The pain was incredible; I was stiff from lying down for 6 days; luckily, the incision from the surgery was so bandaged up, I could only feel the tape that seemingly covered my chest.

As soon as I stepped onto the hallway, I was greeted by one of the floor nurses.  “Glad to see you’re up and moving,” she said, walking past.  “About four times a day, and you’ll be going home in no time.”  John and I looked at each other and laughed.  Four times a day?  I couldn’t imagine.

A sunroom for visitors and patients was about 30 steps away.  “Let’s head down there,” John said, pointing with his free hand.

“I don’t think I can make it that far,” I said.  “I’m about to pass out.”

“Oh, you’ll make it,” he said, more telling me than comforting me.  “The sooner we get you moving, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

Slowly, deliberately, we stumbled our way down the hallway, bags following closely behind.  Thank God John had brought me some sweat clothes!  Otherwise, I’d have been hanging out on all sides!  Funny, the things the run through your mind when you’re trying NOT to think of what you’re doing.

After what seemed an hour, we reached the visiting area, and of course, there were no available seats!  There were several groups laughing and talking, and they all turned to look at me like I was a green polka-dotted elephant!  “I think you’re being told to walk back,” John offered.  “Want to turn around?”

“I can’t right now,” I gasped, out of breath and rubber-legged.  “Can’t we stop just a minute?”

I looked to the right.  There was an elevator bank, and on the other side, an additional visitation area.  “Let’s go there,” I said.  “I’m not ready to go back to the room.”

Slowly we turned toward the elevators.  “Take your time,” John said.

“I’m afraid the chairs will be full by the time we get there,” I managed, chuckling.  “And believe me, I’m going to need a short break.”

As we entered the second area, I locked my eyes on a sofa right by the window.  “Hurry,” I said, “let’s go there.”  We shuffled just a few steps and I fell onto the couch.  “Ah, that was fun,” I commented, “can’t wait to do it again.”

For several minutes, we watched as other patients did just as I had, stumble, shuffle and stroll down the hall, each wih their own selection of rolling bags, all the while looking for a place to land.  I observed each one looked very similar; pale, weak, but determined to get through the exercise.  I realized at that moment there must be 100’s of people going through this same procedure all over the country — I also realized I really wasn’t that special – I was just another fortunate bloke who’d made it off the table.

Staring out the window, I saw several people walking down the street in front of the hospital; that would be me again, I thought, someday soon.  The worst part of this nightmare was over!

“You ready to head back?” John asked, bringing me back to the present.  “You can order your dinner, get a little rest, and then we’ll do it again when I get back from getting something to eat.”

“Gee, thanks, Nurse Ratchett,” I laughed.  And from then on, that became his nickname.  But you know, without his pushing, prodding and stubborn refusal to accept that I was done, I wouldn’t be writing this today.

It’s amazing to me how much you learn through an experience like this. I was surprised at the multitudes of people I thought had been my friends, that I never heard a word from. Additionally, I was equally surprised at the people who came to my rescue; people I thought wouldn’t have had the time.

Any life-threatening disease is a chance to learn, as I had seen first-hand over the last couple of weeks. The human compassion I saw from the staff was overwhelming, yet they all acted as if that was just the way it was supposed to be.

It was the same with those that came to my rescue; though there were far fewer than I had imagine, it taught me something. If you give your live out, you’ll get it back — not at all from where you thought, but then, does it matter?

On the way back from the sunroom, my mind wandered. I was beginning to realize, (though not at all how much) how this health disaster was an unfolding of a brand new life. And though it was one I had no idea the destination, I was here for a reason – the Universe had seen to that.

“Take it easy,” Randy implored.  “Your body’s not used to real food, yet.”

I picked up the phone and ordered a standard breakfast – scrambled eggs, grits, toast, juice and coffee.  I ended my conversation requesting some fresh fruit, something I’d never been a fan of, but suddenly had  a taste for.

“Did they change my taste buds, too?” I asked, laughing.  “I’ve never had a hankering for melon, but it sure sounded good.”

“I don’t think that happened,” Randy laughed.  “But then, I’ve a feeling you’re about to see a lot of changes.”  She paused to take the blood pressure cuff from around my arm.  “Everything looks great,” she added, turning back to the cart.  “I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours.  Remember, eat slowly.  You don’t want your first real meal in a week to make you sick.”

