Let's just start with this, my recovery has not been as expected.
September 10, I had a transcatheter pulmonary valve replacement. Initially the procedure was set for early August at MUSC in Charleston, SC. Then, a hurricane disrupted the South Carolina coast 24 hours before my procedure and I was evacuated and my procedure was rescheduled.
I remember telling one of my best friend's Laurel, how I could not wait for my birthday on September 22, because that would mean that the past 7 months of tests, news, waiting, and the operation itself would be behind me and I could start to not only feel normal again, but better than normal. That everything would be really good again!
September 10 arrived and Eric and I had an early morning at MUSC still full of necessary tests ahead of having the procedure later that day. I of course was not allowed to eat or drink and so all I could do was dream about this big healthy but scrumptious dinner I had picked out for Eric to go and retrieve for me once I was awake from the case. I was starving so bad that I was actually more concerned about the state of my taste buds and my gastrointestinal system than I was for my cardiac system! Your girl loves to eat and especially Charleston cuisine.
Finally, after speaking with one of the doctors, anesthesia, and countless other essential and appreciated members of my cath team, the anesthesiologist gave me a relaxing "cocktail" to which Eric would say, "Whoaaa, that hit you fast!" And then he proceeded to laugh at me. I'd love to tell you why...but I cannot remember...but I will tell you I was beautifully unbothered dizzily dancing down a floating cloud to the cath suite. The last thing I remember is the mask of anesthesia over my face and it causing me to hack a lung up to which I heard someone in the room ask anesthesia, "Is it normal to cough like that?" The answer was "Yes, some patients breathe it and"...slurrrr....dreamland.
I woke up and immediately with eyes still closed feeling very, very, very, nauseous called softly but as strong as I could manage, "Eric?" The precious nurse told me they would call him in soon, he knew I was out but I had to remain flat on my back a little longer before he could come to me. Well then...the anesthesia took on the rest of its less than lovely affects....I'll spare you the details here...but finally, still eyes closed, immensely weak and groggy, Eric's voice was heard like the joy of Christmas music on November 1, (which to me is sweet, golden, and heavenly...but if you're a post Thanksgiving Chrismtas music playing Grinch like my sister, then you may not understand my emotions...hahaha!) I heard him and I called out until he was touching me, "Eric? Eric? Eric?" The nurse told me later the next day how my calling for him so wanting of him brought her to tears and she could see how we were truly best friends in love. I love that testimony of marriage and what God gave me because I waited and prayed. So thankful for Eric.
Once settled in my room post-op, I slept. A lot. So much so I'm not sure they knew what to do with me. My body had had it. While I slept, I continued being monitored on a screen in the nurse's station. I had V-Tach, I was throwing a lot of consistent consecutive pre-ventricular contractions which was concerning. They took my blood while I slept and ran labs to see if maybe I was dehydrated and this was exacerbating the situation. I of course was; I had not had a drink in close to 24 hours. So they gave me a lot of fluids, I drank when I opened my eyes, but I slept more than anything for hours and hours on end. When I did wake, I was still so nauseous. Of course, the anesthesia plays a huge role here, but I have the metabolism that needs to eat frequently lots of little meals or snacks and it had been so long since I had eaten. My blood sugar was shot, and an empty stomach makes me feel nauseous. So, I mustered the strength to ask Eric for a cracker. He said, "Do you think you want me to get your dinner now?" But I told him quick as a flash, "No!" The thought of real food was unbearable at that time...but I knew I needed to eat so I just ate crackers and Eric managed to slip tiny baby crumb bites of granola into my lips to munch on all while I'd take a bite, fall asleep, take a bite, fall asleep...I could not stay awake!
Eventually I finally came to, drank a protein shake, ate a banana and did the best I could to sit up. The difficult bit was, once I felt a little more awake, well then, I had all these tubes and wires and catheters running out all over me. It was so cumbersome I could sparsely move my arms. I couldn't bend my legs due to the sheath from the surgical catheter still in my leg. I could not roll over or get situated and I could not get out of bed and walk. So, I slept some more with a lot of heating pads.
My nurses were AMAZING. Truly, I could be their close friend if I lived there. Precious, heart warming, compassionate ladies.
The second day, my final day, before I could be discharged, I had to see a full room, an entire crew, more people than I could count to discuss the results, the expectations, etc. As I once again awoke from my crazy long sleep, I found my room empty, not even Eric was to be found. As it were, this entire crew of medical professionals and even their students were with my husband hanging out at the nurse's station waiting to see me - waiting on me to wake up. And when I did, it was like an assembly -a formal procession emerged into my little room and gathered around my bedside. If you truly know me...then I'm thinking you can picture my face here, but by this time I was finally awake for good and I greeted everyone warmly and I took notes and gave Eric orders to follow up on with the instructions that were given to us.
