "la sluch"

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 14:56:00 +0000

In English we describe semi-melted snow as "slush". In Quebec colloquial French its "la sluch". Personally I feel the word better describe the physical nature of the semi-solid, unstable, snow-water-dirt-garbage mixture that makes up la sluch. To say it correctly all the emphasis is on the "ch" at the end.

This morning's walk was all about la sluch. Yesterday was such a bust due to the weather that no matter what my mom and I were getting out and walking today. It's hard to describe the way I feel from a fitness perspective. I'd say my energy is about 55% of what it usually is, my lung capacity is maybe 65% and my muscles are simply on vacation. So a 24min walk in la sluch is pretty epic. It didn't seem so bad when we started. After about 8 minutes I was in death march mode. One foot in front of the other to get it done. No matter how much I slowed down or stopped I didn't seem to be able to get to a relaxed breathing. I wasn't panting or anything, I just wasn't comfortable. The footing was crazy and there really wasn't an option once we started.

Along with the experience of la sluch comes and entire vernacular of Quebecois curse words, expressions and the like. I figure my last 12 minutes of walking this morning covered a good 70% of the gamut. You know, its the kind of cursing that can only be portrayed verbally because of the value associated with the emphasis, pauses and general drawl used. I used my inside voice of course, but I was into full conversational cursing. Had the walk been longer plots and themes would have developed. La sluch around my house looks like it's going to stay a while and so to avoid too much exertion and curse combinations that would impress a Quebec city theme park roadie, my mom and I looked for new terrain.

This afternoon we decided to go indoors. I got in the car for the first time since I came home from the hospital and we headed towards Billings Bridge Mall, commonly know as the "Blue Hair Mall". I figured the traffic pace would be just about my speed. My mom and I did 4 lengths of the mall in 24 minutes. We got passed by a couple of buggies and a lady on O2. Aside from that we held our own.

The day itself has been alright. My mom has eased the trash talking in crib after a couple of come behind wins on my part. Every day I feel my lung capacity get better, some days it's tangible, other days I just convince myself that the breath I took was deeper. We got both of our walks in along with the exercises. Today was a good day.

Home - Day 10 - Cousin in Kandahar

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

One of the interests I wanted to explore during my recovery are some "new" things on the web that I understand technically, but not socially, i.e. blogs, Facebook, Flickr, etc. The biggest mystery to me is Facebook. I don't understand the appeal--it just doesn't seem productive. Yet, Facebook's value is in the billions. I created and account in Facebook because my friend F. sent me a request. I checked out his profile and thought it was cool, but I was still confused as to why this is better than email, Blog or the telephone. I plan to try and understand the value both from a business and personal perspective.

My sister sent me a note today saying my cousin Mu. has a Facebook account. Mu. is a member of the 12e RBC in Valcartier, Quebec. Since the day I can remember he was always fascinated with the army. He signed up in his mid-20s and has been one of the happiest men I know. At the end of January Mu. shipped out to Afghanistan. Mu. has been in combat situations before in Bosnia and he likes the nature of a real operation. Afghanistan some how seems to be different in that the severity of the mission is more tangible. We were all be shocked at the pictures that come from Bosnia and Somalia, but nothing hits home when the pictures are of Canadian soldiers coming home in coffins. I don't want to debate the mission or the politics--to me personally, it's simple, our guys are there and we support all of them. Period.

I wanted to call Mu. before he departed, but I was hip deep in my own ordeal preparation and all of a sudden he had left. Then the note from my sister came. I don't know if I could have been more excited. I jumped on Facebook and immediately found Mu. and sent him a Friend request. I hope to get a response from him soon. I can't wait to see his updates and send him my own updates. It could be any other technology, but the bottom line is there is now a medium for me to talk with my cousin in Kandahar.

The interaction with my cousin should be interesting because Facebook is not just messaging and photos. There are a bunch of other components (quizs, memberships, likes and dislikes) that describe people in a method that isn't words and has the potential to present whatever image you want. Here comes the deep part: maybe Facebook lets you live a fantasy. During the day I'm vince, but on Facebook I'm the "Spoonman". Hmm... Like I said I don't get it, but it will make for some interesting reflection.

14 days since the operation! I wish I could say today was a great day, but I woke up pretty tired and my energy level has been low all day. We were unable to go for our walk today due to the weather--rain, snow and ice. Downright shitty. I have to be exceptionally careful about falling so I made the call that we weren't going walking today. If the weather continues tomorrow, we'll hit a mall and do our walks there.