Leaving the room, she closed the door.  “Ah,” I thought, “peace and quiet – finally.”  I closed my eyes and let me mind drift.  Though I wasn’t home yet, I certainly had a sense of peace.  The worst was over – or so I thought.

There was a knock at the door, and the dietician entered with a covered tray.  “Breakfast?” she asked.

“Bring it on,” I said, “and you better stay out of the way of the fork.”  She chuckled as she brought the tray table to the bedside and set everything up.

“I’ll be back in a bit to pick it up,” she said, again closing the door on her way out.  I lifted the cover on the food tray to see exactly what I’d ordered.  Scrambled eggs had never looked so tasty.

I was ravenous!  As I took the first delicious bite, I thanked God for the nutritious, real food and that I’d made it back this far.  I scarfed down everything but the parsley on the plate, slowing only long enough to take sips of the weak, bland decaf coffee.  ‘Didn’t matter, I would’ve eaten anything.

Just as I finished up, John and Belinda returned and settled in for a long day.  “You guys don’t have to stay,” I said, “I don’t think they’ll be much going on today.”

“Oh, no,” John retorted.  “I’m in for the long haul, remember?”  We all chatted for a while, then Belinda rose to leave.  “Now that I see you’re alive and kicking, I can go home for a little while,” she offered.  “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”  She gave John and hug, walked to my bedside and gave me a kiss, then left the room.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked. 

I adjusted the sheets on the bed, noticing that the whole of my torso was covered with bandages.  “When do you think these will come off?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied.  “I’m sure they’ll only keep them on there as long as absolutely necessary.”  He stared out the window.  “You o.k.?” I asked.

“Just really tired,” he said.  “It’s been a long week, and I”m glad the worst of it’s over.”  He paused.  “We have to start walking you up and down the hall today,” he added.

“I’m not sure I can,” I answered.  “I don’t have any strength at all.”

“And that’s exactly the point,” he said.  “You won’t have any until you start getting back to normal activity.”  He had been down this road with his mother many years before, and I was lucky to have such an expert taking care of me.

“Come on,” he said, standing.  “Get out of bed and let’s take a walk.”  He walked to the bedside and took my arm.

“Can’t I wait until my breakfast digests?” I asked.

“The sooner you start exercising, the sooner I can take you home.  Now get up.”

I rose slowly and swung my legs off the side.  The pain was great, to say the least.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to go very far.”

“It all begins with one step,” he retorted.  “So let’s start that step.”

“‘Sorry for the rush,” he finally eeked out.  “I’ve got a lot of people to move out of this place today,” he continued. 

“That’s cool,” I replied.  “The sooner you get me upstairs, the sooner I may be get some real food.”  I had long since lost my taste for chicken broth, gelatin and an occasional cracker or two.  I was ready for the real stuff.  My appetite coming back meant to me that things were returning to normal.

As we rounded the corner off the elevator on the Cardiac ward, we narrowly missed the nurse, Randy, who had been my favorite first time on the floor.  She quickly dodged the gurney, then looked up.  “Well, hi there!” she exclaimed.  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever be back.”

“Oh yeah,” I answered, “just couldn’t get a reservation.”

“You’re back in the same room,” she explained, “I’ll be down there in a minute to get you settled.”

As we rolled down the hall, I recognized several faces I’d seen now almost a week before.  Funny how I hadn’t even thought of any of them, but how important seeing their faces again had become.

We rolled into the room, and there sat Belinda!  “What’re you doing here?” I asked.  “How’d you know when I’d be back?”

She laughed.  “I’ve been here over a week, I was about to give up on you,” she answered.  “No seriously,” she continued, “John called me this morning and said they were letting you out of jail on a pass.

“You’re looking pretty good,” she continued.  She waited until they had gotten me into bed and walked to the side.  “You had me worried there for awhile,” she said as she kissed me on the forehead.  “Gotta admit, it’s never boring knowing you.”

The orderly left with the gurney while at the same time John came into the room.  “That didn’t take long,” he commented.  “Kinda weird you’re in the same room you were in, don’t you think?”

“I’m just glad to see the outside, glancing at the window.  The sun shone brightly through the trees at the front of the hospital – I was so grateful to be where I was.  “So bring on the feed bag,” I said, laughing.

Belinda reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a menu.  “Uh-oh,” she said, “still a diabetic diet.”

I cringed.  Though this was going to be solid food, I was sick of the flavorless, non-appetizing selections they were giving me.  “Wonder if I could get someone to bring me a big bowl of ice cream?” I asked, winking.

