For the last few days, I've been attempting to capture the depth of my gratitude in a handful of late November Facebook posts. I've watched all month as many of my friends post daily reflections of those people and things for which they are most grateful.
The sweet sincerity of love for spouses, children, friends...
The gratitude for material comfort, warm/dry shelter, an abundance of clothing...
The appreciation for our country as well as our communities...
...these posts make me smile with the assurance that I am firmly planted in a garden full of God's most beautiful children as my friends.
For the first 30+ years of my life, though, I couldn't see that. I generally parked my heart in a dark muddy place, where glimmers of God's light would filter through from time to time, but I often sat in grumpy loathing of you, Him, and most of all myself. Things weren't fair, you see. If things were fair (according to my definition at the time), I would've been thinner, funnier, prettier, richer, smarter...just plain BETTER. I would have more stuff and less trouble, and then I would finally be happy.
Chasing "better" is exhausting and frankly foolish. Do I mean we shouldn't pursue our best selves? Heavens no...but the pursuit should not outrank the sufficience of today, of living in the present and seeing all the joy therein.
Simple examples -
-- I've learned how to meditate over the past several years, and the foundation of entering a meditative state is breathing - slowly, deeply and with concentration on each breath. The comfort of taking a good deep breath is among my simple pleasures.
-- I think about the feeling of being sick at my stomach, awash in nausea and trying desperately to hold still. The impatient plea to feel better yet the sweaty misery of waiting to be sick...now I think about that moment of relief where I realize it has subsided, that the storm in my gut is over and I can rest.
-- I remember sitting in a cold, lonely dark house - dark and cold because of my own irresponsibility in setting priorities, foregoing the light bill in exchange for happy hour. Lonely by subconscious design. This morning, I am listening to little girl giggles and Spongebob in the next room, with the scent of turkey roasting in the oven and the brilliant cool sunshine splashing on my kitchen floor - I am wearing a robe that feels like a hug and wondering what time I should get the boys up for a long day of nothing much other than food and football.
-- I think about being angry and resentful and wishing everyone would adequately apologize for making my life awful. If (blank) would just (blank), then I would be happy. If I could just have (blank), then everything would be ok. I remember coming to the understanding that I am the problem, not you...and that He has the answer, not me. Oh what a delight to find Him and come to understand how very very much He loves me!
And so it is that I give thanks. Thanks to the family and friends who have loved me each day of this abundant life - and profound thanks to the one who literally loved me enough to die for me, to take all my selfish nastiness to the cross and make me clean and new.
In 2 Corinthians 12, the Lord tells Paul that "my grace is sufficient for you". How very thankful I am today for His grace - and that all I have to do is give myself to Him and get out of His way.
22 November 2012
03 November 2012
At Home With The Mister
Although the cardiologist turned him loose at 8:30 a.m., and the nephrologist followed suit shortly before lunch, it was nearly 3 p.m. when the Mister and I pulled into our driveway yesterday afternoon.
Approaching our house, I noticed that our mailbox didn't look right. My eyesight isn't what it once was, and all I could see in the distance was that there was something big on the mailbox.
As we got closer, I let out one of my signature, "awwwww!" noises, usually prompted by something that moves my heart.
For there on our mailbox was a huge white posterboard sign on our mailbox to welcome him home, complete with balloons and ribbons. The Mister turned and thanked me, saying, "you didn't have to do that, sweetie".
Aghast and amused, I said, "don't worry, I didn't!"
I am a little annoyed that I didn't think of it myself, but I am eternally grateful to the person who did.
So, to the anonymous do-gooder who made the Mister's homecoming that much more special - we love you and thank you.
***************************
He is home. HOME. You just don't know how much you miss it until you can't go there. It's one thing to electively vacate, say to the beach or on a business trip, but to be restricted by health is altogether different.
Not sure much has changed in the nine days since he went to the ER, but he was elated to climb the stairs, survey the messy living room and crawl between his own sheets with Olivia (his body pillow - yes, we name our pillows. Like you don't.)
He is a tad weak and tires easily; but he is HOME.
