Today was #5,400 in the running streak. It felt like I was both mentally and physically tired while trying to complete the 2.1-mile course. I pushed through with thoughts of the inevitable end to my precious streak and images of Frankenstein on the operating table. When I met with the surgeon later in the day, she confirmed that they would need to open my breast plate to access the area where my aorta enters the heart chamber. She recommended replacing the now calcified and leaky valve with one from a willing bovine or swine. I was impressed with her explanation and detailed drawing of the surgical plan but struggled with her lack of experience. She’s a graduate of UF and specializes in aorta repair, but she doesn’t have the expertise of a master surgeon with 10,000 hours of practice. I was warned that this would be an issue at a Regional Hospital like Sarasota Memorial. I was also not comfortable with the fact that the department head passed me off to a relative rookie. We’ll now look more seriously at Tampa and Stanford. 

I’m feeling a bit depressed and sorry for myself after years of exercise and conditioning that I thought would keep me healthy. Instead, I’m looking at a serious operation where they actually stop my heart, functioning only via ventilation, followed by months of rehabilitation. The surgeon assured me that I would feel much better in the long run, seemingly amazed at the fact that I could continue to run despite the circulation and breathing issues that I’ve faced. The deterioration in my running skills have been obvious but so gradual that I’ve gotten accustomed to the routine. I hope to keep going until the surgery and restart this daily habit in the future. At least, there’s a little bit of optimism left in me.

Tomorrow, it’s the urologist for more prostrate tests and Friday will be a preliminary Prokera insertion, a healing device made from amniotic membrane, done prior to cataract surgery. Apparently, the surfaces of my eyes are just as wrinkled as the rest of my body, so they have to smooth the ocular surface. I have yet to find someone else that has had this done but according to the doctor it is not initially painful, but “fifteen minutes after you leave my office, you’ll hate me.” I’m not looking forward to the weekend, looking through an extra layer of tissue and waiting for the next dose of Xanax. I’ll also need this pain killer to watch Michigan once again demolish Indiana in football. It’s all at least a distraction from a broken heart.