The ICD Diaries

I'm getting ready to have my pacemaker replaced with an ICD (Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator). Just another step in the cardiologist's plan to combat the damage the chemo and radiation has done to my heart. I thought I would keep something like a journal so I could look back in 4 - 7 years (when it will need replaced) to remember that it wasn't such a big deal after all. Here's hoping.....

The Night Before
Despite my procedure tomorrow, my Sunday has been business as usual. Laundry and the Sunday paper (which was too wet to attempt to read) topped my to do list. I went to bed early as prescribed by the husband to combat the long day ahead. But I snuck out of bed before midnight to have a snack to combat my stomach's even longer day ahead.

The Big Day
Suprisingly, I slept well. My considerate family ate breakfast in the kitchen so at least I wouldn't have to see the food I was smelling. To take my mind off of my lack of breakfast, I took a long shower and spent way too much time on my hair and picking out an appropriate outfit. I mean, what do you wear on surgery day? Do you show up in PJ's or sweats or jeans and a T? It's not like you are going to have the clothes on long enough for anyone that matters to see because they've got that stylish one-size-fits-all gown all ready and waiting for you to make your grand entrance. Anyway, I packed my overnight bag with the necessities - DS and cell phone - and got ready to leave. We left the house late (according to my schedule) and I was on pins and needles the whole way there thinking I would be late and everyone would have attitude and take it out on me when they put in my IV. Now mind you, I wasn't nervous about the procedure - just the fact that I would get there in time. So, I turned on my DS and tuned into the mindless world of Slingo. So we get there and make it to the registration area in time. I was there a whole five minutes before I signed my life away and was sent to the fifth floor. But I was there long enough to notice that I actually could have worn PJ's and got by with it. As usual, only one Tower elevator was working (what is it with Mt.Carmel's elevators?) so the wait in front of Tim Horton's was a hell of a lot longer than the one in registration! Finally, we get upstairs and John goes off in search of a restroom (Ha! Serves you right for eating when I can't!). Josie no more than broke out her DS when the nurse came to get me. Great. Now I have to leave my nervous kid alone in the waiting room. Could we possibly add any more stress to this day?! Assuring her that Daddy won't take as long as usual and that she can come back to see me as soon as I get changed, I leave the girl under the watchful eyes of the families gathered in the waiting room. After I'm weighed (ugh), the nice nurse tells me it's time for the stylish gown, but I get to leave the undies on. Bonus!!! I knew I wore my favorite panties for a reason! Then it's paperwork and EKG time. Meanwhile, Nurse Ratchett puts in my IV with something no smaller than a garden hose and tapes it in such a way that I can't even bend my wrist to sign my life away for the second time today. And of course she had to act disgusted when I asked her to loosen up the leash. Maybe it was because I said, "Here comes the mean nurse" when she came in the room. Sorry, if you're coming at me with a needle you're not my BFF at that moment! And, geez, can you say nervous humor?! Enter my doctor, who isn't the doctor I thought it was after all, and he proceeds to tell me what he is going to do only he is pointing to the wrong side of my chest. That's reassuring moment #1. Now the anxiety is kicking in and as he walks away I yell, "Hey! How about some Ativan?!?!" To which he replies that there is something much better waiting on me in the room. The joke is that I have to get there first. Here comes the kiddo and the hubs. She's drinking a Diet Pepsi and eating cinnamon and white fudge rice cakes like there's no tomorrow. "Hey, Mommy. You want some?" She doesn't realize how lucky she is that I am attached to this IV because those rice cakes are looking a lot like steak right now. Finally, it's time. Thank goodness! I have to say that the nurse that took me back to the room was a lot cooler than the others. But then I suppose she only has to deal with patients on a conscious level for a short time. I get on the table and the guy behind me is talking about a bi-V and the cool nurse is saying "No, that's not right." And so they ask me if I know what kind of defibrillator I'm supposed to get. There's reassuring moment #2. At that moment, it would have been very wonderful if my good friend Ativan was coursing through my veins. After I clear up their confusion, my wrists are restrained so I don't move "accidentally" and we move on to my choice of music. At this point, as long as it's not gangsta rap and the doc is cool with it, I don't really care. Then there's the discussion of who will be taking notes versus giving the sedation. Seems there's a newbie in our midst and the nurse wants to make sure she gets practice where she needs it. Which would happen to be with giving the sedation. And, you guessed it, reassuring moment #3. Seriously, people, bring on the Versed and lots of it!!! The last thing I remember is the cool nurse telling me how much she likes my glasses and hearing Gnarls Barkley belting out "Does that make me crazy?" Thank goodness I was too out of it to care. Fast forward to recovery. I woke up wasted and sleepy and staring at my buddy Steve. I think I waved. But I don't know for sure. My mind told my hand to wave but I don't know if it listened. (Everytime I come off of Versed it amazes me that people get messed up like this on purpose on a daily basis. Wow.) Here comes the family. Now the girl has a Rice Krispies treat and a frozen coffee thingy from Tim Horton's. And do I want some? I must have said yes because I remember being fed little pieces of Rice Krispies. Oh, am I supposed to be eating yet? I don't know that either but it was good. Fast forward about four hours later. The family is long gone and I am finally being taken to my room. As least the transport guys are young and fun and like to flirt with the 40-year-old who is totally high! Which is unfortunate because at this time I can only manage a smile and a goofy laugh. I'm still at the stage where words come out of my mouth but they are in the wrong order and make no sense. I think it has something to do with my mouth not being able to talk as fast as my brain can think. It took me about five minutes to organize my thoughts enough to tell them I wanted an extra pillow off the other bed. At least I was in time for dinner and it was pretty decent. Although later I lost it all when I had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic they gave me and did a marvelous impression of Linda Blair. After which, I settled down and tried to sleep off the remnants of the Versed while getting used to the sling I have to wear for three days.

