It has been almost a year since I had a procedure. As I stop my car, this procedure comes to mind. When I walk, it comes up in my memory unbidden. I find myself getting angry at myself sometimes because my mind is slower, or my body is slower, than they used to be. "Getting old, Gail", I think to myself. Then I think of the procedure. It was, basically, a bomb going off in my life.
A year ago, October 5, 2018 to be exact, I had a heart transplant.
I was suddenly very, very sick. I had had lung issues, and was seeing a pulmonologist, for about a year. No matter what he did, what therapy I used, I still could barely breathe. I still was tired, and SOB (no, not that. Short of breath). Finally, I went to a follow-up appointment with him. Before he even could examine me, I vomited and staggered, and was ordered to lie down. The doctor hit a device on the wall, and tersely talked into a receiver. An ambulance was ordered, and the EMT's came quickly. Every time I tried to sit up, someone pushed me back down. I was strapped into a
"stretcher", and wheeled out. In the ambulance, I heard the words "heart failure", making me wonder how a lung disease could be heart failure. I heard, "We have to shave her", which amused me! Then, I was out.
The reports from INOVA Alexandria tell of multiple organ failure, discussion of whether or not to intubate, decision to do so, and amidst blood tests, monitors, and some such. A baloon pump became necessary to help my heart pump blood. Doctors weren't sure I would survive this procedure, but it worked. The reports also tell of the doctors asking for my permission to be treated, and my response! But I don't remember any of that. Here's how I remember it: First I was in an ambulance, and then in INOVA Fairfax Heart and Vascular Institute, cardiac intensive care, being nursed by an angel, Luis, who had only two patients, I was one of them for ten days. I heard, gradually, of what had transpired. Alexandria put me in a helicopter with a doctor and nurse. I saw the word fentanyl written on the white board in my room, along with the names of the nurses, techs, and doctors on duty. I seemed to interrupt my worry with the only phrase that made sense to me: God's in charge.
You might think that this would have been the transplant time, but I wanted to go home asap! So after ten days of my asserting myself, the doctors decided to discharge me with a battery of meds. I came home, was nursed by my daughter and husband, and eventually even went to cardio rehab. It was during that period that my blood pressure was too low to exercise, that I ended up back in the ER, this time at INOVA Mount Vernon Hospital. Speaking with annoyance, I explained that I was fine, didn't want to go back to Fairfax again. ER doctors and nurses are possibly the most patient people in the world. They kindly persuaded me to give it up and go.So I went, in an ambulance,this time, to Fairfax. I remember telling the EMT that his mother must have been very proud of him!
This stay was six weeks. I cried a lot. I was told by more kind, patient doctors, that staying in the hospital was important because they could assess me, give tests, take blood (a lot!), and talk with me about transplant. They talked, I fought them, gradually feeling more and more that it was an inevitability. They also talked with my family. I heard certain things by way of my daughter, some of it after I was well. One doctor told her I was dying. No one said that to me, though.
There was much more. Between hospitalizations, I'd been told I had cardiac amyloidosis. Look that one up! Something about tumors. Very scary. In the hospital, they scanned every organ I had, and maybe some I didn't know I had. No amyloids. I was also being assessed for being a good, compliant candidate. I didn't smoke,or take illegal drugs. I took my meds, and, except for one incident, did what I was told. The age limit for transplant was, might still be, seventy-five. I was sixty-six. Luck!
Eventually, I was "listed". I got a letter that I found in my records after I came back home, that said I was cleared for transplant. Because I am "small" (I never thought of myself that way), and had a common blood type, a heart would be available to me before say, a man who is 6'4". Nurses explained all of this, in passing. Nurses explained all the time. They are a fountain of information. No pain or discomfort is too small for their considered opinion and treatment. Shortly before my operation, nurses told me that the national transplant rules had changed, but I was lucky that I got in under the old ones. I never did find out what the change would have meant to me. But I was happy that I passed.
My new heart, blessings on the soul of its previous owner, and the family, was "installed". The surgeons had no trouble. I donated the old one to research. Some people keep theirs, but, like the placentas when I had my daughters, I wasn't interested. I felt almost instantly better. I could breathe! Visitors were amazed at my transformation. Like a self-correcting Google map app, I was re-routed from a death spiral to aliveness. I enjoyed visits from all of my friends and family, and wouldn't limit their numbers or time spent with me. I often thought of the Resurrection.
What I would wish for everyone to know these things:
A year ago, October 5, 2018 to be exact, I had a heart transplant.
