Many of you celebrate today as Christmas Eve. But personally, I'd like to celebrate this as the day I died and came back to life!
Okay, maybe that's a bit overly dramatic. But it's not an exaggeration to say, last year on December 24th (2022), I had my chest split wide open while machines kept my heart and lungs working for a few hours as a team of incredibly talented doctors and nurses performed a very unexpected triple bypass heart surgery on me (commonly referred to as Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, or CABG). I'm typically not a fan of the holidays, but this was not at all how I imagined spending them. And it definitely is something that sticks with you for a while. Trust me when I say, not a day goes by that I don't remind myself just how close I got to not having a holiday season to scoff at this year.
So how did I get here...?
Well, some of you have heard this story, but many of you may not be aware of the specifics. So since it's on regular rotation in my brain, allow me a moment to relive my "reliving" with you, on the off-chance that maybe you or someone you love is saying, “Hm... I wonder if my heart is about to just up and quit working on me”.
Looking back, this all started a few years ago...
And yes, I can already hear you asking, "Whyyyyy didn't you go to the doctor?!?" To which I say... Ha! I did! More or less.
Since I've had decent insurance from my job, I try to have a fairly regular check-up. And I learned a while ago, my cholesterol is a bit high (thanks genetics!), so I'd started trying to eat right (ish). I stopped drinking soda, and haven't had any fast food in yeeears. I drink water, lemonade, orange juice, and coffee (obviously).
And if that wasn't enough to lower those pesky triglycerides, I learned that Red Rice Pills can also lower it... somewhat. So I started taking those, and according to my doctor, it worked! And this sounded way better than being on prescription drugs. Cause I'm stubborn. And I hate drugs.
Add to that, I do occasionally try to exercise. Not as often as I want (or should?) but enough to say that I do... sorta. So maybe I wasn't the picture of health, but more like a rough sketch.
Then one day while exercising, I noticed I was getting some serious fatigue. I started feeling some aches and soreness in my upper arms, and just couldn't push myself past it. It was frustrating, but mentally, I chalked it up to the big “O”... I was getting “Older”. Definitely not something I wanted to accept, but since I had just recently turned 30 *cough-cough*, I knew things might be starting to slow down a little. Argh...
As random and strange as the fatigue was, I wasn't too concerned because I'd just had a check-up a few months earlier, and my doctor said all was pretty good (well, except for the cholesterol). But I didn't think it was anything urgent, and figured I'd discuss it on my next check-up.
And then Pandemic season began.
While THAT was going on, I had zero interest in going to the doctor, unless I reeeeally needed to. So I put off my annual check-up another year. Because I felt fine. And I really didn't want to go to the doctor anyway.
So when pandemic season came to a close, I kept telling myself I need to make a doctor appointment cause it had been a couple years by now. But since I was feeling alright, I wasn't in too big a hurry. I still had occasional fatigue, but meh. For the most part, I was trying to take care of myself and even started taking some vitamins. Maybe I still wasn't eating great, but good enough, and never excessively (because, as many of you know, I really don't like food).
But October 2022, it finally caught up with me...
*insert dramatic tension music here*
I'd gotten a bad cold earlier that month (or maybe late September). After recovering, I was walking into work, when suddenly, I got out of breath. A lot. And there was a definite tightness in my chest. By the time I got inside, I sat down, drank some water, and eventually felt perfectly normal (as normal as I usually felt). Well, that is until I had to run up some stairs. Then I suddenly got winded again. Seriously?!? WTF...
I went to health services, and they did some basic checks and said they could call an ambulance. To which I said nooooo... Cause really, I'm okay. He suggested maybe I was dehydrated especially after getting sick the week before. So, I went home early and thought, I just need to drink more water maybe. Or maybe I needed electrolytes? It is what plants crave.
I took a couple days off work to relax, and that's when I realized... I had just started taking Fish Oil to replace the Red Rice pills cause they were (supposedly) better! So maybe something in that was affecting me strangely?
