Chronic Illness

[scottyrocks]

I found the physical pain of open heart surgery far from the worst of it. It didn't hurt all that much, really -- surprisingly less painful than I expected.

But psychically? Man, it kicks your ass! Did mine, anyway. I was like a wounded animal, and snarly as one, as my lovely missus can attest.

The operation itself was painless - I was on my back, out cold for 6 1/2 hours.

As soon as I was awake I was kind of myself. But I couldn't talk, being intubated, and I was gesturing for a pad and pencil so I could write. The nurses were putting me off, telling me to take it easy (I hate being told to take it easy) because they knew I wanted the tubes out. They put me out, and the tubes came out I don't know how much later. It could have been anywhere from 2 to 12 hours.

Once detubed, it took another few days for them to remove all the other things that were stuck in my body, the worst being the abdominal drainage tube. It felt it was touching every nerve in its path. Pulling that out felt like my whole body was shoved into an electrical socket, if only for a second.

But then I wanted to get out of bed. As soon as I could I didn't get back into it, sleeping, instead, in a chair. The bed was royally uncomfortable.

They got me a physical therapist pretty quickly. She took me walking around the floor in greater distances each time, until we finally got to the stairway. She wanted me to do the old same lead foot up and down, but I practically ran up and down the stairs. She wasn't happy about it, but I felt great, if not a little dizzy after the first attempt.

And then there was the juggling of my pre-hospital meds. I had been on an insulin pump which needed to be removed pre-surgery. Post-surgery I decided I no longer wanted a machine hanging on me 24/7 so I told them what my regimen had been pre-pump (12 years prior) and they set me up.

The recovery, once I got out of the hospital, however, was bordering on torture. The worst part was water in my left lung which was supposed to drain in a few days but didn't. Almost constant coughing (ever cough with a recently split-open front?), and a cough medicine meant to stop it did little good. I was having trouble eating, and all I wanted to do was sleep, exhausted and nauseous from coughing, on top of the recovery process in general.

Finally, three weeks after leaving the hospital I was back, having a liter or fluid drained from the bottom of my left lung. I instantly felt better. My Dad said I looked like I had come back from the dead.

I went back to work after nine weeks of being out. I was 15 lbs lighter than when I went in, and tired very easily. I normally stand most of the day, but sat down frequently during classes because I had to. I've gained back about half the weight I lost, and am right where I want to be.

No, I still don't have the energy I used to, and psychologically, I have come to a point where I have stared my mortality in the face, and have come to realize that it does exist. I do most of what I used to do, but everything is more difficult. But I'll just have to live with it. No other choice, really.

It's been two years come the 30th, and I've never written it all down, or this much of it, anyway. There is more, but I'll stop with what is here.

My thanks to those who have taken the time to read it, although it feels good to just set it down on 'paper,' so to speak.

 

[AmateisGal]

My father had a heart valve fixed earlier this year. It took a lot out of him, as well. He's still not back to 100%. Frankly, I don't think he ever will be as he had a stroke last year and then this surgery (they think a leaky heart valve was responsible for the stroke).

Glad you gentlemen are doing better. Take it easy!

 

[tonyb]

The operation itself was painless - I was on my back, out cold for 6 1/2 hours.

As soon as I was awake I was kind of myself. But I couldn't talk, being intubated, and I was gesturing for a pad and pencil so I could write. The nurses were putting me off, telling me to take it easy (I hate being told to take it easy) because they knew I wanted the tubes out. They put me out, and the tubes came out I don't know how much later. It could have been anywhere from 2 to 12 hours.

Once detubed, it took another few days for them to remove all the other things that were stuck in my body, the worst being the abdominal drainage tube. It felt it was touching every nerve in its path. Pulling that out felt like my whole body was shoved into an electrical socket, if only for a second.

But then I wanted to get out of bed. As soon as I could I didn't get back into it, sleeping, instead, in a chair. The bed was royally uncomfortable.

They got me a physical therapist pretty quickly. She took me walking around the floor in greater distances each time, until we finally got to the stairway. She wanted me to do the old same lead foot up and down, but I practically ran up and down the stairs. She wasn't happy about it, but I felt great, if not a little dizzy after the first attempt.

