Operation, Open Heart

During a recent absolutely gorgeous autumn afternoon, I took a brisk 60 minute walk through my Washington, .D.C. neighborhood, climbing the terraces and stairs to the top of Meridian Hill Park where many of my fellow DC residents seemed equally recreationally-engaged. Joggers dashed around the oval in the uppermost part of the park, lovers cuddled and kissed on blankets spread out under trees. Late-lunch takers sat on benches as they wolfed down their sandwiches. Buddies sat on the edge of the stone walls “shooting the shit” with one another, yakking about nothing in particular. Dog parents clung to leashes as they dutifully accompanied their panting pups’ tireless quest for the next territory to mark or squirrel to battle.

It was a transcendent experience, this “walk through the park.” I felt more awake and alive — more vibrant and healthy — than I had felt since September 17, the day before my open heart surgery. I had the surgery because I needed three coronary artery bypass grafts (CABG).

That would be a triple bypass.

I still cannot believe it as I write those words, and yet I can look down at the long vertical scar that looks like a slice through my chest (because, of course, that’s where my chest was sliced open) to remind me that I really did have triple bypass surgery. Because I had plaque-buildup blockages in arteries connected to my heart, inhibiting healthy blood flow. Wasn’t I too young for this? (I’m 61; the average CABG patient is 66-68, with many over 70) Didn’t this happen to people who have had heart attacks? (I hadn’t) Smoked cigarettes? (I didn’t) Had high cholesterol? (Nope) Ate red meat? (Been a vegetarian since 1998) Were physically inactive, sedentary, or overweight? (Worked out most days since I was 18, still teaching spinning classes at my gym)

My cardiac surgeon assured me, however, that spiraling in incredulousness was pointless; the CABG procedure was what we needed to do. Because of his straightforward, insightful communication style (along with his being chair of the hospital’s cardiac surgery department!) both my husband Wade and I felt confident in his recommendation.

Full disclosure, the reason I got checked out to begin with was because I had a little incident involving shortness of breath and a tightening chest while teaching one of my spinning classes (during which I breathed deeply and pushed through because I was determined to not be the old instructor carried out by EMS for having a heart attack). Even though I (perhaps foolishly) made it through the scare without incident, I became curious that something serious might be happening, and went through the battery of diagnostic tests and procedures that led to the recommended surgery.

I have been around hospitals my entire life. My dad was hospital pharmacist and my mom was a hospital nurse-turned-hospital administrator. I lost a partner to AIDS in the mid-90’s and spent many a hospital bedside night with him. Before they died, my parents had numerous hospital stays themselves for their respective health issues, so I was an experienced “visiting family member.”

I, however, had gone all of my 61 years without ever being a hospital patient myself. And this open heart surgery thing was major. I was terrified.

For the first couple of days after scheduling the procedure, I spiraled in my fears. It wasn’t not surviving the surgery I was afraid of. It was surviving the surgery! Waking up on the other side of the operation in agonizing pain after having my chest and sternum cut open and put back together. Having profoundly limited physical capacity in the immediate days afterwards. Experiencing the indignities of a hospital stay. Processing the proposed six-week recovery period and how that would affect our home life.

As each day drew nearer, however, I discovered a kind of liberation from my fears because I realized it truly didn’t matter how terrified I was — this thing was happening! The train had left the station and there was no turning back. I discovered the true meaning of the (paraphrased) quote “courage isn’t the absence of fear, it is fearing something and doing it anyway…”

As difficult as it is to believe that I had a triple bypass, it as equally hard to believe that I am now six weeks on the other side of these fears! And yes, most of what I feared did happen. I did have a traumatic experience of awakening during the removal of my intubation tube. I was in unimaginable pain when I awoke in the cardiac ICU immediately following the operation. I faced numerous indignities in the hospital that I really would rather have not had to experience. I was extremely frustrated with my limited physical capabilities. I had several uncomfortable, tearful nights both in the hospital and after arriving home.

You know what else I experienced? An outpouring from family and friends — of logistical help, emotional support, spiritual encouragement, get-well cards, comfort gifts, check-in texts, and a humbling, almost overwhelming, wellspring of nourishing, healing LOVE.

We’ve flashed forward six weeks! I am walking five miles each day in the gorgeous autumn DC weather. I have been out to lunch with friends. I am making dinner and doing laundry. I’ve even been to the theater! And each time I look in the mirror from now on, I see that long, vertical scar. Reminding me that I’ve had “flow” restored to pathways in my heart that were blocked. Reminding me that I’ve had open heart surgery. Reminding me that I am blessed with, and share great joy from, my Open Heart.