Blorft: Part II
If you're here for an update on Mom: she had a chemical stress test this morning. I'm waiting on Dr Miracle to give us answers on it. Mom said he might discharge her over the weekend and she would return for a cath next week.
I won't believe it until a nurse has confirmed it.
This isn't my first rodeo. I chronicled some of the fresh hell on my old blog. Her last cath was just the tip of the iceberg.
Waiting on Mum to come out of recovery. The cath did not go well. In addition to the tight valve (.6, FFS!), she has a 95-99% blockage at the very top of her right coronary artery (above the RV branch) as well as an 80% blockage in the obtuse marginal branch. Her LAD looks good. However, these blockages require a double bypass. No stent can be placed due to the need to repair the valve.
Dr. Miracle has hospitalized her for the night, mainly to keep an eye on her femoral artery and procedure recovery. He's referring her to Dr. Sekon, a cardiac surgeon.
I don't think she grasps how dangerous her situation is currently. I haven't been able to see her yet; waiting on the 5th floor for her arrival. I'm armed with the coronary tree diagram Dr. Miracle provided, and equipped with a bullish temperament. I'm retired but I have not lost my "this is what will happen if you don't" demeanor when it comes to fractious patients and necessary surgery. - December 18, 2018
That was a wild ride. Christmas Day was filled with medical surprises. She was still mucking around with recovery well into February. As in she still was hospitalized. My mom is a fractious patient with a incredibly low pain threshold. Getting her to push herself was met with a stubborn "no, I can't!"
It's tempting to say, "You need to cut her slack. She's in chronic heart failure!"
I love my mother. If I were my mother's doctor, I would ask the hospital to reassign her to another doctor. And then I would quit the hospital. And move. To Siberia. She is that fractious. Her nurses' eyes would widen into that forlorn help me plea every time I came around. My dad would just smile and nod. He loved mom no matter how much she fussed and griped.
Now we're facing another cath and potentially bad news. She had a bypass and pig valve placed last time. I'm dreading further open heart surgery. She'll get through it, but her recovery will be an uphill battle unless we can get her to focus more mental energy on healing rather than on pain and fear.
She seemed in good spirits this morning as they wheeled her to the lab. An hour passed and they let me visit her. The chemical had just gone into her IV. It's a bit of a wait until they can proceed.
Mom was in a world of hurt. Her legs and hands were tingling. It was nearly unbearable for her. She starts in on me. "If I die, I give you permission to euthanize Dante."
What the actual fuck?!
"You don't like him," she sighs. "He's too much trouble."
Again, what the actual fuck?! I understand what she's doing - she's afraid. She's lashing out.
"I don't have a problem with your dog, ma." He's actually an angel when she's not around.
She changes the subject. "The nurse doing the cath says he remembers me and George."
"Oh yeah?" I smile. "Dad was a frequent flyer."
"The nurse said we had an incredible bond. I stayed with your father all day..."
I tune it out for self-preservation. It's true. She stayed by his side almost every day while he was hospitalized. For months on end, I drove her to visit him every morning and picked her up every evening.
My father, even after Parkinson's Disease destroyed his body and mind, was an absolutely delightful patient. Towards, the end, he refused meds...and that's another story.
I got what my mother was saying. I was with your father but you'll probably not be here the same way.
"Ma, it's hard for me to come here. It brings back painful memories of dad."
"Painful memories? I was just telling the nurse how I was outside with Dante, and I came in and you and Jeff said he has passed. I told your father that I loved him and to let go right before I went outside. He died peacefully..."
I tune out again. I want to snatch her by her arms and scream at her, "Dad died because I wasn't bullish enough to demand they look in his mouth. Dad died from a fungal infection in his mouth. I was a chair side surgical assistant. I could have diagnosed that if he had opened his mouth for me."
I smile at my mom instead. Blorft mode. "Looks like they might start taking pictures again. I'll wait up in your room." Jesus, I wish I had a Klonopin on me. I don't always take a benzo but, when I do, I'm smashed.
The nurse enters the code for the staff elevator. We're frequent flyers, remember? They brought mom up about a half hour later.
I don't remember much of the conversation we had. We had a few laughs over nonsense stuff. She knew I had an appointment at noon, so we said our farewells. We likely wouldn't have test results until this evening.
Cue another asinine anxiety attack. Off to get dog food; Objective met but no public bathroom. It starts to spiral into another panic attack as I drive towards Trinity East. This one's full throttle. I spot Rural King and visit their bathroom, then grab a dog coat off the rack to make me an actual customer.
Logic replaced fear. We spent the rest of the session laughing over current politics.
And now, physically and emotionally spent, I sit down to blog. The casual reader might think I'm overly dramatic. The observer would probably question whether or not these thoughts came from my brain. And, in the silence of the house, I mentally scream at my own ass.