Sausage Casings, Vegas & the Hair Holocaust
I don’t have words….. really?!
After the two Boston blowouts, then the skin of their teeth game 5 win.. then … then.. this game 6 debacle.
Ok so brunette didn’t work, nor did the blond… let’s try asian.
They have one more chance, a thrilling game 7 win in double overtime… at which point my heart finally goes for broke and explodes… thereby rendering all this operation, medication, and surgery nonsense – moot.
I did go to my primary cardiologist last friday, but he didn’t say much. He agrees pacemaker is the way to go BUT he was not nearly as enthusiastic as I had hoped. I was expecting a whole-hearted “hell-yea, this here is xactly what y’all need” – no idea why he suddenly went all hillbilly on me, but there it is.
He said probably it was my best option but he wants to do a bunch of tests, before we proceed. Now here is the cruddy part. The cardiac surgeon already put me on the list and I was progressing along said list. They were going to call me mid june with my surgery date. BUT – now with these other tests the cardiologist ordered, that pulls me off the list, while I do all the things he wants and then I go back on after he’s done. Yep! You heard me!
So I asked does he think these tests are really necessary and he said yes he did. The last thing we want is for me to become device dependent. Which is one of my fears, even though my heart is a wreck at least it still mostly beats on its own. In certain cases during implantation and the destruction of the sinal atrial node, the spark plug of the heart, you lose the ability to beat on your own. So if anything happens to the pacemaker… There are also a number of people who maintain some heart activity after the pacemaker is inserted, so if anything happens to the pacemaker, they have time to get to a hospital, or Vegas…
I know everyone assures me they are wonderful and everyone and his brother has one, but that was also what they said about all my surgeries and procedures etc etc… so if I go through all this and it doesn’t work… I have two words, Shooting spree. The other major possibility is contamination and infection. I assume they are pretty careful about that, however because the device and it’s wires are embedded under the skin and directly to the walls of the heart, there s all kinds of places fora teeny tiny little fella to take hold and grow.
It’s getting pretty close to me giving up. Not in an “As the world turns, swelling music, dramatic lighting” ending it all, I’m much to stubborn and important to you earthlings for me to do that. But just to you know, give up, let them do whatever, not expect anything to help or work, just start playing a real worst case scenario all the time. Optimism gets you kicked in the face.
The warfarin, keeps spiking high, so lately I’ve been getting random bleeds from my cuticles, right where the nail meets the skin, just out of the blue starts pouring out blood. I don’t even get to exploit it by claiming it’s stigmata. Breathing is supremely labored, I can’t even do a sink full of dishes without taking a break. Here tell me this doesn’t deserve some kind of pathetic prize, when I take a shower, as soon as I get out – I have to take a couple of minutes before I have the breath to dry myself. Honest to me, i step out and arms on the counter, drip dry, while my breathing slows and I start getting enough oxygen to get the towel business going. Now look, I’m sure you’ve got all kinds of high falutin ideas of just what I may or may not get up to in the shower, but I assure you it is nothing more than soaping up my bits and pieces and rinsing, that’s it.
Ok well, I’m glad to have heaped some misery upon you, nothing makes me feel better than knowing I’ve caused others to embrace sadness. Unless you don’t care in which case more power to you. I have the heart clinic tomorrow the works, ekg, eeg etc etc, then Wednesday I have blood clinic work-up, then thursday I go back in to be fitted with another halter monitor – worn for 24 hours records all the heart activities.
That my friends is a fresh basket of hell… they put these – well I can’t explain them, these space age sticky, industrial epoxy, crazy glue things on my chest, which I already shaved thank you very much. I know how much it hurts taking those things off, if you are so ill-informed as to have not thought about the hair holocaust that ensues if you don’t shave, then god help you. Then after the things are on, you get wrapped in some, well, basically it’s just a sausage casing, then the machine is fastened to you and you have to record everything you do every half hour for 24 hours.
Then they can see what you were doing and what you heart was doing…. and the band played on.
Good night my lovelies, Have a Great Day…. stupid, stupid, Canucks…