Home - Day 9 - Pills, pills, pills...

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I have never been big on medication. The root of it is probably the same reason I have never been a big drinker or smoker. Anything that puts my head in a fog makes me nervous. I'm not an idiot though, if something is going to get me better or kill severe pain, I'm at the front of the line with my hand out. I just like to have a specific reason for taking medication.

My fast and furious introduction into heart disease has been a bit of a shock for me when it comes to medication. Upon discovery of the heart disease I went from taking 5 pills a year to 5 pills a day (Lipitor for cholesterol, Metoprolol for blood pressure and Aspirin). Apparently I will be taking these pills for the rest of my life. Because I wasn't used to taking medication the first thing I did was go out and buy one of those plastic containers with 14 slots, 2 for each day (AM and PM). I fill the container up every Sunday night when I finish up my week. The container sits front and center in my house so that I never forget it (I have forgotten once since the beginning of January).

I wouldn't describe myself as someone who is careful with his health care. I'm pretty good from a diet and exercise perspective. I don't drink much, I've never taken drugs and for a long time I have been pretty strict about what I eat. I do however have a vice that is not exactly stellar. It would be innocent, if it didn't border on gluttony. I love candy. Those who know me know this fact. I have been able to go cold turkey a couple of times, but when it comes down to it, put a bag of Nibs or Sourpatch Kids in front of me and that bag is gone. Forget about being polite, forget about pacing myself, the bag is gone. Some of it is a nervous thing, when I'm thinking or under stress I need to chew something. The other part is a comfort thing, I just like candy--it just makes me feel good.

The other part of my health care that I have have been negligent is checkups and regular testing. When I visited Dr. V. for my chest pains it was the first time I had been to a doctor for a checkup in 10 years. The way I see it, I was just lucky that we caught this thing when we did. Had I continued to say "I'm too busy" or "it's really not that bad, it'll pass", I could have found myself facing the sky after a heart attack and then the lucky part would be if someone found me to get me to a hospital.

My apprehension with doctors has been that they always give me bad news and out of no sense of rationality what so ever I had decided a long time ago that I didn't want to hear it. Fortunately for me, rationality kicked into high gear along with a significant dose of M. logic. I was having chest pains, they weren't normal, both my father and my uncle recently had bypass surgery and there is history of heart disease in my family. M. like most women is very responsible with health care and for her it's not an option. You don't feel right, you go to a doctor. I suppose you could say I can see the light now.

That brings us back to medication. Similar to visiting doctors, I saw taking medication as something superfluous to health. You take medication, if your sick. I figured if my cholesterol is too high, I'll change my diet. If my red blood cell count is to low, I'll eat more iron. If I'm too heavy, I'll exercise. What I have learned from my experience is that things just don't work that way. No matter what I eat my cholesterol will be high--genetic predisposition. No matter what I eat or how much I exercise my blood pressure will always be a little low--genetic again. That doesn't mean that I'm going to become KFC's number one client because I packing 40mg of Lipitor every day. I still have to do the diet thing. It just means that the diet thing isn't enough. My body needs the drug.

I take a lot of pills now. I still take the big 3 (Lipitor, Metoprolol and Aspirin), but added to that cocktail is a diuretic, potassium pills (to replenish the potassium release caused by the diuretic), antacid (all the pills I take are hard on the stomach), extra-strength Tylenol and Dilaudid (serious painkiller). After breakfast I pull out my purple container, open up the AM compartment, grab a glass of water and start popping. Same routine after dinner, except its the PM compartment. To me, it's now just part of the routine, same as the exercises and same as the walks. I count myself lucky that I haven't needed too much pain medication, that my heart valve was fixed so I don't need blood thinner and that none of the drugs seem to be causing any issues.

Perspective is an interesting word because in essence it means from where you are looking. I figure perspective can be changed in 3 ways: incident, reflection and observation. My perspective on my personal healthcare has changed through incident and reflection. It probably should have changed through observation a long time ago, but it didn't seem to happen. It's too bad because observation is the easiest, and least painful, way to learn anything.

I was a little groggy today. I got up a little late and it took me a while to get the engine firing. The walks were good and I got a win in at the cribbage board. My mom and I watched "A River Runs Through It"--what a great story.

Home - Day 8 - The Game of Cribbage

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I bought a cribbage board several months ago hoping that M. and I could get into playing. With all the preparation leading up to the surgery we just didn't get around to it. I can remember cribbage for as long as I can remember. My parents used to play it with their friends and still play a game or two every day.