Approaching our house, I noticed that our mailbox didn't look right. My eyesight isn't what it once was, and all I could see in the distance was that there was something big on the mailbox.
As we got closer, I let out one of my signature, "awwwww!" noises, usually prompted by something that moves my heart.
For there on our mailbox was a huge white posterboard sign on our mailbox to welcome him home, complete with balloons and ribbons. The Mister turned and thanked me, saying, "you didn't have to do that, sweetie".
Aghast and amused, I said, "don't worry, I didn't!"
I am a little annoyed that I didn't think of it myself, but I am eternally grateful to the person who did.
So, to the anonymous do-gooder who made the Mister's homecoming that much more special - we love you and thank you.
***************************
He is home. HOME. You just don't know how much you miss it until you can't go there. It's one thing to electively vacate, say to the beach or on a business trip, but to be restricted by health is altogether different.
Not sure much has changed in the nine days since he went to the ER, but he was elated to climb the stairs, survey the messy living room and crawl between his own sheets with Olivia (his body pillow - yes, we name our pillows. Like you don't.)
He is a tad weak and tires easily; but he is HOME.
May I Help You?
I have been pondering this topic for a while now, even before Dave's recent health crises. The thing I want to talk about stretches back to when my mother died in 2007.
Let me begin with gratitude. The fact that we have dozens of friends and family who love us is a miracle in itself. The Mister and I have been unloveable on a number of occasions (but then again, who hasn't...), yet when the rubber meets the road, when life gets sloppy and painful, we are covered in love and prayer from all fronts.
Just as when my mom passed away, I've recently received a humbling number of offers of assistance which usually sound something like this:
"How can I help you?"
"What do you need?"
"Tell me what I can do for you".
"No matter what, I am here for you and will do whatever I can to help out".
Beautiful, bountiful, generous and sincere extensions - I know I have made every single one of these comments myself. When I say them, I mean it with all my heart - when a friend is suffering from pain or grief or loss, I really would do nearly anything they asked me to do. All they have to do is ask. Just ask me, and I'm there.
But you'll have to ask me. If you don't tell me what you need, then I am going to assume that a) you don't need/want my help, or b) you are ok. The proverbial ball is in your court.
**************
In recent days, when people have said things like, "just let me know what you need", I have responded with blank stares, confusion and either speechlessness or garbled stammering. The best I could come up with was a half-hearted, "I sure will - thanks for offering".
You see, I have no idea what I need.
I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other...I know that much. I need to pray and stay strong in my faith...this is unequivocally the best thing I can do in ANY situation.
But what do I need that others can help with? I feel awkward when someone asks me how they can help me. What if I ask for something that they really don't want to do, or maybe they really can't do it? What if they're not all that sincere in their offer and then I decide to take them up on it? What if I ask for help with something that I really ought to be able to do for myself?
For people like me who spend a ridiculous amount of time between their own ears, it's very difficult to ask for help.
While I am profoundly grateful for every single offer of assistance I've received during the Mister's ordeal, I must confess weepy appreciation for those people who approached me with specifics.
"We are bringing you meals for the next two weeks. Do you have any diet restrictions?"
"OK if I take the kids to my house today?"
"My husband would like to mow your lawn next week."
"Can we feed the dog for you?"
"I would like to come sit with you at the hospital for a while."
By proposing something specific, you've eliminated 99% of my mental gymnastics. You've told me what you are willing to do, and all that's expected of me is to accept your offer or graciously decline.
Next time I'm given the opportunity to offer support to someone, I'm going to be specific by offering something I know I would be pleased and available to do. I don't want them to have to think about anything more than a yes-or-no answer.
Let me begin with gratitude. The fact that we have dozens of friends and family who love us is a miracle in itself. The Mister and I have been unloveable on a number of occasions (but then again, who hasn't...), yet when the rubber meets the road, when life gets sloppy and painful, we are covered in love and prayer from all fronts.
Just as when my mom passed away, I've recently received a humbling number of offers of assistance which usually sound something like this:
"How can I help you?"
"What do you need?"
"Tell me what I can do for you".
"No matter what, I am here for you and will do whatever I can to help out".
