Just wanted to off-load an exciting and somewhat profound week. I've been home 5 days now having undergone a spot of open-heart surgery last week
. It all started with my GP picking up a heart murmur in Feb this year. I had no real symptoms other than getting a bit knackered out after quickly running up and down stairs several times after my daughter. I had put it down to a lack of fitness and was starting to get back into cycling to solve this. Anyway, GP said it might be nothing to worry about, but that I should have an ECG and echo-cardiogram.
Unfortunately, tests showed that I had a highly restricted aortic valve and 'extreme aortic stenosis'. I apparently set a record in the local heart department for just how restricted my aortic valve was. My consultant estimated my heart was having to pump with 3-4 times the force of a normal heart and as a result had become enlarged. I think he was shocked I could stand without passing out let alone walk into his office.
Apparently I was born with a badly formed valve that had just two flaps rather than the usual Mercedes Benz badge style three. Somehow I'd got to 43 without this ever being picked up, but it was now an issue and I needed a replacement valve and some open heart surgery
. I underwent surgery and had a new valve fitted a week ago
last Monday. Pretty amazing stuff, it's made out of pig or cow heart tissue (I like a bit of Beefheart!) - I should have asked if they had any Mullard NOS.
The couple of days following the op were pretty weird and other-worldly. When I came round in ICU I thought I was laying in some ice chamber, everything seemed bright silver and white, there was Japanese nurse sitting at the end of my bed and I had trouble focusing on anything for more than a few seconds. Looking back it was like something out of a David Cronenburg or Lynch film. Fortunately I wasn't too distressed as I was absolutely shit-faced on morphine. They had told me I'd be given a button to press to self-administer the morphine and I'm pretty certain my first words to the nurse were "where's the button, gimme the button!".
After about 12 hours in ICU I was moved to a ward and spent the next 24 hours pressing away on 'the button' watching shitloads of Youtube stuff on my phone. By Wednesday I was taken off the morphine, moved to a side room, allowed to get up and walk around and have my partner visit. After she left I had a bit of mental collapse as I guess I was having morphine withdrawal/come down and hadn't slept for about 54 hours. I had the most overwhelming feeling of Deja Vu of having been in the room before and I started to think I wasn't even in a hospital anymore, I was trapped in a room in an empty building and that 'they' were out to get me. I even considered calling my partner at one point and telling her she had to "get me the fuck out of here". Fortunately a kind nurse talked me down and got me to lay down and relax and I then slept on and off for 12 hours and felt a lot more sane upon waking on Thursday morning.
Thursday was spent having more tests, doing some more walking and having the last few wires pulled out of me and the 're-opening of my bowels'. Come Friday morning I was told I was doing very well and, pending blood test results, I could go home. I was discharged Friday afternoon just four days after surgery. Now home I have a monster scar down the centre of my chest and can't lift anything heavier than a half kettle of water or drive for the next six weeks. Standing with a guitar is out of the question probably for 12 weeks, but who cares, I'm just happy to have survived and got home to my partner and daughter and I'm now trying to relax and slowly rebuild my fitness with short walks. It was one hell of an experience!
Comments
Brilliant news you are on the mend.
No doubt about it, science is the shit.
The NHS is a wonderful thing and it is these stories that need to shoved down the throats of the arseholes who want to destroy it.
Good to hear you are on the mend.
All the best, Dave