When a loved one goes under the knife it is so much more nerve wracking than when you yourself are getting sliced and diced. Watching an individual you love struggle with their own mortality absolutely sucks. When it is something that happens at like 45-50? Hoooo boy. Not awesome. Now you are getting into the whole “is he gonna go get himself a sportscar for a mid-life crisis” territory. Because he better fucking not be wandering into the “getting himself a trophy affair secret girlfriend” territory.

Anyway, if your loved one has time to plan before their surgery, they either fall into two types: planner or disregarder. Some fall in each category to a frightening degree. For an example, I will plan things TO DEATH. Vacations? I will know how many pairs of underwear I plan to pack for each person, each person’s carry on bag (if airplane), or front bag (if car), snacks, medicine, back up medication lists for everyone, names of everyone’s doctors, travel size portions of everything, either from Walgreens/Meijer/Daiso/etc or small plastic reusable containers that I fill with portions of the lotions and stuff that might be prescription or harder to find (non-mint toothpaste anyone?) that is still essential. I know to always carry at least three days worth of my medications on me (or in my carryon) so if they lose my suitcase, I can still function while the local pharmacy orders in the meds overnight.

Shane is in surgery as I type this. Mitral valve repair/replace. Odd duck surgery in that they don’t know if they will be repairing or replacing it until they get in and see how it looks/acts, then they decide if they can successfully fix it or if they need to take it out and replace it. There was the option of 1. replace and take meds forever but not have to replace again, or 2. no meds but likely replace in about 20 years. He went with ‘no meds but replace again’ option if he needs it replaced once they go in. Granted, this only happens if they try to repair it and it won’t hold or the surgeon decides it isn’t up to his standard. Like “eh, it’s holding for now… but I’m not loving it.”

What Shane has is called Mitral Valve Regurgitation or Mitral Valve Insufficiency or Mitral Incompetence… or… Leaky heart valve if you’re feeling fancy. If you picture a tube with three triangle flaps on top that are supposed to close together, then open, then close, in a rhythm. In the regurgitation cases the flaps don’t meet and blood can squish back up where it shouldn’t be. This causes the person to have less access to their blood oxygen than they should. If they should have 100% of blood oxygen, they might only have 80-85% depending on how much blood the flaps let back up.

Shane never had any “symptoms” that he took to the doctor, so to speak. His regular doc was on maternity leave and the fill in doctor just kinda went “hey, uh… you have a pretty strong heart murmur. Did you know?” And my block-head husband was just like, “Oh, yeah. I’ve had it for 20+ years. My doctor said it’s fine.”

… hold up. Maybe a heart murmur should be checked out if you’ve had it for more than 20 years and you are almost 50. Things change. So this interim doc was like “I don’t know what I am hearing, but I don’t like it. Go have this guy listen to it,” and sends his happy ass off to a cardiologist.

Yup. Cardiologist was Less Than Thrilled. Cue all the surgery shit. Cardiologist basically said he didn’t have to do it IMMEDIATELY, but it did need to be done. So, Shane planned. He got his work team set to be without him for 3 months while he was going to recover. That took 6 months, at LEAST. I watched this from the sidelines and goddamn if that wasn’t like watching hamsters do quadratic equations. Some of them knew what they were doing, but they just were too afraid to make any decisions themselves without Shane’s say-so.

TAKE THE SWIMMIES OFF AND GET IN THE WATER!!

Then there was the whole “Watch Shane Plan His Demise” portion of his diagnosis. His ‘red folder’ and the ‘come here so I can show you how I pay the maids from this checking account’ lesson. All his printouts that are deemed ‘important’ are in the ‘red folder’ such as whatever printouts the cardiologist gave him, releases for work, and dental releases (he isn’t allowed to have cleanings until his cardio says so). I guess it’s a red folder because the Great Folder Of Doom is red for his mom? The ‘all my last requests are here’ type thing.

As for disregarders: My dad was one. “All my stuff is in a binder in the office.”

Yeah. Kinda. He did have a will drawn up. He did have a burial plot purchased. In the will binder there was a whole section made up that you really had to just take a crayon and fill in. Song? Favorite color? Where do you want to be buried? Cremated? You have a preferred place to go for funeral home? Church? Graveside only? Like…make SOME PLANS???