“That’s not going to happen,” I heard, as Randy entered the room.  “I see some things didn’t change while you were downstairs,” she smiled.  “Still not happy with the food service?”

“I just want something that TASTES good!” I said. 

“Don’t want to mess up the apple cart now,” she replied.  She walked to the foot of the bed, took a foot and held it.  “Wow, there’s a pulse in here now,” she said.  “‘Looks like they knew what they were doing down there.”

John strolled to the bedside, straightened my pillows, and sat on the side of the bed.  “Well, at last now I can keep an eye on you,” he added.  That ‘10 minutes ever hour’ visitation was about to drive me crazy!”

He turned to Belinda.  “Ready for some breakfast?” he asked.  “I’m sure they’ll keep him out of trouble while we’re gone.”

“Sure,” she said.  “Let’s go.”  They stood and started for the door.  “See you in a bit,” John said.

Randy pulled the stats cart to the bedside.  “Now let’s see what we’ve got going on here.”  She checked my pulse, temperature, oxygen level.  “Everything’s looking good,” she said.

“It ought to,” I added.  “I got all new parts.”  I reached for the phone and dialed the in-house food ordering service.  As I chose anything and everything I knew I could have, I thanked God I had made it back this far.  The hump had been a big one, but I was slowly moving forward.

I’d been in my “interim” room only a day when John walked in with a big smile on his face.  “They’re moving you,” he said.  “And you won’t believe it, it’s back to the same room you were in on the Cardiac Ward before.”

He walked over and patted me on the arm.  “Hang in there, buddy,” he smiled, “we’re finally moving forward here.  Don’t rock the boat.”

I smiled and sat up in the bed.  “So what’s the next step, and how fast can I bust out of this place?”

“Hold on, cowboy,” he replied.  “Remember, they’re still deciding whether or not you need a pacemaker, though quite honestly, that’ll be a piece of cake compared to the last week.”

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Just then Carlotta, a large, attractive nurse, pushed the door open.  She’d been my night nurse over the last couple of days; a friendly sort, but one you knew you didn’t want to make mad or meet in a dark alley somewhere.

“Mr. Woodford,” she said, “get your things together.   The bus leaves in 10 minutes.”  She walked over and began checking my stats with her roll-away cart.  “This is what we like to see,” she said, “don’t want you staying too long with us.”

John walked around the room gathering what little I had brought into the room.  “No time like the present,” he said, picking up some magazines he’d brought earlier.

She’d barely had time to wrap the blood pressure cuff around my arm when the door swung open again and in came an orderly with a gurney in tow.  “Mr. Woodford, it’s time to get you back upstairs.”  He walked over and checked my arm band, asked me my name and birthday, and began lining up the gurney next to the bed.

“Wow, this is quick,” I commented.  “When you guys hit ‘go,’ you don’t mess around.”

“Need the room,” Carlotta replied.  “And since they have another upstairs for you, I want to make sure they don’t give it to someone else.”

I was so excited!  I would be able to see the sun again, look out a window onto the world at large, have my own bathroom — funny how the little things become so signficant at times like these.

As Jerome slid me onto the gurney, John stepped to the door.  “Room 347?” he asked Carlotta.

“That’s it!”  she said.  “Take good care of him, now.” 

As I rolled through the door, John stopped the gurney.  “I’ll go on up with your stuff,” he said.  “Meet you up there in  a few.”

I was out of Maximum Security and on my way to progress.  What was supposed to be a 5-day stay had grown to two weeks, with no mention of going home.  Still, the promise of real food, a private room and the joy of true peace and quiet made my newly rebuilt heart jump!

I thanked God as Jerome rode with me up the elevator, then momentarily wondered if the prayer had reached through the elevator walls, unlike cell phone conversations!  Oh well, didn’t matter — I knew the answer, and the answer was that God wasn’t done with me yet.

This will be a short post, and then I’ll be back on schedule very shortly.
____________________________________________________

While I was finishing off my dinner, the head nurse for the “medium-security” intensive care ward stopped by for a visit.

“We’re trying to get you a room as quickly as possible,” she said. “Both the cardiologist and the surgeon have realized you no longer need to be here.” She walked to the bedside and began straightening my sheets, fluffing my pillow and checking my bandages.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I said, chuckling as well as I could, “and I’m sure there’s someone else out there (nodding with my head to the ward) that’s ready to leave.”