"And that's when you finally went to the doctor!”
Naaaaah, no reason to bother a doctor when I can figure this out myself! (Remember... I'm stubborn!)
I did talk to a few friends to get their opinions, hoping they might be able to point me in the right direction (i.e. tell me what I want to hear). In the end, I stopped taking all my vitamins and supplements, thinking maybe I just needed to clear out my system. I even went to a big nerdy convention that weekend, where I walked around. A lot! And I felt pretty good the whole time.
The following week, I was ready to return to work, thinking everything was just peachy.
Plot twist: Things were in fact, not so peachy.
As I look back, there are a few distinct moments during this whole ordeal where I can say it was 'the worst'. And this particular day was one of them.
Sitting at home, feeling that tightness in my chest, not being able to catch my breath was pretty horrible. Can I say I was having a mini heart attack? From what I've learned, yes, it probably was. The whole time, I had this internal monologue:
“Fiiiiine, I'll go to the doctor..."
"Wait, should I go to the ER??"
"Wait... should I call an ambulance??”
To be clear, this was no longer stubbornness. I was just trying to figure out if I was overreacting or not. Was my mind playing into my discomfort and making it worse than it really was? The idea of going to the parking lot, and getting in my car sounded like a marathon. I was legitimately unsure if I could do it. But I thought... no. Maybe I am overreacting. I'm pretty sure I can get to the car. And if I do collapse in the parking lot, hopefully someone will see me and call for help.
Yes. Those were my actual thoughts.
I made a call and fortunately my doctor could get me in that day, and more fortunately, I was able to get to my car without incident. I could even drive without any problems. By the time I got there... I felt great! I was convinced it had to be some issues with my muscles cramping, or maybe some strange lung problem. There is no way this could be my heart! Especially after they gave me an EKG, and I was told it looked beautiful! So maybe I was overreacting...?
Curiouser and curiouser.
Whatever it was, I was scheduled for some blood work and a follow-up a couple weeks later.
In the meantime, I recall having a few more of those "out-of-breath" moments. A couple times at work, (adding to my theory that I was allergic to work), typically going up stairs, and again when I went to have my blood taken. And as much as it sucked, having this happen just before my blood test was probably for the best, so they could see the results while I was feeling it.
By now, it's November and time for my doctor's follow-up appointment, where I get to find out exactly what's going on, give me a prescription, maybe a shot, and have me all fixed up so I wouldn't have to deal with this ever again. I still remember how that conversation went:
"Blah blah blah... cholesterol blah blah. Blah blah... prescription. Blah blah... Troponin levels. Blah... CARDIAC EVENT.... blah blah... AND YOU NEED TO GO TO THE ER RIGHT NOW."
Okay, that's... wait what? Hold on, I feel great! I don't need to go to the hospital. Plus I have to work tonight...
Welp, looks like I need to call in to work again, cause like it or not, suddenly I'm driving myself to the hospital. Ugh...
Everyone was making a fuss, and I felt like the lamest person in the ER because I wasn't doubling over in pain, nor was I bleeding all over the floor. But they put me in a room, and gave me a gown, and I'm like... seriously?! I'm not staying that long! They did a few tests, many of which turned out negative. They managed to narrow things down at least, and long story short:
Turns out maaaaybe I have a heart problem.
Ugh x2...
So FYI: A high Troponin level is a clear indication of a cardiac event. But they had no idea how severe it was or why it happened. They wanted to keep me overnight, to do more tests, but after they checked my Troponin levels again, everything looked normal. So I felt like staying longer was completely unnecessary. I had other things to do, and whatever did happen was a thing of the past, and I'll be okay now forever and ever. Plus maybe they saw my insurance was good, and wanted me to help pay for some new equipment by keeping me longer. Well, personally I wasn't having any of that, and really... I felt fine. They were definitely not happy when I told them I was going home. But I assured them, fiiiiine I'll make an appointment with a cardiologist if that makes everyone happy. They shrugged and let me check out.
