Long overdue, Part one
I can't tell you how many times I've started writing this blog entry only to stop and erase everything. How can I tell you what has happened to me since September? How is it possible to detail every twist and turn of my hospital stay, every euphoric up followed by every spiral down? Do I even want to tell you?
Yes. I do. It's therapy for me. I went through a period of time when it was hard for me to talk about it. I cried endlessly every day. I still cry, but the tears eventually turn to marvel that I'm still here.
You see, I almost died.
Where to begin? I guess I should just dive right in.
I went for aortic replacement surgery on Sept. 19 at the Cleveland Clinic. It was a day earlier than I was prepared for, but I felt okay with it. Nineteen is a good number. It's the day that Hubby and I each celebrate our birthdays, and February 19 was the day of our first date.
I cannot tell you how nervous I was. It was so hard to fall asleep the night before, Hubby and I both holding each other, pretending not to be scared of what the next day held. I was to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. because I was scheduled to be in the first round of that day's surgeries. My dad and his wife met us there. I could only take two people back into the prepping area, so my dad and Hubby went. It was so weird to be surrounded by all these other people and their loved ones preparing for surgery. The nurses asked me the requisite questions, and then it was off to the O.R. As I was wheeled away, Jason broke down in tears. I tried to be brave. I tried to reassure him, but I had never been so scared in my life.
The next thing I remember is waking up, still intubated, in the ICU. I remember using my fingers to spell out words on my dad's palm. I spelled out "PAIN." He thought I told him I loved him. I meant to say that, too.
But I was in a lot of pain, and they couldn't find a drug cocktail to alleviate it. Morphine had no effect at all.
I was transferred to a regular room the next day. I had a private room, which meant I didn't have to deal with a roommate. (All my rooms were private once I left the various ICUs). Hubby slept in an armchair for the first two nights.
After the second night, I remember two cardiologists coming in to talk to me. They had taken an echocardiogram and saw something that looked funny. I don't even remember what they said. All I remember is everything in my vision suddenly turning red. I remember saying this aloud, and then I closed my eyes ... I guess sort of passing out.
The doctors and nurses rushed me to the cardiac catheterization lab. They threaded a catheter through my arteries to determine what was wrong. They found it. My corroded arteries weren't reattached to my aortic graft correctly. It was a complication of the surgery. And it meant I needed emergency surgery. Now.
They let Hubby come in and talk to me for a few seconds. He asked if I understood what was going on. I said I did. He told me I would be alright. I told him I knew that. He said he loved me. I told him how much I loved him. And then I was off to the O.R. again.
The emergency surgery was a triple bypass. The blood wasn't flowing through my arteries correctly, so they needed to create new pathways. They harvested arteries from my right leg. I have five incision scars to prove it. They also inserted a balloon pump into my left leg. My heart was too weak to beat on its own. The balloon pump did the work for it. It kept me alive.
They couldn't even close my chest after the second surgery. I spent the next five days in the ICU with my chest open and rib cage spread. Thank God I don't remember that.
I almost died that first night after the second surgery. I was so weakened from what essentially was a heart attack. I had countless blood transfusions. And they assigned a nurse to sit by my bedside all night. I was his single patient. He held my hand and tried to comfort me as best he could. I was supposed to be unconscious, but I wasn't.
I was doped up enough that I only remember snippets, and I don't remember my chest being open. But I was coherent enough that my eyes were open, and I communicated by writing things and facial expressions. The nurses were shocked. They said they couldn't safely give me anymore sedative, but they couldn't believe I was awake.
Eventually, my chest was closed and the balloon pump was removed. I spent the next six weeks in the ICU. I was transferred to step-down units several times, only to return to the ICU within hours. I developed pneumonia. They tapped my lungs but the fluid kept coming back. I wore high-pressure oxygen masks, but my breathing got more and more labored. I fought as hard as I could, but I just wasn't getting better and my heart function was declining. Finally, they reintubated me. I hadn't wanted that, but the ICU nurses and doctors said it was the only way to improve my situation.