“You’re a pistol,” she laughed, adding, “I’m surprised they kept you quiet out there for so long.” She continued. “Can I get you anything before we take your vitals for the night?”

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“Yes,” I answered. “One new york strip, a baked potato and a large, delicious romaine lettuce salad.” I smiled and winked.

“Why don’t we work on getting you back on the cardiac ward first?” she asked. “Then we’ll talk about the kind of food you can eat.”

“‘Tell you what,” she said. “I can get you some applesauce, and if you’re good, I bet I can even get you two.”

“It’s a deal,” I said. “I didn’t really want the steak, anyway.”  I paused.  “Seriously, how long before I’m back on real food?  This liquid diet isn’t doing me a bit of good.”

“You are starting to lose weight,” she said. “Has anyone said anything to you?”

“Not yet,” I replied, “but I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll be back with your snack,” she said. “‘Meantime, get some rest. You know how to find us if you need to.”

I settled back in the bed and flipped through the television stations. It was nice to be in a quiet room, finally, knowing I’d soon be back among regular (well, sort of) people. I also knew that’s when the physical therapy would begin, and I was ready.

Anything I could do to get me out of there was good. I didn’t know it would be so difficult.

As John and I sat there watching TV, suddenly the curtain was pulled back. Standing with a gurney to his side, and orderly smiled.

“Ready to take a trip?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Where we goin’?”

The nurse who had been so helpful to me in the last few hours was standing behind the gurney. “I’ve got you a room,” she said, smiling. “It’s not permanent, but at least it will get you off the unit and into a more quiet space.”

John spoke up. “What’d you do?” he asked. “Bribe the hospital’s administrator?”

She smiled. “Well, not quite that much,” she responded, “and I may never work here again. But there was no point in someone being stuck in CCU for 5 days, when there obviously is no reason for them to be here.” She paused. “Let’s just say I know how to scream,” she chuckled.

The orderly moved to the side of the bed. “Can you help me detach all these wires?” he asked.

“Not a problem,” the nurse said. She looked at me. “When you get settled and I’m off my shift, I’ll come by to check on you.”

John moved out of the way while the other two disconnected the multitude of wires and cords. When it was done, the orderly rolled the gurney next to the bed. “I’m going to slide you onto the gurney; it may hurt a little.”

“That’s o.k.,” I answered. “I’m on my way outta here.”

Sure enough, as the orderly had warned, it was very painful sliding me onto the table. I was thankful it was over in a second.

“O.K., let’s get you out of here,” he added. “Ready to roll?”

“Take me away,” I said, adding a heart-felt thanks to the nurse. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“Not a problem,” she answered. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I wasn’t moved very far, just around the corner from where I’d been and down a hallway. The new room was large, full of equipment, with a wall of glass on one side so the nurses station could see me.

“Look, John, there’s a TV,” I said, as they slid me onto the new bed, him following the orderly quickly.

“I hope this will be o.k. until we can get a room for you,” the orderly said. “Are you comfortable?”

“Oh, this is heaven, I said,” adding “I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

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Just as the orderly rolled the gurney into the hallway, a nurse entered the room. “I’m Michelle, and I’ll be taking care of you until we can get you back onto the heart ward.

“You have TV, there’s a stereo system, and feel free to use the sink and commode whenever you want. This room is usually reserved for critical patients, but we’ll keep you here as long as we don’t need the room.”

She walked to the wall of glass and began closing the blinds. “A little privacy may be in order,” she said. “I’ll order you some food; should be here in about 30 minutes.”

I closed my eyes and relished in the silence. “Now maybe I can get some sleep,” I said, looking over at John.

“I won’t stay in here long,” he added. “I’m sure they’re watching you like a hawk.”

I lay my head back on the pillow. The next thing I knew, dinner had arrived and it was time to eat some real food. I gave thanks for the best meal I had enjoyed in a while, and also that I had escaped the ward which resembled a bus terminal.

On the third day, as any patient would, I became restless.  I tired of the constant interruption of the nurses, although they meant well, the stream of people in and out of the ward, and the restrictive visiting hours.  Though it was nice to see John, I was ready to see the outside — and there were no windows anywhere to be found.

On top of that, I had been in the  bed now going on the 4th day, without a shower, brushed teeth, clean hair, anything.  Admittedly, I wasn’t ready to run any races, but I didn’t plan on spending my retirement in that condition, either.