And then there was the juggling of my pre-hospital meds. I had been on an insulin pump which needed to be removed pre-surgery. Post-surgery I decided I no longer wanted a machine hanging on me 24/7 so I told them what my regimen had been pre-pump (12 years prior) and they set me up.

The recovery, once I got out of the hospital, however, was bordering on torture. The worst part was water in my left lung which was supposed to drain in a few days but didn't. Almost constant coughing (ever cough with a recently split-open front?), and a cough medicine meant to stop it did little good. I was having trouble eating, and all I wanted to do was sleep, exhausted and nauseous from coughing, on top of the recovery process in general.

Finally, three weeks after leaving the hospital I was back, having a liter or fluid drained from the bottom of my left lung. I instantly felt better. My Dad said I looked like I had come back from the dead.

I went back to work after nine weeks of being out. I was 15 lbs lighter than when I went in, and tired very easily. I normally stand most of the day, but sat down frequently during classes because I had to. I've gained back about half the weight I lost, and am right where I want to be.

No, I still don't have the energy I used to, and psychologically, I have come to a point where I have stared my mortality in the face, and have come to realize that it does exist. I do most of what I used to do, but everything is more difficult. But I'll just have to live with it. No other choice, really.

It's been two years come the 30th, and I've never written it all down, or this much of it, anyway. There is more, but I'll stop with what is here.

My thanks to those who have taken the time to read it, although it feels good to just set it down on 'paper,' so to speak.

They had me out of bed and walking the cardiac ICU ward the next day. One circuit was all I was good for. As I recall (it's been 11 years ago now), I was discharged after maybe three days post-op.

I was told not to drive for at least a couple weeks, the concern being that a collision might re-break the sternum. It was a full month after the surgery that I drove about an hour each way for a family function. Just driving the car for that length of time exhausted me.

Truth is, though, my condition hasn't kept me from doing anything I was ever likely to do anyway. I never was gonna scale a Himalayan peak or run a marathon. My recovery back to "normal" was slow but steady. I tire more readily than I did all those years ago, but so does almost everybody my age.

This condition will likely be at least a contributing factor in my eventual demise, if not its direct cause. But it's had a blessedly minimal effect on my quality of life to date.

 

[scottyrocks]

They had me out of bed and walking the cardiac ICU ward the next day. One circuit was all I was good for. As I recall (it's been 11 years ago now), I was discharged after maybe three days post-op.

I was told not to drive for at least a couple weeks, the concern being that a collision might re-break the sternum. It was a full month after the surgery that I drove about an hour each way for a family function. Just driving the car for that length of time exhausted me.

Truth is, though, my condition hasn't kept me from doing anything I was ever likely to do anyway. I never was gonna scale a Himalayan peak or run a marathon. My recovery back to "normal" was slow but steady. I tire more readily than I did all those years ago, but so does almost everybody my age.

This condition will likely be at least a contributing factor in my eventual demise, if not its direct cause. But it's had a blessedly minimal effect on my quality of life to date.

Yes, about a month for me, too, before they 'let' me drive.

I used to run and rock climb, but that's been tough because of the strain on the all the stuff across the front of the chest that's got to find each other and heal. Takes a long time.

 

[tonyb]

Yes, about a month for me, too, before they 'let' me drive.

I used to run and rock climb, but that's been tough because of the strain on the all the stuff across the front of the chest that's got to find each other and heal. Takes a long time.

I recall talk of "six weeks or so" until you get to feeling "normal."

Puh-leeze! Six months is more like it. And a couple years or more until I didn't have it on my mind first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

 

[AmateisGal]

I recall talk of "six weeks or so" until you get to feeling "normal."

Puh-leeze! Six months is more like it. And a couple years or more until I didn't have it on my mind first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

I need to tell my dad this. He thinks he should be right as rain by now, but it takes a LOOONG time to recover from heart surgery.

 

[tonyb]

I need to tell my dad this. He thinks he should be right as rain by now, but it takes a LOOONG time to recover from heart surgery.

