Tune-up Time

***Warning***

This post contains images of bruising and my surgery incision with steristips.  Skip the photos if you are squeamish.  They are not graphic, but they are a bit icky.

I have had a pacemaker for just over 12 years now.  I know I am too young to have one.  Everyone tells me that, but when you have a 2nd-degree heart block, it is a necessity.  Granted, I only use it on occasion, but when it is needed, I am glad it is there.

About 6 months ago, I went into my cardiologist's office for its quarterly download.  This is where the doctor reads the activity from the past 3 months (yep, it records every single heartbeat - or missed heartbeat in my case) and makes sure that everything is working as it should.  At this appointment, I thought they would tell me that the battery was finally ready to be replaced (they can't do it before it is almost at 0% life due to insurance reasons and we had been at just under 5% last time) instead they told me that my ventricular lead was failing.  Now, instead of just popping out the battery pack and hooking a new one up, I was looking at a much more invasive surgery with a longer recovery time and a meeting with a specialist in the area of lead removals.  Off I went to meet another new doctor where he confirmed that indeed, the lead was almost non-functioning at this point.  And because I was so young, he couldn't just leave the lead in place and add a new one.  Nope, I was in the lucky 2% who would need to have the leads taken out and replaced.  I always seem to beat the medical odds...

We scheduled the surgery for after my trip to Europe this summer as I would need some downtime after the procedure, and flying to Europe was not in the recovery plan.  And then we had to reschedule it again due to MadHatter's trip to the Jr. Olympics.  And then, we had to reschedule for the final time because my surgeon left his practice and was setting up a new office and had to wait until that was all up and running.  Finally, the stars and the moon aligned, and they called me with my surgery date - 10 days away. Almost 6 months, it was suddenly next week!

Nana and  Grampa came over the night before, which just happened to be Grampa's birthday.  We had a lovely celebration and a final meal for me before I had to stop all eating and drinking.  

The next morning we dropped both girls at school and came home through this...  

 I thought it was a nice touch before going into surgery.  

With my check-in time set for 11:30, we had some time to kill, so Grampa and I set up for some painting downstairs.  And then I got the call asking if I could come in and be there by 10:30 so I had to scramble a bit to get ready and out the door.  But we made it.  And then it was an hour of blood draws and pre-surgical consults with anesthesiologists and doctors and my care team.  I took a quick pic of my new hair net and gorgeous gown for the girls to get a good laugh at, and then we were off down the hall and into the surgical suite.

 Pretty, right?

I slept through much of what happened next. Ok, I slept through it ALL.  Seriously, I was joking with the nurse on second about how cold it was in the room, and the next, I was asking the guy in recovery why my thumb hurt so much.  Truly.  I had just been cut open on my chest, and all I could think of was how much my left thumb hurt.  Turns out, I had many different needles stuck in me while I was sleeping, and a few of them were still in.  The one that was bothering me was an arterial line in my left wrist.  They seem to have hit a nerve (literally), and that is what was bothering me so much.  

I stayed down in recovery for a bit and was finally wheeled to my room with strict orders that I was not to even move my left leg an inch for the next few hours, and I had to lay perfectly flat for the same period.  It seems that I had a central line put in my femoral artery while I was under, and they needed to make sure that it clotted well before moving it around at all.  

Not too bad since I had just been through the wringer.

 My care board.  At least my pain scale was smiley as I was on some good drugs.

Nana called Grampa, and he brought the girls over to say a quick hello before taking them out to dinner.  Stinkerbell was a good nurse and kept feeding me ice chips for my scratchy throat (hate that general anesthesia tube), but MadHatter was a little freaked out about the hospital.  Which is ok, most people don't love them. 

After they had gone, I took a quick snooze and woke up to realize I really had to go to the bathroom.  I don't know what they pump into you while you are under, but it must be a lot of fluid because I had to go, and I had to go now.  I got my care team on the call button and told them the deal.  They had to clear it with my nurse first, as we had just hit the 4 hour flat on our back and not moving point, but the minute they said I could stand, I did.  And then all heck broke loose.  It seems that the clot in my femoral artery wasn't entirely as set as it should have been, and I was trailing blood all over.  Back onto bed rest with no moving for another 12 hours!  Talk about scary and annoying.  At least it was night time, and I could try to sleep.  But if you have ever been in a hospital, you know sleep is elusive.  But I got a few hours and then got to try standing again, and this time everything was as it should be.  Though I will tell you that the bruise from that central line is a doozy!

The first food I had eaten in almost 40 hours.  I have no idea if it was delicious, or I was just hungry.

After that, it was a lot of sit around and watch tv, nap a bit, watch some more tv, stand to go to the bathroom, watch tv, eat some food, watch tv.  The usual hospital routine.  And then I had some sort of crazy reaction to my IV line.  It started to puff up and turn all kinds of shades of red and purple.  Out it came, and so did the one in my other arm along with the bandage that was keeping my other arterial line from rebleeding. I was a giant pincushion, I tell you.

 Finally, I was told I was able to go home!  I couldn't get dressed fast enough.  While Nana went to get the car, I got a VIP ride in a wheelchair to the front door and into the waiting car.

 I was greeted with signs and a few pillows and a blanket on my couch.

The next few days were a blur of sleeping, laying down and watching my bruises turn pretty shades of purple and blue and yellow.  Lots of yellow...

 Pretty.  And painful.

 This was just before I finally got to shower - 4 days after surgery.  My hair should never go 4 days without being washed!

It has been an adventure.  And one I don't wish to repeat any time soon.  Hopefully, these leads stay healthy (my surgeon said the other ones were falling apart as he pulled them out), and we don't have to do this again any time soon.  And let's just pray that the battery gives me another 12 years before we have to replace it!