Then, a week or so later, when I finally could get in to see a cardiologist (Dr Olivier), he didn't tell me anything I wanted to hear either. I tried to convince him my chest pain was slightly on my right center, so it couldn't possibly be my heart. Soooo, turns out that's common because of how nerves often react to pain. He was also saying stuff like outpatient surgery, and Heart Catheter, and stent. But because I obviously know much better than a trained professional (because my initials are MD), I told him I really didn't need all that and asked if there was some alternatives. Reluctantly, he suggested doing some stress tests and ultrasound. But apparently, those kinds of things are fairly popular, because I couldn't get scheduled until late January. But fine... whatever is going on, it can't be that big a deal, and I can wait another couple months to find out.
Well, I must have kept my cardiologist awake that night, because he called the next day and said, he really REALLY needs to do a heart catheter. He was also very concerned about causing stress to my heart by doing a stress test. I can not express enough how much I really didn't want to do this... But fine. I got myself scheduled on December 22 for a heart catheter. At least it'll be over and done with so I can move on with my life.
Ugh x3...
And while I was overly stressed thinking about this (which is obviously not conducive to someone with a heart condition), I talked to a few friends that had this procedure done, and they assured me... it's really no big deal. So, as nervous as I was going in on December 22, they were right. A heart catheter really isn't that bad. They gave me some light drugs, so I was awake the whole time, and pushed a wire through my arm, (yeah, they could have gone through the groin!). Occasionally I could feel a little burning in my arm, but I didn't even notice when they started poking at my heart.
There was a giant big screen TV my doctor was studying above me to my left, and me still being the impatient patient, asked how everything looks. I mean, I don't reeeeally need a stent... do I??
His response:
"Hm... Let me consult with my partner quick, so just hang tight."
Um. Okay, cryptic. But I wasn't going anywhere, especially since I still had a wire running through my arm connected directly to my heart.
He finally came back and turned the screen to show me what was going on. He sprayed a bit of dye through my heart and I couldn't help notice um... only half of it was working. He said a stent was impossible due to severe calcification on the left main artery. To be more specific, there was 95% blockage on the LAD, 90% blockage on the LMCA, and 100% blockage in the mid RCA. Yeah, I'm not entirely sure what any of that means either, but he informed me, it's commonly referred to as a Widowmaker... because you won't survive if anything happens to the functional half of your heart.
In laymen's terms:
Ugh x4000000000...
At this point, a lot of it was just a blur, and not entirely because of the drugs. I think I was eager to go home, but they made it pretty clear I wasn't leaving this time. I mean, I could have made a run for it, but I would have been yanked back quickly from the IV and heart monitor cables stuck to me. Plus, apparently I could quite possibly die.
They also decided to transport me to another hospital (ORMC - Orlando Reginal Medical Center) that was more qualified to take heart patients. Have you seen those Facebook quizzes that ask you to give points for things you've done, like broken a bone or gotten a tattoo etc? Finally I can give myself a point for riding in an ambulance. Bonus points for the EMT guy in the back being very decent and talking about music with me and just being extra supportive. I don't think I had processed the mavity of what was happening yet, but it was great having a distracting chat with him, and hearing him tell me I'll be okay.
And then they wheeled me into my hotel room. At least it might as well have been a hotel, because it was an impressive new empty wing of the hospital. And bonus points for a very cute friendly nurse helping me get all settled in. This may not be so bad after all! Oh, that's right... there's still all this heart stuff I have to deal with.
So I tried to relax and get some sleep and forget about everything for a while... until some random moron doctor wakes me up at 2am to tell me he's a doctor. Well, I say moron, but I'm sure he's very intelligent. But intelligence does not equal wisdom. Cause he woke me up just to introduce himself. And I don't think I ever saw him again. What was the point??