Beautiful, bountiful, generous and sincere extensions - I know I have made every single one of these comments myself. When I say them, I mean it with all my heart - when a friend is suffering from pain or grief or loss, I really would do nearly anything they asked me to do. All they have to do is ask. Just ask me, and I'm there.
But you'll have to ask me. If you don't tell me what you need, then I am going to assume that a) you don't need/want my help, or b) you are ok. The proverbial ball is in your court.
**************
In recent days, when people have said things like, "just let me know what you need", I have responded with blank stares, confusion and either speechlessness or garbled stammering. The best I could come up with was a half-hearted, "I sure will - thanks for offering".
You see, I have no idea what I need.
I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other...I know that much. I need to pray and stay strong in my faith...this is unequivocally the best thing I can do in ANY situation.
But what do I need that others can help with? I feel awkward when someone asks me how they can help me. What if I ask for something that they really don't want to do, or maybe they really can't do it? What if they're not all that sincere in their offer and then I decide to take them up on it? What if I ask for help with something that I really ought to be able to do for myself?
For people like me who spend a ridiculous amount of time between their own ears, it's very difficult to ask for help.
While I am profoundly grateful for every single offer of assistance I've received during the Mister's ordeal, I must confess weepy appreciation for those people who approached me with specifics.
"We are bringing you meals for the next two weeks. Do you have any diet restrictions?"
"OK if I take the kids to my house today?"
"My husband would like to mow your lawn next week."
"Can we feed the dog for you?"
"I would like to come sit with you at the hospital for a while."
By proposing something specific, you've eliminated 99% of my mental gymnastics. You've told me what you are willing to do, and all that's expected of me is to accept your offer or graciously decline.
I know beyond doubt that each person offering help over these past weeks
would have done absolutely anything I asked them to do -
that's just who they are.
It's my own mental state that kept me from asking.
Next time I'm given the opportunity to offer support to someone, I'm going to be specific by offering something I know I would be pleased and available to do. I don't want them to have to think about anything more than a yes-or-no answer.
01 November 2012
Docking Procedure Complete
In honor of the nuclear aircraft carrier U.S.S. Carl Vinson and the starship Enterprise, my Navy veteran and Trekkie husband named this post.
We also kicked the tires on "the eagle has landed" or "the package has been delivered", but Navy-speak is always his preference.
Having taken the children to their respective schools this morning, I stopped at Starbucks (aka "Fivebucks", per the Mister) on my way to the hospital. After all, it was 8:05, and his procedure wasn't scheduled until 10. I got my skinny caramel latte and was just putting the key in the ignition when he called and said, "they're running ahead of schedule and are going to take me down at 9. What's your ETA?"
I advised that I was on my way and should be there by 8:30. Got on the highway and headed to the hospital; upon arriving in the parking lot, my phone rang again - the Mister said, "where are you, they are taking me now." What the heck?! So I busted my tail getting in and up to his room so I could grab his iStuff before his room was pillaged - thankfully he hadn't gone to the cath lab yet, so I got a smooch and rode down the elevator with him.
At 10 a.m., he was finished and we got to speak with Dr. Yen (the cardiologist du jour from Northeast Georgia Heart Center) who did the procedure.
Tuesday's diagnostic heart cath showed two major blockages; 95% and 80% respectively in the Mister's left anterior descending artery, or LAD (I am getting really good at cardiovascular lingo).
Today's placement of a balloon and a single stent has opened the entire LAD to 100%. How about them apples?!
Dr. Yen is really good; he patiently answered my amateur, WebMD-based questions and gave the Mister an enthusiastic thumbs-up for Friday discharge from the hospital.
One possible but unlikely hurdle - the nephrologist has to give the green light as well. Now that you are also an expert in kidney function as demonstrated by creatinine levels, you will understand why we are so happy with this morning's reading of 1.9. Best it's been since this party started on October 24th, so we are optimistic that the Mister will be comfortably squared away in his recliner for the Alabama-LSU game on Saturday night.
Have to share a quick funny with you that I meant to post yesterday. The Mister had several beloved visitors yesterday morning, but he was wiped out by mid-afternoon. We pulled the blinds and turned off all the lights so he could get some rest, and I read quietly in the corner. The door opened, and in walked a little man from the business office.