The surgeon dropped by later that day, while John was seated next to me.   “When you going to let him out of here?” John asked.  “He’s getting pretty tired of the noise, and he’s not able to get any rest.”

“I don’t know,” was all the doctor volunteered.  “It won’t be long.”  We chatted for a few minutes, him finally explaining what had happened to me in surgery, then turned and left.  His explanation was that because of the complications, they needed me to stay in the CCU for further observation.

“Think I’ll get back to the room tomorrow?” I asked.

“‘Seems no one’s concerned about it but you and me,” John replied.  “I’m going to make a couple phone calls when I leave and see what I can find out.”  Even the nurses had acquiesced that I needn’t be there.  I was clearly out of the danger zone, however, nothing seemed to be happening to get me back to a normal cardiac ward with a normal room.

I slept, and read, and slept some more, trying to make the hours pass more quickly.  But with the announcements going off, the lights constantly on, and the bed now feeling like a stone slab, I was definitely ready for some changes.

The fourth day was the same.  Nothing happened, no doctor visit, nurses knew nothing, and still I sat there.  Some of the equipment had been moved away, though I was still on a liquid diet, and dropping weight like a rock.  I was to lose 28 pounds in two weeks, I later found.  Though I probably needed to lose a few pounds, it was awfully quick, and instead of getting stronger, I found myself getting much weaker; even sitting up in the bed became a challenge.

By the fifth day, I’d had enough.  I awoke and observed a new nurse sitting at the station just across from me, one I’d never seen before.  I got her attention and called her over.

“I really need some help,” I said.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

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“I’ve been down here 5 days, with no toothbrush, bath, or exercise.  I don’t know what the hold-up is, but I really need to clean myself a little.  You see, I’m not at all used to this, and it’s hindering how I feel.  I’m getting weaker by the day, yet the doctors don’t seem to care that I don’t need to be here.  Is there anything you can do to help?”

“Well, I’m a contract nurse, so I’m not sure what I can do to get you out of here, but I can certainly help you get cleaned up.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  With that she crossed the room and started down the hallway.

It wasn’t long before John came in.  “Well, I think I found out why your stuck here,” he said.  “They don’t have a room for you.  Stupid state rules,” he added.  “They won’t let the hospitals expand, yet the city’s grown so fast, there are not nearly enough beds to accommodate the citizens in the nearby hospitals.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.  “I’m about to go stir-crazy in this heart ‘mall’”.

Just then, the nurse I had pleaded with earlier walked up.  “Mr. Woodford, here’s a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a cap to put on your head to “wash” your hair.  It’s the best I can do right now.  If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll be back to give you a sponge bath.  This is ridiculous.”  She disappeared again.

“You’ve been busy,” John said.  “You didn’t happen to request  a room, did you?”

“I sure did,” I smiled.  “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get me out of here.”

I shut my eyes and laid my head back on the pillow.  The equipment around me and in me was so numerous there was no way I could move.  I thanked God that I’d made it this far.  Oddly, I thought, the pain wasn’t bad at all – amazing what living better through chemistry can do.

I felt a hand on my arm.  “Mr. Woodford,” LaTrena said, “I’m going off-duty now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.  Jason is going to be your nurse while I’m away,” she added.

I opened my eyes to see a young man in his twenties, strong and tall, standing with her.  “Hi, Daniel,” he said, “I wanted to introduce myself and let you know I’ll take great care of you – is there anything you need?”

“When do the tubes come out?” I asked.

“I can get that for you in just a bit,” he answered, “you’ll be able to shift in the bed a little easier.  Won’t be long until we sit you up.”

“You behave,” LaTrena chimed in, laughing.  She looked at Jason.  “He’s been a great patient – treat him right for me, o.k.?”

“My pleasure,” Jason replied.  LaTrena turned and walked away.  “Give me a few minutes to check on my other patients, and we’ll get those tubes out of you.”

It wasn’t long before John appeared over my head.  “You’re looking better,” I heard, coming out of a light sleep.

“They’re going to remove the tubes,” I said.  “I hope it doesn’t hurt.”  I closed my eyes again.

“You’re on so much stuff, you won’t feel it at all,” John replied.  “How’re you handling the noise?”

“What time is it?” I asked.  “How long have I been here?”

“This is your second day,” John replied.  “I understand you slept well most of the night.  That’s a great thing.”  He reached to adjust my pillows and pulled a blanket up around me as best he could.

“My how time flies when you’re having fun,” I said.  “I’m hungry.”