In his defense, at the time, nobody knew who was going to do the actual surgery. Remember kids, this was a big holiday weekend. I met with several doctors and initially, I was told they might not be able to do the surgery until Monday (Dec 26). Hey, I've gone this long with only half a heart, what's another few days...?
But big surprise, Friday afternoon, I was told Doctor Hanna could perform the surgery on Saturday morning, Christmas Eve.
This is great news...!
Well, I guess it's great?
Okay, sure it was a relief knowing I wouldn't have to wait, and I could finally get this over with so I could move on with my life. But... remember I said there were a few moments that particularly sucked?
His assistant came to talk to me for a bit. She was nice, but also very matter-of-fact. It was apparently her job to tell me all about my upcoming surgery.
In extremely graphic detail...
Now, many of you know, I enjoy a good horror movie. Mostly cause it's not real. And more importantly, because it's not happening to me. So maybe you can imagine how uncomfortable it was hearing about their plan to rip me apart, take out my heart and lungs, while removing arteries from my leg to fix me up.
Maybe sometimes not knowing is preferable.
It didn't help that physically, I was feeling pretty good. My brain was screaming, YOU are going to make me feel miserable! (ignoring the whole "Widowmaker" aspect of my situation).
But, she did tell me a couple of important things:
1. I'm apparently in really good shape
2. I'm still very young
Go on.....
With those factors, there was a less than 1% chance of anything going wrong. But she also reminded me... less than 1% is not zero.
When she left, I obviously had a lot to think about. And this was the only time I genuinely felt emotionally gut-punched.
To be clear, I was not worried about dying. I KNEW I would live. There was no doubt in my mind I would be okay. I still had way too much to do in my life. I just didn't want to go through any of THAT. I'd gotten used to my internal organs sitting right where they were. So the idea of anyone messing with their natural placement sounded very unpleasant to me.
I had a couple very close friends I confided in, and I absolutely appreciate their support. But otherwise, I didn't make any of this public (no Facebook posts from me), because I really didn't want to worry anyone. See, I knew I was going to be okay, but I didn't want to have to convince everyone else. So there was maybe five people, plus my family that knew what was going on, and that was good enough.
Maybe I just wanted to surprise everyone after it was all over.
And just to make matters a bit more annoying, my parents (who I get along great with), are still in Indiana, and my dad had a bad cold. Nothing serious, but enough to make flying to Florida on Christmas Eve last minute, nearly impossible. Well, maybe with a private jet, but we aren't quite there yet.
So once I'd coped with exactly what was going to happen, I did my best to settle in for the night, and prepare for quite possibly the biggest Christmas Eve of my life. Maybe even a bigger Christmas than the year I got all those Star Wars toys. But only slightly.
And I'm going to skip right over the two or three "not-so-good' nurses I had to deal with the night before my surgery. Yeah, it was December 23, Friday night, and I'm guessing they didn't have their A-Team working. But you'd really hope they would know how to deal with an IV like not taping it down for a shower, then ripping it out. But hey, I said I wasn't going to talk about it.
And after I surprisingly did get some sleep, I was awoken bright and early for my big day. I was wheeled down to pre-op, where I imagined being greeted by Santa, elves, all my friends and maybe even Scrooge and the Grinch himself, telling me this was all an elaborate lesson to teach me the importance of having more Christmas cheer!
Unfortunately, that didn't happen. And even if it had, I'm sure Santa would have said something like, "We still have to open you up though, ho ho ho...!"
I remember being coherent, but not nervous. I was restless and eager to get it over with. I was also very eager for the drugs. Sure, I don't normally like drugs, but this was a special occasion. Give me ALL the drugs!
I must have eventually gotten them, because I don't remember anything before being wheeled into surgery.
And all the while they were eviscerating me, the few friends and family that knew about this were being updated on my progress via a text message chain, originating from the robot that was operating on me. To be clear, I'm pretty sure Dr Hanna himself is not an actual android. But from what I understand, a robot did do some of the more heavy lifting, including sending out texts telling my friends exactly what was going on.