Now it's important to point out that both the Mister and I have worked in healthcare business operations for many, many years. We understand more than most the importance of getting all the insurance information correct before the patient flies the coop; too much healthcare $$ gets written off because it's impossible to collect. What are they going to do, re-po a stent? I think not.
Anyway, this little guy goes over our benefits with us, and while it's been a terrible year from the health status perspective, we met our deductible and out-of-pocket max several weeks ago. This $50k hospital visit is going to cost us about $400 or less. We smiled with the little man, and I shook his hand, and we waited on him to leave.
Only he didn't.
Instead, he proceeded to share way too much information about heart disease as experienced by random members of his family. We learned about his drug-addicted cousin in Mumbai and his cocaine-induced arrhythmia; his own difficult divorce and how that crazy wench broke his heart; his father's hypertension and its response to high sodium intake...and after about ten minutes of his soliloquy, we started giving increasingly rude signals that we were ready for him to leave. The Mister turned away and went back to sleep. I broke eye contact and began typing away on my laptop. I glanced at the clock a couple of times...yet he apparently has difficulty interpreting social signals because he continued to yammer on. I finally had to say, "I think we're done here, don't you?", at which point his eyebrows went up and he came to the realization that he'd worn out his welcome.
It's now a few minutes after noon, and the Mister is snoozing peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his own bed and wearing warm flannel jammie pants straight from the dryer. Looking forward to having him back there this time tomorrow, or shortly thereafter.
We also kicked the tires on "the eagle has landed" or "the package has been delivered", but Navy-speak is always his preference.
Having taken the children to their respective schools this morning, I stopped at Starbucks (aka "Fivebucks", per the Mister) on my way to the hospital. After all, it was 8:05, and his procedure wasn't scheduled until 10. I got my skinny caramel latte and was just putting the key in the ignition when he called and said, "they're running ahead of schedule and are going to take me down at 9. What's your ETA?"
I advised that I was on my way and should be there by 8:30. Got on the highway and headed to the hospital; upon arriving in the parking lot, my phone rang again - the Mister said, "where are you, they are taking me now." What the heck?! So I busted my tail getting in and up to his room so I could grab his iStuff before his room was pillaged - thankfully he hadn't gone to the cath lab yet, so I got a smooch and rode down the elevator with him.
At 10 a.m., he was finished and we got to speak with Dr. Yen (the cardiologist du jour from Northeast Georgia Heart Center) who did the procedure.
Tuesday's diagnostic heart cath showed two major blockages; 95% and 80% respectively in the Mister's left anterior descending artery, or LAD (I am getting really good at cardiovascular lingo).
Today's placement of a balloon and a single stent has opened the entire LAD to 100%. How about them apples?!
Dr. Yen is really good; he patiently answered my amateur, WebMD-based questions and gave the Mister an enthusiastic thumbs-up for Friday discharge from the hospital.
One possible but unlikely hurdle - the nephrologist has to give the green light as well. Now that you are also an expert in kidney function as demonstrated by creatinine levels, you will understand why we are so happy with this morning's reading of 1.9. Best it's been since this party started on October 24th, so we are optimistic that the Mister will be comfortably squared away in his recliner for the Alabama-LSU game on Saturday night.
Have to share a quick funny with you that I meant to post yesterday. The Mister had several beloved visitors yesterday morning, but he was wiped out by mid-afternoon. We pulled the blinds and turned off all the lights so he could get some rest, and I read quietly in the corner. The door opened, and in walked a little man from the business office.
Now it's important to point out that both the Mister and I have worked in healthcare business operations for many, many years. We understand more than most the importance of getting all the insurance information correct before the patient flies the coop; too much healthcare $$ gets written off because it's impossible to collect. What are they going to do, re-po a stent? I think not.
Anyway, this little guy goes over our benefits with us, and while it's been a terrible year from the health status perspective, we met our deductible and out-of-pocket max several weeks ago. This $50k hospital visit is going to cost us about $400 or less. We smiled with the little man, and I shook his hand, and we waited on him to leave.