“They’ll start bringing you liquids, soon,” I heard.  “The bleeding and draining has stopped and you’re much more stable than you were yesterday.”

I heard the privacy curtain pull back.  “Hi,” I heard; it was Jason.  “I’m Jason,” he continued, introducing himself to John.  “He’s doing much better today; in fact, we’re about to pull the drainage tubes out of him.”

“So I hear,” John said.  He looked down at me.  “I’m going back to the waiting room and I’ll see you when they’ve finished,” he said.  “Remember, this is a good thing.”  He turned and disappeared through the curtain.

“O.K. Daniel,” Jason asked, “we’re going to pull the tubes out now.  You may feel a little sting as they come out.”  He laid a large sheet of gauze on my legs.  “I’m going to ask you to take a deep breath when I say ‘NOW,’ let it out slowly.”

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I grasped the steel bed guards in anticipation.

“NOW,” I heard.  I took a big gulp of air and held on.  Jason took one pull and removed both tubes at once.  Oddly enough, I didn’t feel anything but a small sting.

“That was great,” he said, “you all right?”

“Nothing to it,” I answered.  “You’re good.”

“The meds have a lot to do with it,” he chuckled.  “But I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.”  He bundled up all the materials in the gauze and placed them on a table next to the bed.  “I’ll get rid of those shortly,” he added.  “Time to bandage you up.” 

He gently and carefully bandaged the points from which he had removed the tubes.  “These look good,” he said,” speaking more to himself than me.  He looked up.  “You’re a quick healer.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” I managed to chuckle. 

He grabbed the gauze on the table.  “I’ll order you some food, now,” he added.  “You’ll be out of here in no time.” 

“Thanks, Jason,” I replied.  It looked like things were moving along well.

I opened my eyes, to see a nurse, LaTrena (and not just any nurse I might add), who unaware to me would become my angel over the next few days.

“There are tubes and wires in you, so try not to move.”  She touched my hand.  “You had us worried for awhile.”  She adjusted my pillow, covered me with a fresh blanket, and sat down in the chair next to me.

“I made it,” I managed to mumble from my now alleviating stupor.  I looked around to discover that there were machines and monitors all around me.

“Yes sir, you did” she responded.  “Don’t worry,” she said, “we’ll get rid of most of this equipment soon.  We need it to monitor your condition for a little while longer.”

“How did it go?” I asked.

“The surgery went fine,” she hesitated.  “You bled rather badly, and they had to open you again to stop the bleeding.  That’s why you see the hoses.”

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I lifted the blanket to see two rather large hoses running from my chest.  There were also lots of wires coming out of me a little farther down on my stomach.  “I’m bionic,” I muttered.

LaTrena laughed.  “Well, at least they didn’t affect your sense of humor.”  She stood.  “Would you like some ice chips?”

“That would be nice,” I answered, “where am I?”

“You’re in the Cardiac Care Unit,” she replied.  “I’ll be right back.”  She stepped away and I lifted my head to see my surroundings.

There must have been a dozen patients, from one end of the room to the other, all in various stages of recovery.  Beds were everywhere, and nurses moved from one “stall” to another quickly.

I laid my head down and closed my eyes.  “God,” I prayed, “you got me through the surgery, now help through the next step.”

LaTrena returned with the ice.  She spooned a small bit into my mouth.  “Take it slow,” she said, “you’ve still got a lot of anesthesia in you.  We don’t want you getting sick.”

I sucked on the ice cube and felt the wonderful coolness hit my throat.  I began to realize how long it had been since I had food.  “What day is it?” I asked.

“You were out for quite a while,” she answered.  “Surgery was early yesterday.  Today is Tuesday.  It was touch and go there for awhile.”

“Where’s John?” I asked.  “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine,” she continued.  “We restrict the visiting hours in  the CCU, so he’s in the waiting room.  He’ll be in shortly.”

She gave me another ice chip.  “Are you in pain?” she asked.

“Considering they’ve just split me like a chicken, I’m doing o.k.  Morphine got anything to do with this?”

“We have you on several pain killers right now,” she replied.  “As you improve, we’ll begin taking them away one by one.”

Another ice chip.  Just to have a cool liquid in my mouth was heaven!  As I swallowed, I heard someone walking up.  “Hey, there.”  It was the familiar voice of John.  “I see he’s eating a little bit,” looking at the nurse.