There's Got to be a Morning After
There was and it came before the sun was up. I mean does it really matter in the whole scheme of things if I take my meds at 5 or at 7? Apparently, it does. So I'm up and playing Slingo. I don't even know if I'm winning or not because I'm still in zombie mode. But it was enough to make me sleepy and drift back to sleep. Until transport came. It was morning chest x-ray time. Yay me! Every other time I have been in the hospital, they bring the x-ray machine to me. Not today. I have to be wheeled off to have it done. So I made the poor guy wait long enough for me to pee and put on clean undies before we left. He was sweet enough to tie my gown at the waist where I couldn't reach. I wonder if he checked out the cool and sparkly skull that was on the back of my undies? The x-ray tech wanted to know if I could stand long enough to have two x-rays done. I told her that her guess was as good as mine because my body still didn't feel firmly attached to my mind. Guess what?! I could! Not that I want to have to experiment with that again but it's a good reference. For the ride back, I get the goofy transport guy. Ah, I remember him well from my six month stay at the Mount. Poor guy ran me into every door and corner he could find. He must have had a lot more practice since then because I made it to my room without a scratch. So the day went like this: breakfast, sleep, doc stops by, sleep, nurse says I can leave after antibiotics, call hubs to tell him to come get me, sleep, got dressed and wobbled to the wheelchair, got in truck, sleep, got home and wobbled into the house, got on PJ's and SLEEP.

Day Two
When I get up I notice that my hand is really swollen where my IV leaked. I think it's probably a good idea if I take the Lasix that I was supposed to take yesterday. Then when I attempt to get up out of the recliner that I fell asleep in last night, it hits me. I AM SORE!!! I imagine that I must look like a one-armed turtle trying to get off of its back, which isn't helpful in the least. Finally, I right myself and wobble off to the bathroom. I dug the Lasix out of my coat pocket, and while swallowing them, anticipate how much time I have before the water works start. Luckily, I only had to go every hour so that meant I could nap in between trips to the bathroom. I inform the hubs that there is absolutely no chance that a boob job is in my future. I can only imagine how painful that would be compared to my little defibrillator. There is not enough Percoset in the world! I must be coming around because I also inform him that a new sump pump must be purchased tomorrow. And could he swing by Giant Eagle and pick me up a cake because I'm really craving it. I can see the dread creep in the corners of his eyes. It's almost as though I can hear him thinking "she's going to sit there and pass out stuff to do." I really tried not to. He has taken such good care of me and the kiddo and the house. That man has been cleaning and cooking since Monday morning. And probably will until I say, "Ok. I'm all better now." I'm going to attempt to sleep in the bed tonight. Not sure if I can get comfortable but it's got to be better than sleeping in the recliner.

Happy Birthday to Me!
So how many of you can say that you got an Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator for your birthday? Hmm? Trust me, it didn't rank high on the list. I think it was somewhere toward the bottom next to Shingles. But it's done. I should be good for a few years. I'm still sore. And now that is being joined by the itchies. The Steri-strips are starting to come off and I can see that the good doc had sense enough not to use the original incision he made two years ago. I'm going to have to talk to him about that for next time. There's already a line there - use it. I really don't want my chest looking like a road map. Especially since I can't cover the scars with a tattoo. But that's not all I got for my birthday. I got a new sump pump!! And a Giant Eagle cake! And pink roses from the girl and red ones from the hubs. He said there were some pretty awesome purple ones but he got red because he knew they meant love and he didn't have a clue what purple meant! So on day three, I'm now used to the sling I no longer need to wear. And I'm getting bored. I informed the hubs that I will be accompanying him to the doctor and the store on Monday, just so I can get out of the house. I have to admit, I could get used to watching him run the vaccum and cook. But I suppose it's like everything - it's good in moderation. I just wish I could do my own hair. It sucks not being able to raise my right arm over my head. I'm going to have to work on a way around it if I'm going out Monday. Times like this I wish I had my long hair back and not this funky short style I've got going on. All in all, it wasn't a horrible experience. At least I'll know what to expect when this one wears out and needs replaced. But I must remember to find out what kind of antibiotic they gave me and add it to my list of no-no's. Or remember to tell them to give me some Finigrin first!