Day 3: January 18, 2024
I asked what day it was and was shocked to hear it was Wednesday. I remembered nothing about day 1 or 2 and couldn’t recall the names of my care staff. The one I called “Lexus” may or may not have been correctly identified on my part. A woman came into my room, claiming to be my god daughter. I did not recognize her, blaming it on the surgical cap she was wearing. The nurse said that she worked for the hospital but didn’t know who she was while my wife claimed that she had simply wandered into the wrong room. It would be hours later, that seemed like days to me, before the mystery was solved. In that timeframe, I was focused on my friend from Indianapolis whose daughter called me “The Godfather.” However, she was not in a medical work role, but her sister was, adding to my confusion. I also thought they had left me in the hallway and forgotten me, but instead I was still in my same Intensive care room with doors open and curtains pulled back. More confusion! An attendant gave me my first shave and shampoo so I would be ready for guests. I vaguely remember my wife being there before she left for the first time after three long days to drive back home and my son came to visit, clarifying the whole “Godfather” episode. The mysterious visitor was indeed my ex-wife’s sister’s daughter that I hadn’t seen since she was about two years old. We had a nice visit. At the same time, I do remember feeling obsessively upset and helpless once my wife told me about the Westin room screw -up. They then got me on my feet for the first time.
The first night of consciousness was filled with annoying monitor beeps, probing nurses, and what I thought was a loud party that went on for hours. I couldn’t believe how disruptive they were or that no one came to check on me. I could not sleep, eat, or feel anything but touched my chest for the first time, thinking of the potholders I used to weave as a child. Untrimmed threads of yarn were protruding from my wounds and I certainly didn’t want to look. Tubes of various sizes ran out through my neck and ear areas, closest to the carotid artery. There remained a soreness in my throat from the breathing tubes that were removed just after surgery.
Nurses and doctors were concerned that I had yet to poop and began to fill me with laxatives. The pain drugs were causing the constipation, although my wife was convinced it was all the cookies I consumed the previous weekend, worried they might be my last. One health professional jokingly mentioned “Mount Vesuvius” and I was worried about making a mess for days. I was already humiliated by flashing everyone with my loose-fitting gown. I didn’t want them to have to wipe my butt, as well, after removing the smelly diaper. I kept calling for a commode but nothing was happening. Fortunately, I was wearing a catheter, so I didn’t have to also worry about peeing the bed.
The catheter was a surprising relief, after trying to imagine the discomfort of a tube up my shriveled penis. With prostrate problems and months of getting out of bed nearly every two hours, it was a savior in the first few days of recovery, although at times it felt like I was soaking the sheets. A man in the next room moaned and prayed for hours. I tried to watch basketball but the players moved like molasses. A few days later the football playoffs were on but I couldn’t find the right channel. Thankfully, I couldn’t watch two IU basketball losses to Purdue and Wisconsin.
I was convinced that they quickly moved me out of Intensive care on Wednesday eve because they didn’t want to deal with the stench of Vesuvius. I vaguely recall being uncomfortably positioned on a table in a room full of monitors with a pan under my butt. They were monitoring my Afib and I was surrounded by students and visiting physicians asking questions, hoping that my angry bowels wouldn’t explode. I felt like I was on display as a specimen to the medical world. An attendant brought me dinner but I had no interest. I just wanted to poop. I also remember being moved to another area where it seemed like they were painfully pressing BBs into my neck muscles. This combined with the bowel discomfort was unbearable. Neck pains became my greatest discomfort going forward, applying Lidocaine patches to ease the strain. Finally, I was wheeled to my hospital room where they said was a real toilet but I was wired to get only to the commode next to my bed. My wife settled into the chair beside me after returning from home for another long night of beeping and poking.
In a cloud of confusion, Westin security informed my wife that the reservations had not been properly linked together and the room was shown to be empty, despite the fact that we had keys and confirmations. The question is why did this have to be dealt with in the middle of the night, when had already taken such precautions? It goes back to the cliche of what happens when you give a man a badge and a gun?