The next thing I knew, I woke up with a tracheotomy ... a hole in my neck ... and I was on the ventilator with a feeding tube running up my nose into my stomach. (Did you know they put Ensure milkshakes down the feeding tubes? I guess I was expecting something more scientific ...) But my situation still didn't improve. I was still retaining fluid and had gained about 20 pounds. I didn't realize until I got home and saw the stretch marks left on my skin how much I had gained weight.
Finally, they transferred me to the heart failure unit. I didn't know at the time, but it was then that my cardiologist placed a call to Hubby. He told Hubby to be prepared to put me on the heart transplant list. He said I was too young to die from this.
But luckily, I responded to the heart failure drugs. I shed the extra fluid and began to breathe easier. I even started walking again with my physical therapist. And they started weaning me off the ventilator.
But then I developed a staph infection. They found it on one of my blood cultures. I had to start heavy-duty IV antibiotics to fight the infection.
After a few weeks in the heart failure unit, I was transferred to a unit that specializes in weaning people from the ventilator. I had already started that process. I was doing well. I was the only patient most of the nurses had ever seen who actually ate solid food while still having a tracheotomy. And I walked farther and farther up and down the halls.
I began to lose hope that I would ever come home, though. Hubby was at the hospital every spare minute. He'd spend his days off there. And he would come before work to say good morning and after work to wish me sweet dreams. He knew how to adjust machinery, help me in and out of bed and settle me into bed for the night. He was my best nurse. But I couldn't help the gut-wrenching feeling every time I saw him. I couldn't stand that I was putting him through that. I hated how tired he looked, how hopeless it all felt. I burst into tears each time he came into the room. I begged him to take me home. He said he never saw me smile anymore.
On my final weekend in the hospital (I didn't know it was the final weekend at the time), my best friends came to see me. Nikki, Clare and Diana. They are my emotional support, my comic relief and my family. They came armed with CDs, cookies and hair care products. They washed my hair for the first time in two months. They watched Sex in the City episodes with me on Clare's laptop. They painted my toenails. And they made me smile. Something I hadn't done in a long time. And they got to hear me speak for the first time in over a month.
Like I said, I didn't know then that I was headed home within a few short days. But I now credit them with helping to make that happen. They lifted my spirits. They put the fight back into me. I was energized and ready to make it. I had clean hair, but more than that, I had the love of my best friends. And they were cheering for me. I can't tell you how much it meant to me, that they drove or flew in from different states to sit in my hospital room. I had been devastated when I missed Nikki's wedding and was unable to toast her and Jon. I still am. It's a memory that I will never have. But the memory of those three women, sitting at my bedside, sharing stories of our friendships is one I will cherish forever.
After the girls left, the holidays were approaching, but I didn't dare to dream I would spend them at my own home. But then a new doctor came into my room. He promised to get me home the next week. And he did. In a flurry of activity, my trach was removed, I was set up with a permanent IV, given a walking cane and sent out the door. Hubby brought me comfortable clothes to wear home, and even brought my wedding ring. I hadn't been able to wear it while in the hospital. He gave it back to me by getting down on one knee to present it.
And so I went home. I went home with an army ready to help me out. My sister came just as I was leaving the hospital. She wheeled me out while wearing her National Guard fatigues. My aunt had booked her flight to come in, and Hubby's mom was planning her road trip. I also had home nurses and physical therapists scheduled, along with a slew of follow-up doctor's appointments, which were not likely to end anytime soon.
Next time .... I'll update you from my first time leaving the hospital until now.
Yes. I do. It's therapy for me. I went through a period of time when it was hard for me to talk about it. I cried endlessly every day. I still cry, but the tears eventually turn to marvel that I'm still here.
You see, I almost died.
Where to begin? I guess I should just dive right in.