The night my parents arrived from Quebec I decided to break the game out after dinner. We played a couple of games and it was great. For me, cribbage is an ideal game: there is strategy, calculation, luck and this wonderful board that allows you to visually watch the progress of points. There is one other part that of the game that comes when my mom is playing and that's trash talking. She does it in an innocent kind of way but it is what it is.

When I was recovering in the hospital we broke the game out a couple of times. To me the game indicated that my brain was back and functional. While I'm at home my mom and I play after lunch and dinner. If M. or my dad are around they join in, but for the most part it's me and my mom. I get a couple of wins in here and there, but the woman seems to be taking a significant portion of the games. We'll be close and then all of sudden she'll get 16 points in her hand and then turnover her crib and score an additional 12. Meanwhile I'll get 4 points. The frustrating part is she'll have a mediocre hand until the cut and whatever card is turned seems to be exactly the one needed. Now imagine what happens when you take someone who trash talks with a 4 point lead and you give them a 24 point lead. She'll start with "Oh my that's quite a gap"; then when she gets her hand "another great set of cards, what two should I give to my crib"; finally it will end with "look at that, I have skunked you again".

I however skunked my mom today, but that was my 1 to her 3 games. We'll see how the rest of the week goes.

Today was another good day. My sleep was regular and the body pillow gives me that little respite I need for my back and neck to recover. We hit the 20 minute mark on our walks and I'm starting to feel better during the walk. My chest is still pretty tight and deep breaths are about 2/3 of what they should be. The melting snow is making things tricking, but M. set my mom and I up with these Yak-Traks that you slip onto your boot and the grip on ice is amazing.

Home - Day 7 - Comparitively Speaking

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

When I first decided that I wanted to try bike racing, I knew I was going to have to get a little more disciplined about my riding and training. I did a little reading and discovered some key elements: goals, structure, periodization and discipline.

First, I needed an ultimate goal, some race or training objective. I picked a local race called the "Gatineau Grand Prix" and decided that I would set next year's race as the objective. I looked up the results of the category I was going to race in and I picked the lap time I felt was achievable.

Second, I put a training plan together based on what I had read. That included nutrition, weight loss, weight training, on bike training, off bike training and mental preparation. The plan was roughly eight months long and required me to loose close to 15 lbs and gain a significant amount of fitness.

Because I had eight months the 3rd element of periodization was pretty easy. I started off with keeping a training log (diet, body weight, resting heart rate, training objective, results), getting regular workouts in the weight room and building base in the legs with long easy rides. As each month progressed, the plan changed and got harder. I started riding different patterns: intervals, isolated leg, sprints, etc. I started pushing more weight in the gym and more focus on the cycling muscles. I kept adjusting my diet to match the training requirements.

I have a small piece of paper in my study that has two words written: Focus and Discipline. I added a third, Integrity, a while ago, but the first two, I believe, are the lowest common denominator to achieving anything. For eight months I needed to be disciplined about training. I had a demanding job for a company that we were trying to get off the ground and it took everything I had to maintain focus and discipline on that personal goal I had set for myself.

Race day was approaching fast. The training was going well, but I still wasn't getting the lap times I wanted. I just couldn't seem to get up the hills fast enough. Relatively speaking I was doing great. I had never been as fit, nor had I ever felt as good, I simply needed to take 3 minutes off my current lap time to stay in the pack during the race. I rehearsed the race day a couple of times because I had never been to a race before and the day of the race I arrived well rested and as I ready as I could be. At the end of the race my lap times ended up being a little faster that my last training laps, but not enough to stay with the pack. It's funny I wasn't discouraged at all. I showed up to the race as prepared as I could be and I did the best I could. In that race and the process leading up to it I discovered something I really liked doing (cycling) and I discovered just how hard competitive cycling is.

Today I sit in front of a different plan. This one is about healing a valve that has been fixed, two arteries that have been repaired, two lungs that were completely deflated and partially inflated and a split chest bone. Funny though, the principles and tools that have been laid out by the OHI are identical to those I used to prepare for the race. Goal: Heal (get back to work and back on the bike). Structure: Log (sleep, weight, temperature, exercise record, medication, food intake) Rest, heart healthy diet, exercise program, walking program, medications and follow-up visits. Periodization: We started with 2-10 minute walks and exercises consisting of 10 calf raises while holding on to a chair. Discipline: knowing that the OHI has done this before and at 37 there is still a whole lot more living to do. Maybe even a bike race.