On the eve of my second night of surgery, my wife is bullied into opening her door, proving who she was, and why in that room. The answers were all clearly in the paperwork at the front desk. By the time things were sorted out, she wouldn’t get any sleep and the only consolation she received was from the valet when she went to get her car for the drive to the hospital. This is one of the first things I remember from waking up and it made me helpless and furious. You would have thought by that time there would be apologies and flowers. Nothing.
My wife drove home on Wednesday to retrieve some clothes and try to get some sleep while I was recovering. As a Marriott Rewards loyalist and Club Owner, I was never notified of this horror. Mother Marriott had let us down, while I had pneumonia and in a helpless state to get this resolved. I thought for sure there would be an e-mail or phone call from management with an explanation that I could deal with when I got out of the hospital. Instead, there was a standard follow-up survey that I filled out in a drowsy state that went on to evaluate our dining experience. I gave the restaurant a bad review and the Food and Beverage Director was all over it, incensed by the 1 rating.
I somehow needed to get through the fog of yesterday’s first post-surgery post. It feels like a major victory after eventually composing just a paragraph at a time over three days. Hopefully, I can move much faster now that I’m not having to correct each and every word written. My finger strokes are approaching normal while my sluggish brain is better cooperating. It’s much like running when it takes a number of steps to settle into a coordinated rhythm. Just another foot forward!
With any major surgery, you need to get your house in order. Updating wills/medical directives, planning for pet care, pre-paying bills, arranging transportation, packing and making lists are some of the basic steps involved. Since my surgery was in Tampa, two hours away, and in the early morning, I also needed hotel accommodations. The popular Gasparilla Festival was going on to further complicate these plans. I began making reservations two-months in advance, trying to utilize points, and searching convenient locations nearest the hospital. We wanted the comfort and familiarity of what we fondly refer to as, “Mother Marriott.” This is why I have a hard time digesting what ultimately happened! I ended up making two separate reservations through Marriott at their Westin location. My wife was justifiably upset with me that I couldn’t get the smaller, closer Marriott properties and more nights. I had apparently waited too long to do this, but in my defense, the points would not be available in our account before mid-December. With all the pending medical expenses, I admittedly was trying to save a few bucks. This came back to haunt me!
We went to Texas Roadhouse the Sunday eve of surgery for my “last meal.” I didn’t have much of an appetite, so my wife took ribs back to the room. I had just gotten my final instructions from the surgeon to be at the hospital at 5a for 7a surgery, at least the events would not be delayed for a few hours as once thought. We double-checked at the Westin front deck to be assured that my two reservations were linked together and that my wife would not have to switch rooms. No problem! It was a hotel we had stayed at several years ago for Santana/Earth, Wind, Fire concert that would celebrate my 70th birthday. We ended up being a year early! (See Post #1786).
Before going to bed, I thoroughly scrubbed my body with the prescribed disinfectant cloths, a process I would repeat after finishing a mile-plus on the treadmill at about 3:30a. It was consecutive run #5,497 and the end of my running streak. The Westin was a little further than we hoped from the hospital parking and no more than a five-minute drive since no one else was on the sleepy, dark streets. All went smoothly through check-in, and I was soon sedated for two full-days, unaware of what was happening back at the Westin after my wife returned for her second night – this time alone.
Surgeons were texting her throughout the day with updates on my condition, and she got back to the room, knowing that I would not regain consciousness until the next day. A second day of surgery was necessary to fix “the roots.” I’m sure she was exhausted and on pins and needles while eating her warmed-over ribs. She had just gotten to sleep when she got the first phone call on the room phone at 12:30a. It was confusing to her why that phone was ringing and not her cell phone, so she ignored it in the process of searching her mind for an explanation. A few minutes later the phone rang again and the banging began on the door. She was terrified that someone was about to break in or that something was wrong with me, but could hear the muffled words, “It’s Security…Who’s in that room?”