Only he didn't.
Instead, he proceeded to share way too much information about heart disease as experienced by random members of his family. We learned about his drug-addicted cousin in Mumbai and his cocaine-induced arrhythmia; his own difficult divorce and how that crazy wench broke his heart; his father's hypertension and its response to high sodium intake...and after about ten minutes of his soliloquy, we started giving increasingly rude signals that we were ready for him to leave. The Mister turned away and went back to sleep. I broke eye contact and began typing away on my laptop. I glanced at the clock a couple of times...yet he apparently has difficulty interpreting social signals because he continued to yammer on. I finally had to say, "I think we're done here, don't you?", at which point his eyebrows went up and he came to the realization that he'd worn out his welcome.
It's now a few minutes after noon, and the Mister is snoozing peacefully, no doubt dreaming of his own bed and wearing warm flannel jammie pants straight from the dryer. Looking forward to having him back there this time tomorrow, or shortly thereafter.
31 October 2012
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow
(sung to the tune of "Tomorrow" from the hit Broadway show, "Annie")
The stents will go in
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
Dave is done
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Makes him feel so happy that tomorrow
Is the one
(chorus)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
We'll leave here, but not tomorrow
But leaving's only 2 more days away.
Yes, I'm getting a little more slap-happy and goofy as the days wear on. I am blessed with an intellect that would've taken me through law school or med school or maybe even into space...instead I use it to rewrite show tunes and create crass poems for friends' birthdays.
As you've inferred from the above foolishness, Dave's second heart cath (with stent placement this time) is scheduled for tomorrow at 10 a.m. His kidneys are about as good as they're going to get, from the creatinine perspective. He has to drink this horrid medication called MucoMist to protect the kidneys from the contrast dye; it is apparently a cross between rotten eggs and cow manure. The nurses even apologize for having to give it to him.
Assuming the stent placement goes well, it is very likely he can go home on Friday, or Saturday morning at the latest. WOOOO HOOOO!!! Before they'll discharge him, though, he and I have to attend "Heart School" together. Apparently this is where they will indoctrinate him with the diet, exercise and medication regimen necessary for stabilization of his heart and kidney disease. I'm told I will also receive carte blanche authorization to nag the stew out of him whenever I feel he has gone astray. So that'll be fun.
Leaving shortly to pick up children from school then bring them back to the hospital for a visit with Dad. Then it's back home to hand out candy to neighborhood Spidermen, Batmen, Cinderellas, hippies and hobos. And to keep an eye out for any miscreants with eggs or toilet paper - my man may not be at the house right now, but actually I'm the one they should be scared of. I am one mean motorscooter. Just ask my kids.
The stents will go in
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
Dave is done
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Makes him feel so happy that tomorrow
Is the one
(chorus)
Tomorrow, tomorrow
We'll leave here, but not tomorrow
But leaving's only 2 more days away.
Yes, I'm getting a little more slap-happy and goofy as the days wear on. I am blessed with an intellect that would've taken me through law school or med school or maybe even into space...instead I use it to rewrite show tunes and create crass poems for friends' birthdays.
As you've inferred from the above foolishness, Dave's second heart cath (with stent placement this time) is scheduled for tomorrow at 10 a.m. His kidneys are about as good as they're going to get, from the creatinine perspective. He has to drink this horrid medication called MucoMist to protect the kidneys from the contrast dye; it is apparently a cross between rotten eggs and cow manure. The nurses even apologize for having to give it to him.
Assuming the stent placement goes well, it is very likely he can go home on Friday, or Saturday morning at the latest. WOOOO HOOOO!!! Before they'll discharge him, though, he and I have to attend "Heart School" together. Apparently this is where they will indoctrinate him with the diet, exercise and medication regimen necessary for stabilization of his heart and kidney disease. I'm told I will also receive carte blanche authorization to nag the stew out of him whenever I feel he has gone astray. So that'll be fun.