In my experience, a big part of it is just coming to terms with one's now clearly undeniable mortality. If your dad's adjustment is at all like mine, he'll give the Grim Reaper the single digit salute and say, "not yet, Bony Fingers."

I can't overstate how much good it did me to meet people who had been through worse years and decades prior and were still leading active, fulfilling lives. One old-timer in particular was a real inspiration to me. He had had a series of heart attacks in his 50s and changed his ways dramatically and was going strong when I met him through a support group, when he was well into his 70s. The guy was a poster boy for cardiac rehab -- trim, active, strong. He croaked about a year ago, at a truly ripe age.

 

[AmateisGal]

In my experience, a big part of it is just coming to terms with one's now clearly undeniable mortality. If your dad's adjustment is at all like mine, he'll give the Grim Reaper the single digit salute and say, "not yet, Bony Fingers."

I can't overstate how much good it did me to meet people who had been through worse years and decades prior and were still leading active, fulfilling lives. One old-timer in particular was a real inspiration to me. He had had a series of heart attacks in his 50s and changed his ways dramatically and was going strong when I met him through a support group, when he was well into his 70s. The guy was a poster boy for cardiac rehab -- trim, active, strong. He croaked about a year ago, at a truly ripe age.

I really wish my dad would do this. He tends to be, "Oh, poor me, look, I can't do this anymore...sad, sad, sad, moan, moan, moan." It gets really old. He's a carpenter, but because the stroke cost him part of his vision, he can't realistically do carpentry work anymore because he might cut off a finger or something. He's always had the attitude of "poor me" which I know drives his very optimistic girlfriend nuts!

 

[tonyb]

How old is he? There's many thousands of young people who would benefit greatly from what he could teach them, I'm sure.

 

[AmateisGal]

How old is he? There's many thousands of young people who would benefit greatly from what he could teach them, I'm sure.

He's 66. Pretty young, actually!

 

[tonyb]

He's 66. Pretty young, actually!

Yes.

 

[scottyrocks]

He must have other interests, yes?

 

[AmateisGal]

He must have other interests, yes?

My dad is a very smart guy. He loves gadgets and electronics and computers. He likes tearing things apart and figuring out what's wrong with them, then putting them back together again. Sadly, I don't think he's even doing that. When my niece and nephew were in school, he spent a lot of time watching them in sports. Now that they've both been graduated for a few years, he doesn't have that to do, either.

Yeah, he definitely needs some hobbies.

 

[tonyb]

His knowledge of construction is of great value. Seriously, these are highly marketable skills and the work is all but impossible to outsource to some "offshore" locale. A young person could do a LOT worse for him- or herself than to go into the construction trades.

I mention this because I find that for beating depression nothing beats being of some practical value to other people. Perhaps your dad could find a way to share his knowledge with youngsters eager for it?

 

[vallettavalentine]

Severe depression (for which I was recently hospitalised,) PTSD due to my own father trying to kill my mother and I, and Asperger syndrome on top of pain from injuries due to a car accident nearly three years ago. My husband has a genetic disorder, BPES, that affects his face and eyes. He bears a striking resemblance to the actor who played Arthur Valentine in Foyle's War, Tim McMullan, for that reason.

 

[Bugguy]

Permanent kidney failure needing dialysis.... I had the privilege of spending a half hour today with a young man my son-in-law's age who's wife was in the OR donating her kidney to her mother. His father-in-law was there and described his wife's (the mother's) year on dialysis as "watching her die a little every day". They were sitting in the family waiting room side-by-side and I wish I could have taken a picture. I round on the living donor families while all the action is in the OR so I can make a fuss over the donor to their families. Later, all the attention is focused on the transplant recipient and the donor is forgotten. It's a wonderful feeling and I can still see the young man's face light up when I acknowledged how heroic her gift was. I didn't realize, but his mother was sitting next to him and was beaming the whole time.