Continued…
Today I start a new routine, as I woke up in my own bed for the first time since open heart surgery just over two weeks ago. There are still many cobwebs in trying to reflect on this remarkable experience, and given some time all my good, bad, amazing, and ugly stories will be captured on these pages. I’ve just turned on my computer, hoping to reestablish some coordination in my fingers. Everything is at a much slower pace while I fumbled many times to get into a rhythm. It was so frustrating and exhausting that this was the furthest I could go.
The running streak stopped without any regrets or even memory, since I was heavily sedated, waking up confused as to what day it was. When they said it was Wednesday and surgery initially began on Monday, I immediately knew that I missed a day of running after 5,496 consecutive ventures. The surgery team opened my chest, prepared for hours of patching, stitching, and rerouting. They then had to delay the closing an extra day, to finish all the gruesome details. They did have me back on my feet immediately as I met a new friend that I nicknamed “Sky Walker.” “May the Force be with me,” as I began to navigate the hallways of Tampa General Hospital on its stiff rubber wheels.
I was given three tools to fight the battle for breath: an incentive spirometer, Acapella Vibratory PEP Mucus Clearance Device, and a hand-made heart-shaped pillow that appears to be a child’s stuffed toy but is actually a pain, saving, chest-support for violent coughs. So far, it has taken three days to write these three paragraphs, due to focus issues, low energy levels, and typo corrections. I try to push on, so bear with me. At the same time, I’m slowly making my way through a hard-bound book.
Pills define my daily routine. My wife puts them all in cups labeled 8a and 8p. I simply have to make it between those two stretches of with short strolls, leg exercises, tv shows, well-wisher e-mails, personal hygiene, a shower on my new safety stool, meals, naps, restless sleep, and supplemental pain treatments. Speaking is exhausting and often leads to coughing spells from the pneumonia in my lungs. Please don’t make me laugh! I have managed to schedule some follow-up doctor appointments and speak with a customer service manager at the Tampa Westin Waterfront, the first war story I need to tell.
Continued…
I guess I’ve been watching too much Lawman: Sam Bass because I’m beginning to liken my surgery tomorrow to a hanging. Obviously, the outcome won’t be the same, but the anticipation certainly is. I’m currently eating my last meal, sausage & eggs, before the restricted diet comes into play. It’s certainly not a pleasant experience trying to plan for a life-changing event. I will be glad when it’s over and friends stop worrying about me. I’m trying to process all the well-wishes, prayers, and goodies. “The Streak” stops tomorrow at 5,496 days, but I’m still harboring hope that the rope will somehow break.
Surgery has been moved to later in the morning tomorrow, so I won’t have to run my final mile in the middle of the night. I’ll have the option of going outside or using the treadmill. Then, if I can even barely pick up my feet and cover a mile by Tuesday midnight, I could get to 5,497 or more. It’s probably a pipe dream, the same hope that any hanging victim might have in waiting out the hours and anticipating the questionable.
This morning’s mile-plus was cold and windy, but not like the conditions of last night’s NFL Wildcard game in Kansas City. We’ll make the drive to Tampa in a few hours as I continue to contemplate my fate. My wife’s daughter, the Cardio PA at Stanford, just called to advise me to move as much as possible after surgery despite the weakness. However, the other implied message is not to overdo it. A mile is probably out of the question the day after surgery, but the intent is still there.
I will not be able to continue my reports for a while and will not take my laptop with me into the Hospital. I might jot a few notes down on my phone, if that will even be allowed in Intensive Care? Just know that I will run tomorrow, likely for the last time on this particular streak. Beyond that is the unknown! Will there be more running miles ahead?
The Hoosier men managed another home victory against Minnesota 74-62, with a game that was never in doubt. Malik Reneau’s lay-up at 13:02 took them over the magic mark (61-39) and went on to score 16. However, it was really Mackenzie Mgbako who flexed his freshman muscles with a 19-point career high. Two other starters were in double figures, including Kel’el Ware’s double-double and Trey Galloway’s ten. Xavier Johnson primarily rode the bench as retaliation for his actions at Rutgers. The Cream and Crimson accounted for 16-points off 14-turnovers, limiting themselves to a respectable ten, a vast improvement over the Scarlet Knight debacle.