Today was a good day. I slept well. M. bought me this body pillow that allows me to sleep on my side without collapsing my shoulders. The ability to make small shifts during the night alleviates quite a bit of the back pain. My mom continues to beat me at crib--today my ass was handed to me three times. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't trash-talking the whole time. We had two great walks with the sun shining and snow melting.

Home - Day 6 - The Afternoon Nap

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I wonder what it is about taking a nap that seems so satisfying. I have been a napper my entire life: as a child I took naps because I had to; as a teenager I took naps because adolescence seemed to require an inordinate amount of sleep; and, as an adult I take naps just because. A quick (45 min) on a Sunday afternoon with a little music in the background, maybe a fire in the fireplace and a little blanket--pure luxury.

The routine for my current recovery days is well set. I get up early (probably because I go to bed early). I read, work on the blog or just putter with the computer. At about 9am we have breakfast. I then take my variety of medication and my mom and I go through the exercise routine provided by the OHI. I take a shower, shave every second day, get dressed and my mom and I head out for the morning walk. When we get back from the walk we putter until lunch and then eat lunch (usually a turkey sandwich). After lunch, we play a little game of cribbage. The afternoon consists of some little project (like consolidating the remotes or figuring out my shelving design for the basement), an afternoon walk and a maybe a movie. Then, its dinner, another game of crib and a movie or some more of a little project. Bed time comes early and sleep is welcome.

Today my mom and I deviated a bit. After lunch and the game of crib we both sat down to reading a bit. My mom was first to go. She slowly set her book down, grabbed a blanket and curled up. 2 minutes later I could here that comfortable breathing that is synonymous with someone sleeping. I took a different approach. I put on my headphones, selected a long playlist of instrumental guitar from the iPod and stretched out. About an hour later we both woke feeling very satisfied with our collective nap. What a great feeling to just drift away and wake up when it's the right time to wake.

The exercises and walks are going well. I felt a little winded today on the morning walk, but I think it had more to do with the temperature of the air than the pace or distance.

Home - Day 5 - Turkey Sandwiches

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 04:00:00 +0000

When I was 17 I had Hodgkins disease and part of the treatment was chemotherapy ("chemo"). Chemo isn't so fun and one of the big side effects is some pretty intense vomiting. When my mom would bring me home from the hospital she'd put me down to bed so that I could try to rest. The first couple of hours were rough, but then things would settle down and I'd actually get hungry. My first food after chemo was melba toast and lemon tea. Sounds pretty simple I know but after a day of retching my guts so hard that I was breaking blood vessels in my head, the fact that I was able to eat something was miraculous and melba toast and lemon tea became a comfort that indicated things were getting better.

Fortunately the recovery from heart surgery does not include anything like chemo and there's no nausea or retching. But similar to my chemo time, I found something that brings comfort to my entire soul as soon as I take a bite.

My angiogram procedure was a full day procedure. I was scheduled first thing in the morning, but the recovery went into late afternoon. During that recovery the nurses begin with giving you water, then juice, then fruit and then a full blown sandwich. The sandwich that was given to me was a turkey sandwich. Nothing special: very fresh whole wheat bread, real sliced roasted turkey and probably some margarine. Comfort is all I can say when I took a bite of that sandwich. It couldn't be more simple, but if that wasn't the best feeling I had all day.

Since I got home my mom has been making me turkey sandwiches with fresh whole wheat bread, real sliced roasted turkey, a little lettuce, a little relish and a little margarine. Every day I sink my teeth into those sandwiches either for lunch or a snack in the afternoon or both and the feeling of comfort is overwhelming.

We added another couple of minutes to my walks today and things are going well. I actually had a couple of good sleep periods last night too. And of course we had turkey sandwiches.

Home - Day 4 - Restless Sleep

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

One problem I never thought I would have is sleep. Prior to my surgery and pretty much my entire life I have been able to lie down anywhere and go to sleep. It typically takes me about a minute to clear my thoughts and then it's lights out.

I have been home now for 3 nights and sleep has been all but the paradise it once knew. Due to my movement restrictions I can't do my ritual flipping around to find just the right spot prior to falling asleep and it also means that I can't do the 2 to 4 position shifts I typically make during the night. Last night I benefited from a back rub by M. and couple of extra strength Tylenols yet I still had a broken sleep, waking several times and ending with a sore neck and shoulders. Don't get me wrong, if this is the worst of it, I'll take it and shut my mouth. It just amazes me how my comfort sleeping has disappeared and now I would almost rather not sleep.