Leaving shortly to pick up children from school then bring them back to the hospital for a visit with Dad. Then it's back home to hand out candy to neighborhood Spidermen, Batmen, Cinderellas, hippies and hobos. And to keep an eye out for any miscreants with eggs or toilet paper - my man may not be at the house right now, but actually I'm the one they should be scared of. I am one mean motorscooter. Just ask my kids.
30 October 2012
Impatient In-patient
A wise friend once told me that it isn't a good idea to pray for patience. Unlike other prayer requests, prayers for patience aren't usually answered with a yes or a no. Instead, they are answered with ridiculously challenging opportunities to practice. God doesn't just strike you with patience...
The Mister was admitted through the emergency room last Wednesday, October 24th, six days ago. He has never been in the hospital for more than outpatient surgery or diagnostics, so he is becoming increasingly irritable and discouraged with each passing inpatient day.
I went out a while ago to cast my early vote for next Tuesday's election and to request an absentee ballot for him. When I returned, I got a surly "welcome back" and a smattering of curse words, amidst which he informed me that he will be here until at least Friday. The cardiologist stopped back by while I was out and explained that they cannot inject him with contrast dye two days in a row.
So regardless of whatever his creatinine looks like in the morning, the soonest they can do the stents will be Thursday. As previously mentioned, they will not discharge him until 24-48 hours after the stents have been placed.
We went for a little walk around the 5th floor, where he half-jokingly identified the locations of all emergency exits and the elevators. I'm thinking I should take his street clothes back home with me to discourage any attempt to escape. In the event that you come across a goateed, bare-bottomed man in socks and a blue hospital gown making his way towards the nearest Subway, give me a jingle.
The Mister was admitted through the emergency room last Wednesday, October 24th, six days ago. He has never been in the hospital for more than outpatient surgery or diagnostics, so he is becoming increasingly irritable and discouraged with each passing inpatient day.
I went out a while ago to cast my early vote for next Tuesday's election and to request an absentee ballot for him. When I returned, I got a surly "welcome back" and a smattering of curse words, amidst which he informed me that he will be here until at least Friday. The cardiologist stopped back by while I was out and explained that they cannot inject him with contrast dye two days in a row.
So regardless of whatever his creatinine looks like in the morning, the soonest they can do the stents will be Thursday. As previously mentioned, they will not discharge him until 24-48 hours after the stents have been placed.
We went for a little walk around the 5th floor, where he half-jokingly identified the locations of all emergency exits and the elevators. I'm thinking I should take his street clothes back home with me to discourage any attempt to escape. In the event that you come across a goateed, bare-bottomed man in socks and a blue hospital gown making his way towards the nearest Subway, give me a jingle.
Not So Good News.
A friend recently told me that, when you are waiting for a loved one who is having cardiac catheterization, you can project the general outcome by the amount of time you are left sitting in the family waiting room. The longer the wait, the greater the likelihood of a good outcome - it takes longer to give a fully confident opinion that there is little or no blockage.
The Mister went in at 7:50 a.m.
They came to get me at 8:20.
The good news is that the cardiologist was able to go in through the radial artery in his right wrist - no groin puncture, which is a bright shiny silver lining.
When they brought me back to the recovery area, the Mister was resting quietly but awake. We waited together for the cardiologist to come tell us his findings. I held my husband's hand for a few minutes, then noticed a restroom right across from his bedside. Having had two large cups of coffee to jumpstart my morning, I succumbed to the biological call and said, "I will be RIGHT back, do not talk to the doctor without me."
Ninety seconds later, I returned to the bedside, where the Mister informed me that the doctor had already come and gone. As my frustration mounted, he said, "yes, and he told me that I am in urgent need of custom intervention from Five Guys Burgers and Fries." It was then that I smacked him.
The cardiologist came shortly thereafter and gave us the not so good news. The Mister has cardiac disease throughout his heart, with two major areas of significant arterial blockage (one is 95% blocked, the other 80%). Because his kidneys are still underperforming, today's cath was limited to diagnostic purposes only - the cardiologist did not do any stenting because it would've required more dye than his kidneys could safely process today.
In other circumstances, a bypass would be a preferable option but because of his kidney issues and combined with the location of the blockages, the MD thinks that the stents in those two areas are the best option with a very high likelihood of successful restoration of open arterial flow.