The Hoosier women were on a 13-straight roll since the Stanford loss. They stood at 14-1 headed into icy Iowa City to play before a national audience on FOX. The #3 Hawkeyes left little doubt after an 84-67 drubbing behind Caitlin Clark’s 30-points and 11-assists, after missing her first six three-pointers. I can’t even say she then finished hot in the blizzard-like conditions outside because she has averaged 31 for the season. I.U. had fifteen-turnovers and only scored 20 in the second half. Mackenzie Holmes led Indiana with 16-points. Yarden Garzon and Sydney Parrish each totaled 11. Iowa is now in sole possession of the BIG Ten Conference lead, while I.U. will surely drop from their #14 national ranking. Purdue, Illinois, and Wisconsin, all ranked in the Top 20, loom for the men, while the women next host Minnesota. At least, the Purdue battle is at home.
I know I’m being a bit too dramatic, but T-minus 48-hours until surgery and all systems are GO. I had a rough spot yesterday dealing with insurance approval, but with an urgency warning from my doctor and an operating room reserved, they at least agreed on a tentative arrangement. I also made my first payment of many to come. I will probably live through the surgery, but the bills may kill me. We had some much-needed rain last night and I drank my last two beers for a while. I.U. basketball often leads me drinking, but in this case at least they won.
My wife enjoyed her night out with a girlfriend at the Cher theater performance up in Sarasota. It will be the last time that she has a free night without worrying about me getting around for months to come. Knowing her, she will be at my bedside day and night, responding to every suspected whimper. I’m hoping she can get back into the classroom soon as a distraction from my recovery. In two months, I’ll be more than ready for our Cross-Atlantic cruise.
Tally will get the stink off of her at Schnauzerville with a bath and grooming, only to pick up more smells interacting with her schnauzer buddies. If all goes well, we all should return home by next weekend. We will not be using the pool, although it will come in handy later in my recovery, so I will continue to delay getting the heater repaired. In three months’ time, when the weather warms up, I will hopefully be doing water aerobics and laps to make up for the absence of running, lifting, and exercising while my chest wound slowly heals.
I will bid temporary farewell to my neighbors tonight at the Borrego Bash. They have all been and will continue to be very supportive throughout this ordeal. Most have already experienced temporary setbacks resulting from medical issues or worse. They all appear to have a deeper sense of religious faith than I do. I’m fully prepared to get this over as quickly as possible, since as they like to say at nearby Kennedy Space Center, “all systems are Go.”
Three more runs to go – or maybe not. As I completed my “Runella” this morning (See Post #2463), I got a call from Tampa General Hospital Financial Services claiming that my insurance had yet to be approved. Without confirmation by 3 p.m. this afternoon my surgery could be delayed. Just the kind of stress that a heart patient doesn’t need. I might need to cancel my transportation and accommodation plans and if so, “The Streak” continues.
At the same time, I received two hard copies of my Storyworth contribution, “My Life in Black & White” in the mail. It’s 408 pages with photographs and a project that I’ve worked on since last Christmas. I’m finally published but not in the manner that I always expected. This was a wonderful gift from my family, and I personally autographed each one. Maybe someday I’ll be an “official” author, but at least my story is written and in book form.
On another note, when I was a teenager, I would never have imagined running every day. I hated to run, so it’s even more remarkable that I’ve done marathons, races, and developed an uninterrupted daily running habit of over 15-years. I did expect at that age, however, that push-ups would become a daily endeavor. It was a Florida retiree and friend of my grandparents that was the inspiration. I admired his motivation in telling me at this vulnerable age that he had does push-ups every morning. As I watched, I decided to make the idea mine, and as a result do a short exercise routine of stretching, sit ups, and push-ups before my run each morning. In fact, I can’t remember a time in my life, running or not, that I didn’t do a regimen of push-ups. I currently do over 90 a day, but this habit will also soon be disrupted.
I won’t be allowed to lift over 10-pounds for at least two months after this surgery. Sit-ups will also not be possible, so it’s hard to say what my new life will be like. Will I eventually get back to doing these basic elements of fitness or turn into a slug? At this moment, everything is on hold!