I keep thinking its the pillow configuration, but I have been through about 5 different pillows now and none are better than the other. I'm even trying a little drink of milk before bed. I figure I'll keep with the tylenol, milk and stick with the last pillow and see where it goes.

The daily walks are going well and I'm feeling more and more energy return to my system.

Home - Day 3 - Beauty of the Band-Aid

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

My friend D. wrote me a message today asking for a picture. It was funny because I hadn't ever really taken a good look at my stitches. It just didn't seem important. D. was asking and I figured, better get a record of what was done.

It's pretty impressive when you think about that 8 inch slit right down my sternum. During my hospital stay all the nurses commented on what a good job it was and Dr. M. did quality work. Having seen my dad's scars and heard about 100 plus staples used to suture up the cut, I looked at this clean vertical line and 3 horizontal cuts and sighed in relief. As far as I was concerned Dr. M. was "da man".

There is something significant that you can't see in the photo, but it is about midway up the sternum cut and to the left. It's a small green dot tatoo that the radiologists used to line up there devices during my radiotherapy for my Hodgkins. The irony is thick. The last remnant of the process that caused this surgery sits right next to the scar of the surgery. Cause and effect, side by each.

In looking at the picture I also started to reflect on what was actually done. The original plan was a triple by-pass with a valve replacement. In my pre-op meeting the surgeon had said "no matter how good the data is from the Ecography, MRI and Angiogram, we'll only know for sure when we get in there". Normally this would worry me when someone talks like this because it's about as definitive as a Yogi Berra prediction. The difference is there was a plan based on the data. If the data was correct the plan would be executed as planned. If the data was incorrect, then adaptations would be made.

I'm simplifying this substantially, but imagine the surgeon once he "gets in there". First order of business is the valve. He takes a close look at the valve: how it opens and closes and the level and distribution of plaque. Then he says to himself, "I reckon I can jig that so it'll work". Now I can guaranty this guy doesn't talk this way because he has more letters after his name than I thought were possible. But that's the way I like to see it. The guy knows his shit and he proceeds with fixing the valve. He shaves the plaque, reshapes the valve opening and then tests it operation. Done. Then he proceeds to the by-pass. Determines that the blockage for two of the arteries are close enough that he can cover it with single by-pass. That brings the total number down to two instead of three.

The results of are amazing to me. No valve replacement means potentially no future surgery. It means no blood thinner. It's HUGE. There are no guarantees, things may degenerate and I may have go back in the end, but I got a fighting chance and in most cases that all anybody needs.

Although it's not necessary I'd like to ponder the beauty of the band-aid in the above picture because it too carries some irony. Here is an 8 in scar that represents to me the mastery of a surgeon able to analyse the condition of a living heart and make on the spot decisions that will impact the life of the individual. Below the scar is a standard band-aid that is the representation of a temporary fix where no mastery is involved. Peal the ends and stick the band-aid on. Hope for the best. I love it.

Today was the first day of walking. My mom and I did the prescribed exercises and then headed out of a 10min walk. I was surprised how winded I was after only 10mins. We did another walk in the afternoon. It's also today where I decided to write this the blog.

Home - Day 2 - My Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I woke very early this morning (05:30) after a pretty crappy night of sleeping. My neck hurt, my back hurt and I was still pretty groggy. The big difference was that I was home. I put on my pyjamas, my hoody and my housecoat and went down to my living room.

For those who have had the pleasure of being around me in the morning, I'm a morning person. Well not this morning. I knew I couldn't sleep any more, but I had a significant grog going on. I grabbed my MacBook, through in a BSG DVD and proceeded to watch episode after episode in a haze. After a while everyone started to get up and I was starting to get revived a little.

With breakfast under my belt, we did exercises and then I went up for a shave and a shower. What a difference a real shower makes. After that I reacquainted myself with my stuff. My MacBook, my iPod, my books, my moleskin idea books, the TV and the movies. In the grand scheme of things all this stuff is pretty insignificant, but for today it represented not being in the hospital.

The important things that I wasn't thinking about today but remain always with me are that M. and my folks and my friends are around with as much support as I will/can accept. I'm a lucky man.

Hospital/Home - Day 5/Day 1 - Goin' Home

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I woke up this morning knowing exactly what day it was. It's Discharge Day! That's right I'm going home today. There are still a couple of things left to do, but the plan is to be out the door by mid morning.

I woke up in the similar fashion, on my back, slightly elevated and staring at the clock. My parents arrived pretty early (7:30am) so that they could get a good parking spot. Parking at the OHI is brutal beyond 8:45am and the current snow conditions make it that much worse.

