End of Days (in the hospital)

Three days. I was asleep for three days after my heart transplant surgery. I was extabated within hours after my surgery, and taken off of sedation. The surgery had gone well; my new heart had looked, and was working great (after a bit of early arrhythmia).

I

had

a

New

Heart

Even here, almost 6 months later; I still have not wrapped my head around that. It' still not real.

You know what else, I don't have. THE VAD. I am no longer attached to the Infernal Machine.

I'd heard that many people felt "great" after their surgeries. I did not. It was September 27Th. I couldn't walk again. I couldn't eat again. I couldn't drink. But I didn't have a feeding tube, I didn't have a breathing tube. I couldn't talk again. What I did have was more chest tubes. I also had wraps around my legs to prevent more blood clots. These wraps would periodically inflate, which would slowly drive me crazy. I was back in the same room I'd left before surgery.

Yes, I had a new heart, but my troubles weren't quite over. My lungs were with "junk" as my doctors called. They had me on respiratory treatments, were insisting that I use one of these. I could barely reach 750 (I now reach over 3500, much to the disbelief of my doctor). I went through several episodes of unexplained shortness of breath, but it was soon decided that I had a pneumothorax, which were air gets into the space between your lung and your rib cage, which can make breathing difficult. It was decided I need a pig tail. Which is a one-way tube placed in your chest to release trapped air. The place by radiology which meant I had to go to radiology to have radiologist do the procedure. So I was wheel down to radiology ( I was barely standing at this point), and the tube was placed. This was yet another time of many when I wished Wendy was on the radiology staff at USC so someone, anyone could something right. See, the procedure take a bit of time, and they would place me on this unbelievable uncomfortable (essentially a flat hard board) for it.

Guess What? They missed. A day later I still had the pneumothorax - my doctor said, "The idiot put it in the wrong place. You need another one." Great, as if the first one wasn't uncomfortable enough. So down I went, missing a much needed physical therapy session, for another chest tube. Same thing, in a completely different location. They place the pigtail, and nothing happens. Air is supposed to start coming out, but nothing. This time I've been on the table for over an hour. They send my ICU nurse to get me some pain medication, because I'm writhing in pain at this point, from muscle cramps and chest incision stress, but of course she is AWOL (at this point my ICU nurses were from the B team), and the radiologist decided he has to put another one it, That's three. Luckily the third one works, but i end up being in radiology for over 2 hours. I'm spent, exhausted, on the verge of tears, and now I have 3 additional tubes and not one single comfortable position I can sleep in.

But I'm fighting, by Monday the 29Th, I'm drinking and moving toward real food again (they had me on a Clear Liquid Diet - nothing but broth). It's better than those goddamn shakes.

I'm miserable. I'm supposed to be happy. I have a new life. My room is flood with ecstatic hospital staff - people overjoyed at my survival. All I can think about is how miserable I am - I'm a wreck. I don't know it - but the end is near.