Typically, I'd be concerned if the surgeon operating on me was texting while he worked but, I'd like to take a moment to celebrate our new robot overlords...
To the best of my knowledge, things went textbook perfectly. But you'll have to check with everyone else regarding the details, (which I've only heard bits about), because thankfully, I slept through the whole thing.
And then I woke up in the ICU...
Which brings us to the third (or fourth?) most uncomfortable moment out of this whole ordeal.
The very first thing I remember is a group of three or four people helping me walk to another bed, feeling myself all wrapped up in cables and tubes, followed by my very first words:
"I can't breathe..."
Because I couldn't.
To be clear, I thought I couldn't, because of how I used to breathe all willy-nilly without a care in the world. But this was a new post heart surgery era, where apparently I had a set of tubes still inside me pressing against my lungs catching some fluids. And apparently, this was all perfectly normal because of how everyone ignored me gasping for air as they continued to shuffle me to the bed. It was only a couple steps, but I can assure you... this really sucked. Might have been nice to know about the difficulty in breathing thing before my surgery.
Okay, maaaaybe they mentioned it, but I could have blocked everything out after they told me about the ripping me apart stuff. Kinda feels like maybe I should have paid more attention. My bad.
So there I was, the only patient in the ICU, (cause I guess nobody else decided to get surgery for Christmas Eve), trying to get comfortable with all the tubes inside me, gasping for air, as they asked me if I needed anything.
Music. Give me. Some music. Please...
I desperately wanted a distraction from the not being able to breathe thing. And some music that I could try to sing badly to would be an awesome way to just forget about all this for a while.
But I never got any music. Dicks.
Although, they probably would have just pumped in some Christmas music, and I don't think that would have helped in my recovery. I tried to sleep, because that was the only time I was comfortable. And every time I woke up, I was gasping for air again, and suddenly reminded how much this sucked.
But good news, I didn't have any pain! Possibly because of the drugs, but at this point, I really couldn't appreciate them. Cause seriously, breathing would have been a wonderful Christmas present.
Anywho, you get the idea, and I don't want to drag this part on any longer than I should. Or at least any longer than it felt. In the end, I was only in the ICU for a few hours, but I'm not sure exactly how long. I wasn't paying much attention to the time. I just know eventually, someone came in and told me he was taking me back to my room, but first he needed to yank out some tubes. I remember looking at him confused at his comment, then feeling some very unusual sensations as things I didn't know were inside me were suddenly pulled out.
I know I was on a few different drugs which probably helped immensely, because other than the breathing, I felt pretty okay, all things considered. I remember sending out a few texts, although I can't be entirely sure they were coherent. Spelling was a bit overly complicated for a few days. But I will let you in on a little secret:
After my surgery, I posted something on Facebook letting everyone know what happened and that I was okay. But I had actually written it the day BEFORE my surgery, so all I had to do was copy/paste. It was only when people started responding and I tried to reply did I start to sound like maybe they cut out part of my brain as well.
And I would say my heart grew three sizes that Christmas day, but that would have been extremely unhealthy. So instead, I'll just say again and again how overwhelmed I was (and still am) by the amount of support and love I got from my silly little post surgery post. Seriously. It meant the world to me, and I can't thank everyone enough. From all the messages, to all the phone calls, thank you x4000000000.
And of course, being in such a good mood made me feel rather chatty. I was alert, and imagined I was making some kind of sense (as much as I normally do). However, looking back, I read some of those texts, and a few of them may have come across as a bit jumbled.
But I'm sure I sounded just fine for anyone calling or visiting! Although I do recall some very unusual imagery randomly popping in front of my vision.
So, my hospital stay was surprisingly brief. Surgery was on Saturday morning, and by Wednesday afternoon, I was on my way home.