Four days until surgery – four last runs. This morning I did the standard route down Rinella Street that I fondly refer to as “Runella.” I’m seeing all those familiar neighbor faces, many of whom are still nameless. There’s Leo, Johnny, several Mikes, Paula, a few Karens, Kathie, Big Jim, Diane, Steve, Rich, Maddie, and Nick to recall a few. Last names are not so easy. I run by the dog park, pickle ball courts, clubhouse, playground, basketball courts, and home after home. A big green utility box marks the mile mark, and a concrete garden monolith with holes is the half-mile gage. When I stretch it to three miles, a half-way pathway takes me over a Venetian-like canal bridge. I always add on that extra tenth of a mile to accommodate any GPS inaccuracies.
I started watching the Lawman Bass Reeves series on Paramount last night. My interest was a result of a recent Ban(n)ister Family post. My birth name was Jerry Lee Banister. Apparently, Texas Ranger, John Riley Banister (1854-1918), Sheriff of Coleman County, participated in the arrest of legendary outlaw Sam Bass. His brother Will was also a Ranger. I was mistaken in thinking that Bass Reeves (1838-1910) and Sam Bass (1851-1878) had a direct connection, but they lived in the same lawless era. Bass Reeves is believed to have been “The Lone Ranger,” with several key similarities between the radio & TV character and the actual legend.
My wife has the car today, tending to her substitute teaching duties, while our schnauzer Tally misses out on a trip to the dog park. A few of her buddies were there this morning as I ran by and waved. She seems content curled up in my office chair as I write this. Tally will go to Schnauzerville on Sunday, as I make final preparations for Monday’s surgery. Maybe there will be one final “Runella” before this streak finally ends?
Despite consuming two bottles of white wine last night, watching the I.U. basketball loss with a neighbor, my run this morning was relatively good. There were no major breathing issues or strong winds and rain, so I was able to get back to a normal 2.1-mile jaunt. This was after four days of miserable miles and many thoughts of quitting “The Streak.” After all, there’s little motivation knowing that it will officially end next Monday morning. However, I now confidently feel I can muddle through the last five mornings. The end is now in sight.
As I prepare mentally for a long stint of relative inactivity, I’m getting my financial affairs in order, along with a haircut and final tele-consult with my surgeon, Doctor Lozonschi. I’m finally learning to proper pronunciation of his name, moving on from simply Doctor L. He has a very capable team of associates to assist him on Monday morning. I still plan to use the hotel treadmill for a ceremonial final run. The days after will more than likely be a blur.
On the home front, our pool heater is two months over the warranty, so getting it repaired will put another dent in the budget, let alone the out-of-pocket costs of the hospitalization. I’ve taken a three-month leave from my weekly Chiropractor visit to save a few bucks. This afternoon, we have to plan our shore excursions for my recovery cruise in mid-March. Most are included, but there is a wine-tasting event in Argentina that has intrigued my wife and some other tours that may add to our trip expenses. We’ve all agreed that tasting the local fare will not add to our costs since we’re perfectly satisfied with the on-board restaurant options. On a positive note, I won’t have to navigate the unsteadiness of a treadmill or ship deck in rough waters to maintain my running streak. By then, the addiction of running for fifteen years straight will have likely passed. I will need to simply relax.
Before surgery, I will have to endure another I.U. basketball game, the Saturday night “Borrego Bash,” and another nerve-racking drive to Tampa. My wife and I will also have another Sunday Night Financial meeting that has wisely been on hold for several months because they typically result in a disagreement. Holiday expenses were naturally extensive and mortgage/insurance costs have predictably gone up. I want to make sure that we’re both on the same page before my costly hospital stay, assuring a peaceful recovery period. She will be at my bedside as much as possible, as she reluctantly gives up any opportunity to substitute teach for the next few weeks. I think she enjoys having the rewarding responsibility, while my needs likely will be exhausting. Five days and counting, with just a few more miserable running miles to complete!