 

[HoosierDaddy]

I listed my recent health problems on the second page in this thread but left out that I had a stroke five years ago. This left me with the right side of my body being affected. Arm and leg. Up until then I had felt like I could do anything and had the constitution of a nineteen year old. They rushed me to the ER and admitted me. First time I had been hospitalized since I had my tonsils taken out at five years old in the fifties. I wasn't very nice during my stay for the stroke. I hated,,yes hated feeling helpless. I had always been in charge ( Drill Sgt in the Army and other life adventures ). Helpless just wasn't in my personality. This led me to realize why some older folks in nursing homes develop a bad attitude and sometimes turn on others. They are having trouble accepting helplessness.

Finally I was released from the hospital and shuffled in the house...feeling just useless. It took me three years to get back to 85-90% of my old self.

This year with all my sudden health problems and treatment I have had to come to the realization and acceptance that there are certain things that I have trouble with or just can't do anymore..or at this time. However throughout this my attitude changed. It became very apparent to me that I must have help with various things and helpless concerning certain things. All the nurses ( all ) in each hospital were so wonderful and caring and many cared so much that they hugged me when I left. This was a blessing. Family gathered around me and helped tremendously.

Yet when the anger 'release' of being helpless was over an occasional pity party could then ensue to deliver something similar . I can find myself apologizing and feeling sorry for myself..and expressing my sorrow which adds to my sadness....but I just don't want to be this way. AmateisGal perhaps your Dad is going through some of these same things. I need love and understanding...although I know that me complaining and sometimes ' woe is me ' probably gets old.
HD

 

[Zombie_61]

...I went back to work after nine weeks of being out. I was 15 lbs lighter than when I went in, and tired very easily. I normally stand most of the day, but sat down frequently during classes because I had to...

It's amazing how quickly the body can atrophy. Not that I'm comparing my Laminectomy to having your chest cracked, but after my back surgery in order to be allowed to go home that night I had to promise my neurosurgeon that I would spend the following one to two weeks essentially sitting on the couch doing nothing, and only getting off of it and walking when it was necessary to use the bathroom or when it was time to go to bed. And, as much as I hated it, I did as I was instructed. Near the end of the second week I had been given clearance by my doctor to begin pursuing leisurely activities (i.e., I could do more walking, but nothing more strenuous than that) and my wife asked if I wanted to accompany her to a local mall; having been cooped up in the house for nearly two weeks, I jumped at the chance. When we arrived at the mall, the walk from where we parked to the inside of the store was about half a mile, and by the time my wife and I found the department she needed I was exhausted and needed to sit and rest for 20 minutes before walking back to her car.

 

[scottyrocks]

It's amazing how quickly the body can atrophy. Not that I'm comparing my Laminectomy to having your chest cracked, but after my back surgery in order to be allowed to go home that night I had to promise my neurosurgeon that I would spend the following one to two weeks essentially sitting on the couch doing nothing, and only getting off of it and walking when it was necessary to use the bathroom or when it was time to go to bed. And, as much as I hated it, I did as I was instructed. Near the end of the second week I had been given clearance by my doctor to begin pursuing leisurely activities (i.e., I could do more walking, but nothing more strenuous than that) and my wife asked if I wanted to accompany her to a local mall; having been cooped up in the house for nearly two weeks, I jumped at the chance. When we arrived at the mall, the walk from where we parked to the inside of the store was about half a mile, and by the time my wife and I found the department she needed I was exhausted and needed to sit and rest for 20 minutes before walking back to her car.

Holy smokes, that was very much like my experience, too. I was encouraged, after a couple of weeks, to walk up the block and back. Seemed fairly easy, but not as easy as it should have been. Then we went to the mall, and it was a multi-break affair.

 

[AmateisGal]

Iet when the anger 'release' of being helpless was over an occasional pity party could then ensue to deliver something similar . I can find myself apologizing and feeling sorry for myself..and expressing my sorrow which adds to my sadness....but I just don't want to be this way. AmateisGal perhaps your Dad is going through some of these same things. I need love and understanding...although I know that me complaining and sometimes ' woe is me ' probably gets old.
HD

I think this is a lot of it. He's always been very self-sufficient. I remember days when he was pretty sick, yet he'd always go and work in the fields or do whatever needed to be done on the farm. The "woe is me" bit certainly does get old, but I believe it's one of those instances where he has to come to the conclusion himself that he needs to accept where he's at in life and work to change his attitude.