The highlights of my stay consisted of:
- They kept trying to give me food. Other than it not being good, I never eat that much. So the trays just kept piling up.
- Fiiiinally getting the tubes pressing against my lungs pulled out of me, and realizing it really didn't help me breathe any better.
- Getting yelled at every time I got up to do anything, cause they wanted me to call for help... but I really didn't want to bother anyone.
- Having several nurses trying to figure out how to change the toilet paper roll cause it was a new setup and nobody knew how. Legend has it, they are still trying to figure out how to change the roll today.
- Spending time learning how to walk... For the third time in my life. The second time after a foot surgery (bone cyst) a few years earlier. The first time being a few years after I was born.
But as much fun as all that was *sarcasm*, eventually they stuck me in a wheelchair and sent me home. To be clear, I got into a car for the actual trip home. They didn't wheel me down the road.
And having just learned how to walk again for short distances, I was concerned about climbing the three flights of stairs to my apartment. But even more concerning was, hoping I wouldn't get in an accident on the way home, because I figured my chest would just explode on impact. Although at this point, I had the same concern about sneezing.
I did finally make it home safely, and while it took some time, I managed to get upstairs. And as I was settling in, my first thought was... Should I be here??
I say this because I no longer had the perfectly adjustable bed, the monitors checking my vitals regularly, and the staff of nurses and doctors I could contact at the press of a button right down the hall should I have need of anything urgent.
My first night trying to sleep consisted of me switching from the bed, to the couch, to the big cushioned armchair, back to the bed, and finally back to the chair, all the while trying to find the best pillow placement around me, and all within an hour of me thinking I really need to get some sleep.
But with each night, things got easier. Sure it was a rough few months, but thanks to many supportive and encouraging friends, I was able to recover fairly quickly.
However, most tragically of all, I gained back the ten pounds I lost after my surgery.
So here we are, exactly one year later, and other than occasionally feeling like I have a piece of duct tape down my chest, I'm pretty much back to normal. As normal as I get anyway. I've gone from having to take a break after going up a couple of stairs, to weaving in and around slow walking people when trying to escape work with my co-workers. My doctors are very happy with everything, and I'm down to taking only three prescription drugs, one of which is for cholesterol, and one is a baby aspirin, (hopefully just those two if I can convince my doctor on my next visit).
So the big question is, what caused all this calcification and blockage?
I was in relatively good shape, relatively young (ish), exercised (ish), and other than cholesterol, there's been no heart disease in my family. My dad says it was caused by all the macaroni and cheese I used to eat. I think it's just cause I'm a cheesy guy *Ba-dum-tss...*
But let's not ignore how incredibly lucky I was.
I've often said I feel like I've been very lucky in my life. I've had the good fortune of great work opportunities in my career. I've been able to work with sooooo many wonderfully talented people. And now, looking back on this heart stuff, maybe you can see several times where this could have gone horribly wrong very quickly. I've seen a few fairly young celebrities that suddenly passed away, not from drugs (surprisingly) but a heart condition they were unaware of, and I can't help think... that could have been me. But thankfully, everything fell right into place and worked out for the best for me. Somehow.
And most importantly, I'll always remember how lucky I am to have some of the most awesome friends anyone could ever hope for.
Between Tom, Kristen & Lee, Lisa, Josh, Lauren, Tony, Tanya & Rich, Rick, and Dan, with all your visits, phone calls, care packages, driving me around, taking me out for walkies, and listening to me occasionally complain about random aches and pains, I'll never forget how truly amazing you all were to me and how much you really helped my recovery fly by.
And to soooo many other long distance friends who messaged me and supported me during all this as well, from the bottom of my heart, (which seems to work a lot better now, so hopefully it means a bit more), thank you!
So, if I did die and come back to life,
it's starting to look like I'll probably outlive everyone else
now. And since I'm regularly taking a baby aspirin, it's starting to sound like that makes me one year old today!
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