I went for aortic replacement surgery on Sept. 19 at the Cleveland Clinic. It was a day earlier than I was prepared for, but I felt okay with it. Nineteen is a good number. It's the day that Hubby and I each celebrate our birthdays, and February 19 was the day of our first date.
I cannot tell you how nervous I was. It was so hard to fall asleep the night before, Hubby and I both holding each other, pretending not to be scared of what the next day held. I was to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. because I was scheduled to be in the first round of that day's surgeries. My dad and his wife met us there. I could only take two people back into the prepping area, so my dad and Hubby went. It was so weird to be surrounded by all these other people and their loved ones preparing for surgery. The nurses asked me the requisite questions, and then it was off to the O.R. As I was wheeled away, Jason broke down in tears. I tried to be brave. I tried to reassure him, but I had never been so scared in my life.
The next thing I remember is waking up, still intubated, in the ICU. I remember using my fingers to spell out words on my dad's palm. I spelled out "PAIN." He thought I told him I loved him. I meant to say that, too.
But I was in a lot of pain, and they couldn't find a drug cocktail to alleviate it. Morphine had no effect at all.
I was transferred to a regular room the next day. I had a private room, which meant I didn't have to deal with a roommate. (All my rooms were private once I left the various ICUs). Hubby slept in an armchair for the first two nights.
After the second night, I remember two cardiologists coming in to talk to me. They had taken an echocardiogram and saw something that looked funny. I don't even remember what they said. All I remember is everything in my vision suddenly turning red. I remember saying this aloud, and then I closed my eyes ... I guess sort of passing out.
The doctors and nurses rushed me to the cardiac catheterization lab. They threaded a catheter through my arteries to determine what was wrong. They found it. My corroded arteries weren't reattached to my aortic graft correctly. It was a complication of the surgery. And it meant I needed emergency surgery. Now.
They let Hubby come in and talk to me for a few seconds. He asked if I understood what was going on. I said I did. He told me I would be alright. I told him I knew that. He said he loved me. I told him how much I loved him. And then I was off to the O.R. again.
The emergency surgery was a triple bypass. The blood wasn't flowing through my arteries correctly, so they needed to create new pathways. They harvested arteries from my right leg. I have five incision scars to prove it. They also inserted a balloon pump into my left leg. My heart was too weak to beat on its own. The balloon pump did the work for it. It kept me alive.
They couldn't even close my chest after the second surgery. I spent the next five days in the ICU with my chest open and rib cage spread. Thank God I don't remember that.
I almost died that first night after the second surgery. I was so weakened from what essentially was a heart attack. I had countless blood transfusions. And they assigned a nurse to sit by my bedside all night. I was his single patient. He held my hand and tried to comfort me as best he could. I was supposed to be unconscious, but I wasn't.
I was doped up enough that I only remember snippets, and I don't remember my chest being open. But I was coherent enough that my eyes were open, and I communicated by writing things and facial expressions. The nurses were shocked. They said they couldn't safely give me anymore sedative, but they couldn't believe I was awake.
Eventually, my chest was closed and the balloon pump was removed. I spent the next six weeks in the ICU. I was transferred to step-down units several times, only to return to the ICU within hours. I developed pneumonia. They tapped my lungs but the fluid kept coming back. I wore high-pressure oxygen masks, but my breathing got more and more labored. I fought as hard as I could, but I just wasn't getting better and my heart function was declining. Finally, they reintubated me. I hadn't wanted that, but the ICU nurses and doctors said it was the only way to improve my situation.
The next thing I knew, I woke up with a tracheotomy ... a hole in my neck ... and I was on the ventilator with a feeding tube running up my nose into my stomach. (Did you know they put Ensure milkshakes down the feeding tubes? I guess I was expecting something more scientific ...) But my situation still didn't improve. I was still retaining fluid and had gained about 20 pounds. I didn't realize until I got home and saw the stretch marks left on my skin how much I had gained weight.