Blank pages. He left blank pages. So helpful. So, don’t do that, boys and girls. Even if you write a small note saying “Send my ass to a body farm. Stuff me in a pringles can and shoot me into space. Please play “Stayin’ Alive” at the funeral.

Ahh… Shane’s surgery is done!

Yeah… So, a bit has happened since I logged off in a hurry above. I shut off because we were informed Shane was out of surgery and we should come down to the room where the doctor talks to us after surgery. We packed up, went down to the second floor and chilled in the room for awhile.

We had plenty of time to wait. Enough time to have an entire conversation on how Sketchers shoes have Totally Dropped The Ball and now do not supply shoes in my size that are not either Slip-Ins which are completely ugly (sorry, Jeri, they are ugly the way they flare out from the ankle), or are Pimp Shoes because they are designed by Snoop Dogg (yes, *The* Snoop Dogg) and do actually look like he was high when he made the color combo choices.

All other shoes either do not exist in 10.5 Normal width or are these options. Jeri and I were comparing what the backs look like in shoes regular vs slip – ins and how I like my shoes tight, when the Doc came in to give us the final update.

Shane was fine. He amputated the floppy part of the valve and put a band on to make the other two work to seal the valve in a way that works the way it should. In this way it would work as a repair rather than needing a total new valve (and needing a new surgery in about 20 years). According to the doctor everything went wonderfully, and Shane would be able to have visitors in about an hour and a half once the nurses had him moved to his room on the sixth floor. We were all relieved. The doctor suggested we go to lunch and come back after. Jeri said we would, and the doc asked if I was buying. She said no, because she was under orders to make sure I eat. (Yeah… that’s a thing… I apparently don’t eat enough. It’s really wild.)

Doctor leaves and Jess and Jeri start chatting as they gather their stuff, and I kinda … don’t remember terribly much here. But here’s what I can piece together. My brain and skull and vision did not sync. Everything felt off. My legs felt tingly. I was sitting in the chair still, so I stayed there, but I turned my head to the side and had this weird feeling – I cannot explain it. A strange disorienting wave. And it’s happened before. However, with everyone getting ready to move, I just kinda was like “Something isn’t right…” and then Jess came and sat on the chair with me. She asked if I was okay and I just said my head felt weird. Then I told her I needed to get on the floor. So I did. In the meantime someone… and I don’t mean to be rude, but I have zero idea who went out into the hall to get nurses at this point, only that it was a female voice, then there were about 12 people surrounding me. Jeri told them I was epileptic, and I said it wasn’t a seizure, people asked if I took my meds (yes), I slurred to take my blood sugar, but stuff was starting to get weird.

They made me get on a gurney and gave me a fun ride to the ER. Because of course I had to do this on the day Shane was undergoing surgery for his heart. I didn’t need to have anything like this. They tested my blood. They gave me an ekg. They did a glucose test… They asked me the same questions aaalllllllll the way to the ER as a way to keep me both conscious and to see if my answers were consistent. As someone who helped a friend study for her NCLEX I knew what they were doing.

They drew a few vials of blood, no surprise. No shock. Then they gave me some fluids. Probably good since I didn’t eat much. A banana. Jess brought me a sandwich from McDonalds, but Aidan had stolen it before school. I got a packet of pistashios about 30 minutes before this all happened from the vending machine. I never have been allergic to nuts before, so I doubt this had anything to do it. The nurses mentioned some sort of red flush rash on my neck and chest and asked if that was normal. No….? That apparently went away eventually.

The ekg was just one of those short ones, one minute or so. I had the thing on my finger for pulse, and a cuff on my arm for BP. I was constantly being monitored for those. I didn’t have O2 as my breathing was fine. I tried to take a nap for a bit. I didn’t actually get to take one, but I pretended to. I at least rested. My brain was in such disarray. I was downstairs figuratively chained to a bed when I should be at by husband’s bedside, or at least getting some lunch so I could return to his bedside. But no. Shannie’s body goes batshit.