Unfortunately, they cannot place the stents until his kidneys can flush today's round of contrast dye, then recover enough to process a larger quantity of dye so they can pinpoint where the stents should go. We would be most grateful if you praying types out there would pray for healing of his kidneys as well as his heart; he can't go home until 24-48 hours after the stents are placed, and they can't place the stents until his kidneys can handle the dye. Tomorrow will be one full week as an inpatient; while I may be disappointed, he is extremely discouraged.
In a half-hearted effort to practice what I preach, I am working hard to find some gratitude at the moment. But I am working on it...
1. My husband is alive and alert and loves his life and his family and his Savior.
2. There are things to do to help improve his other blockages (medicines, cardiac rehab, more weight loss).
3. Everything about Northside Forsyth Hospital is fantastic - nurses, doctors, room and facilities, housekeeping, food, parking...you name it, it has been awesome.
4. We have health insurance. (worth repeating frequently)
5. God is in charge, not me, and His plan for our lives is always perfect. You'd think I would be clear on that fact by now.
He respectfully and lovingly asks that we keep visitors and calls to a minimum today and tomorrow; he knows how very much his friends love him, and it is absolutely not because he doesn't want to see anyone. But he is very tired and doesn't feel particularly well.
I may well blog again this afternoon just to purge some of the gunk in my own head at the moment but am signing off for now. Thanks again for your prayers and affection.
The Mister went in at 7:50 a.m.
They came to get me at 8:20.
The good news is that the cardiologist was able to go in through the radial artery in his right wrist - no groin puncture, which is a bright shiny silver lining.
When they brought me back to the recovery area, the Mister was resting quietly but awake. We waited together for the cardiologist to come tell us his findings. I held my husband's hand for a few minutes, then noticed a restroom right across from his bedside. Having had two large cups of coffee to jumpstart my morning, I succumbed to the biological call and said, "I will be RIGHT back, do not talk to the doctor without me."
Ninety seconds later, I returned to the bedside, where the Mister informed me that the doctor had already come and gone. As my frustration mounted, he said, "yes, and he told me that I am in urgent need of custom intervention from Five Guys Burgers and Fries." It was then that I smacked him.
The cardiologist came shortly thereafter and gave us the not so good news. The Mister has cardiac disease throughout his heart, with two major areas of significant arterial blockage (one is 95% blocked, the other 80%). Because his kidneys are still underperforming, today's cath was limited to diagnostic purposes only - the cardiologist did not do any stenting because it would've required more dye than his kidneys could safely process today.
In other circumstances, a bypass would be a preferable option but because of his kidney issues and combined with the location of the blockages, the MD thinks that the stents in those two areas are the best option with a very high likelihood of successful restoration of open arterial flow.
Unfortunately, they cannot place the stents until his kidneys can flush today's round of contrast dye, then recover enough to process a larger quantity of dye so they can pinpoint where the stents should go. We would be most grateful if you praying types out there would pray for healing of his kidneys as well as his heart; he can't go home until 24-48 hours after the stents are placed, and they can't place the stents until his kidneys can handle the dye. Tomorrow will be one full week as an inpatient; while I may be disappointed, he is extremely discouraged.
In a half-hearted effort to practice what I preach, I am working hard to find some gratitude at the moment. But I am working on it...
1. My husband is alive and alert and loves his life and his family and his Savior.
2. There are things to do to help improve his other blockages (medicines, cardiac rehab, more weight loss).
3. Everything about Northside Forsyth Hospital is fantastic - nurses, doctors, room and facilities, housekeeping, food, parking...you name it, it has been awesome.
4. We have health insurance. (worth repeating frequently)
5. God is in charge, not me, and His plan for our lives is always perfect. You'd think I would be clear on that fact by now.
He respectfully and lovingly asks that we keep visitors and calls to a minimum today and tomorrow; he knows how very much his friends love him, and it is absolutely not because he doesn't want to see anyone. But he is very tired and doesn't feel particularly well.
I may well blog again this afternoon just to purge some of the gunk in my own head at the moment but am signing off for now. Thanks again for your prayers and affection.
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