I was suddenly very, very sick. I had had lung issues, and was seeing a pulmonologist, for about a year. No matter what he did, what therapy I used, I still could barely breathe. I still was tired, and SOB (no, not that. Short of breath). Finally, I went to a follow-up appointment with him. Before he even could examine me, I vomited and staggered, and was ordered to lie down. The doctor hit a device on the wall, and tersely talked into a receiver. An ambulance was ordered, and the EMT's came quickly. Every time I tried to sit up, someone pushed me back down. I was strapped into a
"stretcher", and wheeled out. In the ambulance, I heard the words "heart failure", making me wonder how a lung disease could be heart failure. I heard, "We have to shave her", which amused me! Then, I was out.
The reports from INOVA Alexandria tell of multiple organ failure, discussion of whether or not to intubate, decision to do so, and amidst blood tests, monitors, and some such. A baloon pump became necessary to help my heart pump blood. Doctors weren't sure I would survive this procedure, but it worked. The reports also tell of the doctors asking for my permission to be treated, and my response! But I don't remember any of that. Here's how I remember it: First I was in an ambulance, and then in INOVA Fairfax Heart and Vascular Institute, cardiac intensive care, being nursed by an angel, Luis, who had only two patients, I was one of them for ten days. I heard, gradually, of what had transpired. Alexandria put me in a helicopter with a doctor and nurse. I saw the word fentanyl written on the white board in my room, along with the names of the nurses, techs, and doctors on duty. I seemed to interrupt my worry with the only phrase that made sense to me: God's in charge.
You might think that this would have been the transplant time, but I wanted to go home asap! So after ten days of my asserting myself, the doctors decided to discharge me with a battery of meds. I came home, was nursed by my daughter and husband, and eventually even went to cardio rehab. It was during that period that my blood pressure was too low to exercise, that I ended up back in the ER, this time at INOVA Mount Vernon Hospital. Speaking with annoyance, I explained that I was fine, didn't want to go back to Fairfax again. ER doctors and nurses are possibly the most patient people in the world. They kindly persuaded me to give it up and go.So I went, in an ambulance,this time, to Fairfax. I remember telling the EMT that his mother must have been very proud of him!
This stay was six weeks. I cried a lot. I was told by more kind, patient doctors, that staying in the hospital was important because they could assess me, give tests, take blood (a lot!), and talk with me about transplant. They talked, I fought them, gradually feeling more and more that it was an inevitability. They also talked with my family. I heard certain things by way of my daughter, some of it after I was well. One doctor told her I was dying. No one said that to me, though.
There was much more. Between hospitalizations, I'd been told I had cardiac amyloidosis. Look that one up! Something about tumors. Very scary. In the hospital, they scanned every organ I had, and maybe some I didn't know I had. No amyloids. I was also being assessed for being a good, compliant candidate. I didn't smoke,or take illegal drugs. I took my meds, and, except for one incident, did what I was told. The age limit for transplant was, might still be, seventy-five. I was sixty-six. Luck!
Eventually, I was "listed". I got a letter that I found in my records after I came back home, that said I was cleared for transplant. Because I am "small" (I never thought of myself that way), and had a common blood type, a heart would be available to me before say, a man who is 6'4". Nurses explained all of this, in passing. Nurses explained all the time. They are a fountain of information. No pain or discomfort is too small for their considered opinion and treatment. Shortly before my operation, nurses told me that the national transplant rules had changed, but I was lucky that I got in under the old ones. I never did find out what the change would have meant to me. But I was happy that I passed.
My new heart, blessings on the soul of its previous owner, and the family, was "installed". The surgeons had no trouble. I donated the old one to research. Some people keep theirs, but, like the placentas when I had my daughters, I wasn't interested. I felt almost instantly better. I could breathe! Visitors were amazed at my transformation. Like a self-correcting Google map app, I was re-routed from a death spiral to aliveness. I enjoyed visits from all of my friends and family, and wouldn't limit their numbers or time spent with me. I often thought of the Resurrection.
What I would wish for everyone to know these things:
- If you have chronic lung issues, you might want to consult with an excellent cardiologist who doesn't know the doctor who is treating you.
- I would wish for each person reading this to make sure they are registered organ donors. Most people donate when they get their driver's license, but you can also donate by going to https://www.donatelife.net/.
- Even though is is prudent to ask for information and second opinions, do not let your fear of hospitalization keep you from getting the life-saving care you need. I was intimidated by the information about hospital infections. I could have gone to ER earlier, since my pulmonologist was stymied by my condition, but I didn't because of my fear of C-Diff, MRSA, etc. The anti-infection protocols in a great hospital are amazing. I got one UTI from the urinary catheter, which was easily cured. This was during a total of 60 days. Get the care you need!
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