Finally, they transferred me to the heart failure unit. I didn't know at the time, but it was then that my cardiologist placed a call to Hubby. He told Hubby to be prepared to put me on the heart transplant list. He said I was too young to die from this.
But luckily, I responded to the heart failure drugs. I shed the extra fluid and began to breathe easier. I even started walking again with my physical therapist. And they started weaning me off the ventilator.
But then I developed a staph infection. They found it on one of my blood cultures. I had to start heavy-duty IV antibiotics to fight the infection.
After a few weeks in the heart failure unit, I was transferred to a unit that specializes in weaning people from the ventilator. I had already started that process. I was doing well. I was the only patient most of the nurses had ever seen who actually ate solid food while still having a tracheotomy. And I walked farther and farther up and down the halls.
I began to lose hope that I would ever come home, though. Hubby was at the hospital every spare minute. He'd spend his days off there. And he would come before work to say good morning and after work to wish me sweet dreams. He knew how to adjust machinery, help me in and out of bed and settle me into bed for the night. He was my best nurse. But I couldn't help the gut-wrenching feeling every time I saw him. I couldn't stand that I was putting him through that. I hated how tired he looked, how hopeless it all felt. I burst into tears each time he came into the room. I begged him to take me home. He said he never saw me smile anymore.
On my final weekend in the hospital (I didn't know it was the final weekend at the time), my best friends came to see me. Nikki, Clare and Diana. They are my emotional support, my comic relief and my family. They came armed with CDs, cookies and hair care products. They washed my hair for the first time in two months. They watched Sex in the City episodes with me on Clare's laptop. They painted my toenails. And they made me smile. Something I hadn't done in a long time. And they got to hear me speak for the first time in over a month.
Like I said, I didn't know then that I was headed home within a few short days. But I now credit them with helping to make that happen. They lifted my spirits. They put the fight back into me. I was energized and ready to make it. I had clean hair, but more than that, I had the love of my best friends. And they were cheering for me. I can't tell you how much it meant to me, that they drove or flew in from different states to sit in my hospital room. I had been devastated when I missed Nikki's wedding and was unable to toast her and Jon. I still am. It's a memory that I will never have. But the memory of those three women, sitting at my bedside, sharing stories of our friendships is one I will cherish forever.
After the girls left, the holidays were approaching, but I didn't dare to dream I would spend them at my own home. But then a new doctor came into my room. He promised to get me home the next week. And he did. In a flurry of activity, my trach was removed, I was set up with a permanent IV, given a walking cane and sent out the door. Hubby brought me comfortable clothes to wear home, and even brought my wedding ring. I hadn't been able to wear it while in the hospital. He gave it back to me by getting down on one knee to present it.
And so I went home. I went home with an army ready to help me out. My sister came just as I was leaving the hospital. She wheeled me out while wearing her National Guard fatigues. My aunt had booked her flight to come in, and Hubby's mom was planning her road trip. I also had home nurses and physical therapists scheduled, along with a slew of follow-up doctor's appointments, which were not likely to end anytime soon.
Next time .... I'll update you from my first time leaving the hospital until now.
posted by Kristen at 10:43 AM
5 Comments:
Holy cow, what an ordeal! Rachel, Mary Prince and I were worried about you, and I had asked friends to pray for you. It's hard to believe you went through all of this to save your life, and you almost lost it. I'm sure your mother would be proud of your strength through all of it.
Wow. I sit here in tears. I've been checking frequently, waiting for an update and here it is! You have an amazing husband and friends. And family. But you know that. You are amazing, too, Kristen. I pray for your physical strength as well as mental to get you to the other side of this ordeal. I pray that God will continually show you all the blessings of this.
This is an amazing story. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. You're all so strong to come through it.
I'm glad to read your update. I have been wondering how you were doing.
You should write a book, Kristen.
Hi, Kristen. I lived with you in McDavid back in the day. I had heard about your surgery (and now recovery) through Clare's blog, and I just wanted to wish you the absolute best.
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