I’m Having Surgery
A week from today.
No one has asked me if I’m ready because I’ll never be, and they already know that. I mean, I’ve had several pre-op appointments and tests over the past few months. My attendance to those was stellar. I asked questions, and I think I remember hearing answers. I got bloodwork; 7 vials taken leaving me confused and dizzy in the hospital concourse. I had to fast before the labs which were in the middle of the afternoon. This left me so disoriented that I purchased an $18 salad at the salad bar. I’d never do that in my right state of blood. I should be able to write that salad off. And my transportation to and from downtown over the past 10 years, while they figured out what to do with my conditions.
In times like these, I become effective. I manage. I schedule and order things. I check in with my close ones and communicate my needs. I do everything to stave off anxiety, but eventually end up succumbing. It always catches up to me. Whether it’s at work and I’m at my desk having an unremarkable day, or at 4am when I’m shocked awake by the thought of dying on the table with my heart and innards exposed to a blank ceiling.
In times like these. Well, I’ve never had times like these. I’ve never had invasive surgery. My doctors have been doing everything to manage it all from the outside. Foreign climbs that many have traversed; just not me. And not like this. During my preparation, I did what any self-respecting American who pays into this scam ass insurance system would do: I googled my conditions + treatment and then eventually +surgery. Reddit threads, cardiac forums, and youtube opened up an aggregate of stories from previously cut-open patients detailing their experiences, ranging from regret to relief. One person said they suffered permanent nerve damage from one of the procedures I’m having. I immediately turned off my phone, rolled over, and shut my eyes tight, trying to squeeze out that person’s story cemented behind my lids in text. I can still see the shape of the paragraph.
What am I having? Excellent question. The answer to it I’ve repeated so many times and in different ways to anyone inquiring. Each time, you’d think I’d understand more about it, but it just gets heavier with each sympathetic look I get in response. It’s hard to tell people that something’s wrong with you. You’ll get those sympathetic looks coupled with “it’ll be okay.” Or, most aggravatingly, they’ll change the subject out of discomfort. I can’t say I don’t understand, though. Something’s wrong now, but they’ll fix it, right? I mean, is that the point of all of this? That’s how I choose to see it, like a little wrench icon that pops up for me to click. Even though one of my doctors told me they can’t guarantee optimal results.
In a week, I’m having primary Tricuspid Valve (TV) repair and chest wall reconstruction to correct Pectus Excavatum. My doctors believe both of these procedures will increase the quality and length of my life. I suppose I believe it too, even though my conditions aren’t necessarily interrupting my life. They are responsible for the decrease in the tolerance I have for physical activity. I had quit dancing and eventually biking because I just couldn’t keep up. Low-impact activity isn’t an issue as long as I’m not in AFib (which I also deal with.) Basically, my heart works much harder than average to do what everyone else can do easily.
