When I went into my open-heart surgery, 9 years ago today, I never thought I would live to see 9 more years. My heart was in bad shape. The surgery ended up being even more involved than the plan outlined it to begin with. But more than that, I never thought I would live a full life after the good surgeon took apart my heart and stitched it back together.
I knew I had more life in me, and I knew this surgery was not going to be the end of it. But I never imagined that 9 years later I would look back and say that I have lived a full life, either.
But here I am. A life beyond any expectations.
A full job, all the trips I wanted to take. Buried one beloved pet. Buried one parent. Taking care of the second one from across the world. Watched my nephews turn into teenagers and young adults. Moved across the country. Zoomed over the ocean a few times, zoomed across the country for work, sometimes on my own. Medical bracelet on my right wrist, and tons of notes in my wallet that tell the world that I have a heart and a clotting condition (because of my mechanical aortic valve and because I must take Warfarin to prevent my blood from clotting and blocking the valve). Praying that whoever needs to know this information will find it. And off I go. Always cautious, always with all the risks in the back of my mind, always prepared for what would happen if I can no longer speak for myself, but I am not about to lock myself in a bubble, either. Time is always of the essence and time is short, for all of us.
As I said 9 years ago, I say this again today: once you’re a heart patient, you are always a heart patient, but you learn to live with your limitations because there is no other way. Your limitations become your new boundaries, but you learn how to fit your dreams within those boundaries and you move on.
There have been scares over the years. In the first couple of years, I went to urgent care when I cut my fingers in the kitchen and learned how to deal with the bleeding. I went to ER every time my blood pressure was off and I was dizzy, light-headed, or my pulse would race.
When I travel, my INR (coagulation marker) tends to go very high. I am supposed to keep it at 2.5 (for the upper limit), but it sometimes wanders off to 3.8. I am terrified I would bleed internally so I limit my physical activity for fear of bumping my head or something and I eat more greens to try to lower my INR.
I fell several times really hard. One time, I got a large open wound (as big as one whole thigh) in the muck of a dirty beach. I thought for sure I'd get some flesh-eating bacteria in my blood and the valve will have to be replaced, but it didn't happen (I drowned my wounds in hand sanitizer and alcohol which I keep in my car).
Covid just about paralyzed me with fear! With all the statistics of it damaging your heart, your lungs, and reputation of being harder on cardiac patients, I thought if I get it, it would surely kill me or at the very least land me in the ICU. But I have had it twice now (not for lack of protection as I am one of the most careful people I know - I still wear a mask in crowded places), and I have been very lucky to come out on the other end unharmed.
My valve is fine. But my heart is weakening because of my underlying cholesterol issues which continue to damage my coronary arteries. My heart muscle has thickened and I now have what they call “heart failure”. I am one of the lucky ones, though, because my ejection fraction (my "pump") is still high and strong - this is the more rare heart failure.
I learned to keep an eye on the “heart failure indicator” (called BNP, which is measured by a simple blood test) and with the proper medicine and the proper cardiologist I keep that number under control, as much as I can.
I still have neuropathy on my left hand, but there is nothing that can be done about that. I type fine with both of my hands, and sometimes I am spotty on the letters meant to be typed with my left hand, but I know to keep an eye on those and go back and fix them right away. It’s second nature now. I have some shortness of breath and the chest pains come and go, especially with exercise, extreme heat, or extreme cold.
My blood pressure wanders upward sometimes, but most days it’s normal (staying on top of the meds is key). When I go to some place with an altitude higher than 2000 ft, my pulse races, but when I am at sea level, it’s a lazy 55-60 beats per minute. I have some dizzy spells, tinnitus, and something which I call “pixelated vision” at times (all these started happening right after my surgery and they are still here), where the image in front of me breaks up in what I can only describe as pixels. But again, all these have become old friends and we have learned to coexist.
As always, today, I read some excerpts from my surgery report and some of my husband’s emails to my relatives and friends while I was in surgery for 12+ hours and hanging between life and death.
More than anything, today I feel humbled. I feel lucky beyond bounds and humbled. I am not sure why God wanted me to live through this surgery and much, much more beyond. But I am looking forward every day to find out.
Much health to everyone and as a heart warrior friend once said: “keep ticking!”