Anyway, my results come back and the doctor says they’re “fine.” I have my suspicions. I am both strong-willed and used to stress. I am medicated to the gills to deal with stress in all forms. And my body has been dealing with medications in varying types for decades. I have a liver of STEEL. Kidneys of IRON. So when the ER doc says “oh, your potassium was a little low still. You should eat some potatoes or bananas.” Yeah, that’s not what happened here.

You know how you can go into your MyChart and see the release paperwork they give you in paper form at the end of the visit? If you wait a day or so, they often have Notes in there too that is what the Doc puts in for the other docs to read. It has more technical jargon. You might be sitting there with Google open and flipping back and forth a bit, but you’ll get a more nuanced picture.

Another thing I rarely do is the “follow up with your primary care physician in 7-10 days” because 1.) I am probably fine. If I went to the clinic, the clinic likely gave me meds anyway, and 2.) my GP books out 6 weeks minimum. While I was in the hospital visiting Shane I got a call from my primary doctor’s office. They wanted me to see them. Like pronto. And my doc didn’t have any appointments available, so they could put me with one of her colleagues, Dr. Grganto. I mean, okay… sure. I know the name. Dad saw him. But like, why? I have an appointment in June with my GP, that’s not that far out? And Aidan has an appointment with her on Friday? I mean if she really needed to say something SUPER important, she could mention it then.

But I guess it’s going to be a whole thing? So I go and check the notes… It was a bit more than “Go eat potatoes.” It had all kinds of things. My potassium was actually up a bit from my blood test before, but still not in “normal range” so yay? But my iron was somehow high, which doesn’t track with how I am usually anemic, and my BUN level was like off the chart at 30 which either means dehydration or kidney failure. And I am going with dehydration. They gave me some IV fluids so I am probably fine now. The worrying bit was more that the reason I collapsed was probably a heart problem. As in like my blood pressure went to low. When I first got into ER the very first reading the top number was under 90. The next reading was already climbing above 100, so obviously it was pretty low when I actually collapsed all the way across the hospital.

Also, the doctor mentioned random words like V-Tach and V-Fib being possibilities, and needing to be monitored – possibly with a holtor monitor. And they suggest and echo. Guess it is a good thing I have a spankin’ new Cardiologist then. “More Potatoes” my ass.

Anyway, I didn’t find any of this out until days later. I got home Tuesday afternoon, Crashed on a chair, and figured on staying home the rest of the night. The doctors and nurses said he wouldn’t be waking until 11 at the earliest. They had to cool his blood to put it through the heart lung machine so it was at about 94 degrees when we visited after he got his room. Obviously you cannot wake a person who is that cold. I figured the nurses knew best. I decided to stay home when Jeri and Shawn went back up. In true Shane fashion he was awake. He doesn’t remember talking to them, but he was awake. Leave it to him to be awake at 7PM when he was supposed to be unconscious until at least 11. I would have pushed myself and gone up there if I knew he would have been awake, too. Probably best I didn’t. I was still out of it from the collapse.

He was a rock star in his recovery from moment 1. Apparently he had been doing something they call ‘prehab’ – which is where someone does a lot of work on their rehabilitation before the surgery. With Shane, he was walking 5K at least 4 times per week. His heart was pretty strong, considering. It just needed to have the valve fixed. He came out of the hospital on day 4. That is the earliest they let you out. He was inspired by the fact all the food sucks and his television speaker sounded like gremlins in a cave. The rooms were all full so he couldn’t even get them to swap out the speaker/call button thingie with an empty bed. Hell, he never got put on the “normal” floor because all of THOSE beds were full, too, so he was discharged straight from Cardiac Neuro ICU.

At least he gets to be home now. Spaghetti sauce for dinner the first night. The cats have learned the words “Daddy adjacent” as he isn’t allowed more than 10 lbs on him, including his legs – as blood clots are a danger still. The girls technically are close, under 11 lbs, both of them. I think Callum is the smallest, probably closer to 10, maybe like 10 lbs 3oz. But both girls will sit quietly between his legs anyway. Funny how they know. Max has figured out if he wants ANY Daddy time he needs to lay along his side and just chill next to him. Harley pushes it and has figured that Daddy won’t fight if he only puts half his body on him. Which looks HILARIOUS as he sits in “loaf form” with just his arms on his thigh.

And me screaming across the room “DADDY ADJACENT!!” to a cat.

Yup. We’re normal