The next big thing that was honestly a bit daunting was the removal of the cath sheath from my left groin - they had to pull it out... a tender wound, but internally it was the worst. Imagine it felt like this...like someone had somehow shoved a long rubber tube down your vein in your leg and groin...it's dry, no lubrication, and then it gets pulled out slowly...it feels like it's pulling your vein out with it. I sucked in the deepest breath I had, braced myself, held tight to the bed, then it was over. And before they even did this, the wound was bleeding a fair amount of blood when the cardiac fellow began removing it...she said it's not normal to see that much blood come out. She applied pressure for 10 minutes. And to be extra safe, for which I commended and praised her, she got one of the lead doctors to watch and monitor. They were successful of course! I was so anxious at home though, I needed to not bend my leg still for 24 more hours, and I had to remove a pressure dressing myself at home. They warned me if it bled which it shouldn't, I would need to call the ER. I was nervous because it had already bled when it was not "supposed to" so I asked my family and friends to pray for me. I was so afraid to remove it. But God is so cool, when I woke up from my first night back home in my own bed, I'd actually had a rough night of sleep because I was so sore and because I had to be so straight and still, that I was sweating a lot. Gross, I know, but it's not like any of this is "pretty." But it was a huge blessing because I woke up to find I had sweat the dressing off completely, and my bloody wound had clotted and I didn't have to do a thing! God has a cool way of working things out.
I was under the impression that within a couple days I'd feel like totally "me" again. But for more than 3 weeks at least, I struggled to breathe still. I still was having palpitations. It frightened me greatly because even though they assured me everything had worked and looked so beautiful internally, I couldn't notice a single difference. It was discouraging for a few weeks for me to not feel like I could breathe. I cried to some friends who checked on me in the weeks following. Friends held me and prayed over me. My parents of course prayed and encouraged me. And when I saw my own specialist, she gave me a complete 180 from feeling discouraged to mightily encouraged. She said it would take some time but even in a few weeks I should see improvement...and I did praise, God!
However, only 17 days post-procedure, we lost our home to Hurricane Helene. I was still recovering. I was up and about but still really struggling at that time to breathe, catch my breath, to move normally, or to even move fast. The kids and I were deeply blessed to happen to be at my parents in the Upstate the night of the hurricane; however, Eric was in our home, in our bed, and moved to a safe spot just before an 8 ton oak fell through our bedroom and living room and bonus room ceiling. Long story short here, the stress from this had me hyperventilating at first word of our tragedy, the fear for my husband's life, the questions of where will we live, what do we do?! My mama had me put my head between my knees and get low and recover, then she sent me to my Daddy to release while she minded my children who were doing school and playing. I was still recovering. Truly still struggling to breathe and move and find strength when I had to take more trips than I can count back and forth through fallen trees, alternate routes, downed lines, a devastating war zone reminiscent view with the National Guard out and countless first responders. My usual 1.5 hour trip from my parents to Evans turned into 2.5-3 hours and lots of turning around and finding a new way. But I had to get to Eric. I had to hold him. And, disasters don't care that you're still recovering from a heart procedure and struggling, you have to keep trucking and find a way to pick up the pieces. And that was accomplished by AMAZING friends and family stepping up to care for my kids, AND to house and feed Eric who had to remain in Augusta to meet with adjustors, contractors, and still go to work. For two weeks we lived like this. In the grand scheme two weeks is nothing, I know, and I'll never be able to fully describe the respect I have for military spouses; but the unplanned and sudden displacement and separation was devastating to us. It was depressing. I've never seen my husband as low as he was in this time. The exhaustion of running on adrenaline from having leaves, rain, sheetrock, and beams falling all around him and tornado winds roaring through the house while he worked to salvage all that he could for our family amidst a literal hurricane - the exhaustion of having to still be on the ball mentally to make sure we aren't scammed, that we handle this devastating process correctly and intellectually, and the exhaustion of not having his family to release to at the end of the day - brought him to crumbling tears more than once in this time. But praise God for good who friends who embraced him and me too when we crumbled. We worked together to move furniture...something neither he nor my parents wanted me to do just days post heart procedure but I didn't have a choice. Everyone around us was in the same boat of such sudden and enormous devastation. I had to help as best as I could to clear things and get us to a point where we could move forward. Do you know Who gave me the strength to do that? God. I didn't do it at all in fact, He worked through me. He lifted my spirits and pumped my weak muscles including my heart muscle to help me physically work and labor in this time.
I say that to say - it's all part of the story God is writing. It's better than anything I could dream. It all really hurts, there's a lot of devastation....I had a heart procedure, lost my home, moved 2 times, and lost my grandmother all in 2 months. And I know still things could be so much worse. I have the joy of the Lord. I truly do, because I'm sitting here smiling as I type out the things that are the hardest I've ever faced - and I'm not even including or sharing all that has happened - it's not all everyone's business - but in the current hardest to date time in my life, I'm still smiling, I'm still lifting my hands and my voice in praise to God, and I'm still blessed beyond all measure. I AM healthy, I am running and hiking again. I'm cutting time off my run every time I do my 5k. I can sit down on my couch and read books to my kids and BREATHE again. Why, I can even just SIT and breathe again. I have not felt this much air in my lungs in at least more than a year. It's almost strange to feel so much breath pumping through me.
Psalm 150:6 "Let everything that has breath praise the LORD."
My husband is safe and alive as are my children who are healthy, smart, and precious. We have a roof over our heads currently together again. We are renting until our home is about half-way completely rebuilt. And all that is another story, those details. But I am blessed. I'm growing in my relationship with God. Pruning and growing pains can hurt...but something really beautiful comes out of that necessary pain...something that produces nourishing, beautiful, and strong fruit and branches. I don't always love the process, but I am thankful for my Father tending to me with grace and love and mercy.
And with my new heart, I aim to fill it even more full of Jesus, and grace for others.
If you've managed to read another one of my lengthy blogs, thank you, and I hope you are so blessed!
Love,
Emily