Breakfast arrived as usual at 8:15 and it was my last chance to try and get a rise out of the Food Lady. "Good Morning!." It's almost like I was talking to some one else. Blank stair, drop the food off and move on to the next room. It's weird because it doesn't feel impolite. Just absent.

After breakfast, M. arrived smiling the chiclet smile because she knows what day it is too. Going home is progress. Going home means there's no complications.

Due to all the weather in the past couple of days the nurse teams in our ward have been short handed. It was hardly noticeable for me because I didn't demand to much attention, but I could hear snippets of conversations from the hallway. With that in mind, it took a while for the nurse to come in and do my vitals check. I also told her that I needed the heart monitor wire removed and the sutures checked. She left the room and returned in about 20 minutes with some gear.

First was the heart monitor wire. It was the last dangling remnant of my surgery. It's a wire that is connected straight to the heart that can link to a pacemaker or another device to monitor my heart activity. Now that I was going home it was no longer needed. So, I'm lying down, she tells me its going to feel weird, grabs hold of the dangling part and gives a soft yank. I can't say I felt the wire detach, but I sure as hell felt the wire as it meandered it way to the surface. Done. It was probably about an 6 inch length that had been in my body. The nurse showed it to me, guessing correctly that I wanted to see what it looked like. It was just a wire. Nothing special. She put a band-aid over the wire hole, checked my chest and leg sutures and then went off to find the doctor for my prescriptions.

The list of prescriptions was substantial but all had a purpose. I met with the resident for one last discussion and he gave the nod that I could go home. I pealed off my well appreciated pyjamas and put on some regular clothes. M. and my folks collected my various fruit baskets, flowers and other stuff. I walked over to the nurses station to say "thankyou very much and goodbye" and then we got out of Dodge.

I was still pretty stiff, so getting in and out of the truck was tricky. Once home I sat down on my couch, took a deep breath (as deep as I could manage) and just sat there. The rest of the day consisted of a marathon session of Battlestar Gallactica episodes, an early dinner and then early to bed. My own bed with M. by my side. Things were starting to feel right again.

Hospital - Day 4 - The New Brunswick Connection

noreply@blogger.com (Spoon 1970) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 01:00:00 +0000

The pattern of my hospital stay continued today except my back wasn't so good this morning. My night nurse Mc. set me up so I could sleep on my side and he kept the Dilaudid coming at regular intervals. I slept well, but about an hour after I woke I started feeling pain and then after our morning walk in the ward I was in serious pain. It hurt every time I breathed in and out. It just plain hurt. For the first time I was truly uncomfortable and in a significant amount of pain. We started with Tylenol, but the request for Dilaudid came pretty fast. I laid down to rest and fell asleep. When I woke my back was significantly better.

The order of the day was the physio briefing. M., my mom and me walked into room and around us were men and women ranging from late 30s to late 70s. The patients are easy to spot, we're the ones in pyjamas and housecoats clutching our teddys (pillow used to brace your chest when you cough). When the physiotherapist started her spiel I couldn't help but feel like I was at a self-help meeting. The intro was like AA (or at lease how I have perceived it on television), "Hi my name is Vince and I had a valve repair and double bypass". The group then responds in unison, "Hi Vince", in a long drone. ...The group didn't really respond that way, but it would have been funny. In reality we gave each other the understand nod that goes with being in the same situation.

My day nurse, H., had been in and out a couple of times in the morning, but I was feeling some serious pain and didn't notice the University of New Brunswick pin she was wearing. A night nurse I had earlier in the week, Mt., was from NB and my night nurse last night, Mc., was from NB. I figured what the hell, I'm going to ask. Indeed all three nurses knew each other and all three came from the small town of New Maryland close to Fredericton. I now had lots to chat about because I had been a quasi-resident of Fredericton for almost 2 years during a project with the DND.

That night my nurse was again Mc. Mc. had lots of work to do on me, changing dressings and the like. While he was working I figured, I'll ask him, "hey how well do you know Mt.". Mc. responded with I smile, "I've know Mt. since the second grade". I thought that was cool. How many of us are still in touch with a friend we've know since we were 7 years old. I didn't dig to much and whether they are buddies or not, that's none of my business. I just thought it was cool. 3 people that know each other from the same small town, working in the same city and in the same hospital ward. The best part is they were all awesome nurses.

I didn't mess around tonight. Mc. gave me the Dilaudid and I was out for the count. Tomorrow is discharge day.