“He’s very lucid,” LaTrena said.  “If you’re going to be here a few minutes, I’ll check my other patient while you visit.”

“Thanks,” John answered.  He took the cup of ice from her and she disappeared through the curtain at the end of the bed.

“You had us on pins and needles for awhile,” he said.  “I’m glad to see you’re back with us.”

“Well,” I chuckled, “I always told you it would never be boring.”  I tried to move my legs but they were bound to the bed.

“They don’t want you escaping,” John laughed.  “They’ll get rid of this stuff soon enough.  Right now you need to do exactly as they want.”  He reached behind me and fluffed my pillow.  “‘Surgeon says the surgery went fine, and after they got the hemorrhaging stopped, you’ve responded quickly.”

“Must be all that Ibuprofen I’ve been taking for months,” I answered.  “Probably thinned my blood out.”

“They won’t let me in but 10 minutes out of every hour, so you need to behave,” John continued.  “I’ll tell you, being in that waiting room all day is starting to get to me.”

“Why don’t you go home?” I asked.  “You can’t do anything here.”

“I’d rather be here; there’s nothing to do at home.” 

“LaTrena’s great,” I said.  “She’s watching me like a hawk.  My slightest ‘groan’ brings her running.”

“That’s what she’s paid to do,” John said, “but I do agree, she’s very sweet.  She’s keeping me in the loop with whatever is happening with you.  And by the way,” he added, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I got a miracle and an angel in two days,” I answered.  “”Guess God’s getting me ready for the next chapter.”

LaTrena walked over.  “Sorry guys, I gotta kick you out,” looking at John.  “You can come back in an hour; we may have the tubes out of him then.”

Since the heart cath results had found that the veins in my legs were obstructed, there would be a series of surgeries — one to replace the aortic valve and perform a double-bypass to alleviate any existing blockages in my heart, and the installation of a pacemaker to be used as a defbrillator in case my heart stopped.  The pacemaker would be inserted in a separate, “twilight” procedure after I recovered a bit from the others.

Over the ensuing months, I would be watched to see if the vein situation in my legs would correct itself; if not, then two more surgeries would be required down the road to improve my mobility.

The blessing in the financing arena had left me feeling that this all was for a positive reason; I had no idea of the seriousness of the surgery (besides, 1,000’s had this procedure daily), nor that a host of complications could occur before, during or after.

The day of the surgery arrived, and through my denial I was actually expressing a good mood and a “no-worries” attitude.  The procedures would take approximately 4 hours, and John would have someone with him while I was in the O.R.

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The trip to surgery was uneventful.  A nurse had brought me a tiny, tiny pill to calm me, the gurney was rolled in and the orderlies dragged me onto it. 

I was wheeled into the operating room, felt a small “pinch” in my right wrist, and remember nothing until I woke up.  I had been told that my heart and lungs would be put on artificial means for the surgery, but of course, had forgotten anything I had been told, especially when they said “you’ll be fine” after a couple of months.

All went well until the end of the surgery.  They had just wired my rib cage back together, when they discovered that I was hemorrhaging!  If left unabated, I would die right there.  I’m told that I had to be opened back up once again and the bleeding stopped.

At the other end, in the waiting room, John was working on his 6th hour of waiting.  He had repeatedly asked the “patient assistant” about my condition, and had been repeatedly been told that everything was “fine.”  Little did he, or any of us know, that I was struggling between making my transition or sticking around to find out the outcome of the rest of my life.

After another hour, give or take, I was transferred to the Cardiac Critical Care Unit, and John and my friend Kathryn were allowed to see me.

There were tubes and wires coming out of me everywhere, and according to my visitors, blood was draining in a constant stream into receptacles on both sides of the bed.

“He’s very critical,” the nurse commented.  “The next few hours will be crucial for his recovery.”

“What happened?” John pleaded.

“He hemorrhaged in surgery, and it took them almost an hour to get it stopped,” she said.  He lost a lot of blood, and I’ll be here with him for at least 24 hours to make sure he pulls through o.k.  Believe it or not,” she continued, “he’s doing much better now than when they brought him in.”

“Can I stay?” John asked.

“Probably best to go home and get some rest,” LaTrena answered.  “It’s not going to get easier for you from here on out; take the time while you can get it.”

So there I was; new parts in a heart that only a few days prior I had no idea needed them, beginning my recovery amid odds that no one had counted on, and not conscious enough to know about any of it.  All because I thought I had a respiratory infection!