Sorry you haven’t heard from me lately, but I flunked a “routine test”. In 1984, this was routine. Once I figured out how my teachers graded, like Herr Kroedel’s Life & Thought Of Martin Luther’s “Multiple Guess Final” which was just a single essay question, I was golden. Plus, I’ve flunked a test before. I crammed 18 credit hours into 2.5 weeks in college. I received a C+ average AFTER the mandatory letter grade reductions. BAM!
Real life at 61 doesn’t work like that. This was a stress
test. Now if you’re my friend, you already know that you’re stressed just to know
me, and I get that. However, what I didn’t know, is that I can really stress myself
out. No looking back. There is no second semester to the stress test that I can
suddenly pass. It’s one and done. Thoughts went from not passing the test, to
being admitted to the emergency room, to getting quadruple bypass surgery. This
is the story of that or at least trying, to sort it out.
WTF, Are You Serious, Okay, let’s Beat This
After the stress test, the nurse, ‘Echo Diane’ (that’s how
she answered her phone) said the cardiologist wanted to talk. I am a genial
guy, I like to talk about virtually anything, like bunny repellant, great, let’s
talk, it’s routine. Dr. Das, the cardiologist, came to talk to me. Immediately
things became more real. He walked in and said, “Jimmy we need to check out if
this is a false positive, if it is and there's nothing more to do.” Translation,
“Jimmy we are going to do an angiogram.” Then, Dr Das said, “if we have to do
something, we'll add some stents.” I said “OK”. No big surprise here, I’m not
known for being a bastion of great health, cool. Then Dr. Das said if it's
worse, he has to go back to his toolbox and see what we need to do. That's when
he said typically it would be open heart surgery. I didn't think much of the open-heart
surgery because my mom, dad, uncle all have stents or had stents. I know it was
routine, I'd be fine. Let’s do the angiogram move forward.
I did a mini-interview with Dr. Das. He had a sense of
urgency, but I don’t have an official cardiologist yet. I need to vet him. It
turns out we are both alumni of Thomas Jefferson Middle /Junior High School and
Valparaiso High School. We are separated by 22 years, but that is good. I then
asked where he went to undergraduate school. He answered Indiana University. I
asked him if he colored between the lines on the hearts in the coloring book,
he laughed, I laughed, then I asked him if he left deep gashes in the table and
he responded no. I knew I had a great cardiologist: younger than me, educated in
the US, American born, laughs at my jokes…he’s in!
I get the angiogram. I am trying to get my neck turned so I can
watch. I figured it to be like Miss Pacman, going after all that plaque and stuff.
Dr. Das is young enough to excel at Ms. Pacman and Call of Duty, I’m feeling
good. Alas, I couldn’t watch. Afterwards Dr. Das tells me that everything is
all clogged up and we are scheduled for Thursday open heart surgery. I said the
“widow maker too?” Dr. Das that was an outdated term, but yes, it was 100%
clogged. I’m outdated to it all made sense to me.
“Put your head down, suck it up, and get through it.”
Coach John Cook on life and beating brain cancer.
And that's when my brain really started to race, actually, my whole body started to race. Suddenly, my life was Miami in a New York Minute. The first thought was WTF. I came in for a routine stress test and next thing you know I'm being admitted to the hospital. I thought, “are you serious?” I asked the doctor; can I go home and kind of sort this out? Dr. Das said no, that's not what I would tell you to do. I said, “Well, what would you tell your parents?” He said I would tell them to get the surgery as soon as possible.
Such candor is really appreciated. I want to know what my
doctor would tell his parents to do. Maybe I should ask first if he likes his
parents. Maybe he does want his parents gone, and he'd have them take the
surgery because he knew he'd take them out. We could watch it on Lifetime, or
Netflix, over the holidays. However, I'm going to go with the fact that he
still gets along with his folks pretty well. He’s a good kid, we established
that earlier.
The next thought, WTF, are you serious? After
thinking about that for 17 seconds, my mind went to, “alright, what's our plan
of attack?” I needed to block out interference, focus on what needs to be done.
I settle in on, “OK, let's go right after this.” There is no feeling sorry for
myself. I could tell you 1000 things I could have done different from 1980 to
2024 but doesn't matter. That’s what got me here, it won’t move me forward. My
focus became: 1) how do I come home to my wife, 2) how do I see my family and
friends, 3) how do I continue to work? Those are the things that are spinning in
my mind, sometimes not in that order and at the same time. I listened, and read,
every piece of information that the hospital had on open-heart surgery. Notice
that I did not go search the Internet. In fact, I called Alexis, then I called
work, then I notified immediate family, and then sent a group text out to close
friends. Then I ditched my phone and got ready.
Life Happens On Its Own Schedule
My brain was, “I want to go home” Me, “I can’t. Your heart
is clogged up…like totally.” Brain, How is your blood flowing now?” Me, “It
added some capillaries for blood flow. It’s not like the time you thought your
brains were going to come flowing through your nose.” In 2004 I had a cyst on
my optic nerve. The doctor explained to me that the cyst was rubbing away at my
skull. Evidently my eyes must have opened up as wide as the Mississippi river. The
doctor said, don't worry your brain isn't going to come flowing through your
nose, which is exactly what I was thinking at the time. Evidently, you've got a
ring of something that keeps your brain all in one place. I figured OK this
won't be that bad.
However, no matter how hard your body tries to compensate in
“protect you” mode, it can only do so much when it comes to your heart. While
this may work on both an emotional and physical level, my focus is on the
physical level. I need this heart to work so I can do other things, like live.
I can't go home and buy some WD40 and Lube myself up. (I know lubing myself up
sounds strange but it kind of works here). I must get my heart working. That was
my key. Fortunately for me, the hospital had a video, on channel 97, that
seemed to play every hour about open heart surgery. Interesting thing was, I
think the video was shot in 1978. The video itself is super grainy, and the
people featured were at least 15 years my senior (for those of you that went to
IU, that means older than me). The video wasn't all that good in terms of
quality, but it did walk me through every step of what to expect. The hospital
also had a little packet, stabled on the top left corner, that walked through what
to expect. That preparation made me feel confident. It got me in the exact
right mindset. It also helped calm me down for what to tell my beautiful bride,
who put up with me, and is still putting up with me through recovery.
Me & God
This whole experience puts a lot of things in perspective.
If you go through major surgery like this, you can't help but think about the
existence of God. Now I know that some people will think about the existence of
God and reject it. In fact, my mom used to think that every man that got bypass
surgery suddenly would leave their wives. She did have proof. In a strange way,
I totally understand that. Because your mortality is right in front of you,
staring at you in the face. You can’t run. It forces you to evaluate,
reevaluate every existential question about life. And in the end, you are
either going to reaffirm your belief or reject your belief. In my case it was
easy to reaffirm my belief in God. I didn’t blame Him. It just is.
My local parish priest, Fr. Anthony had offered to come and
give me communion/confession. Candidly, in trying to stoke, or build up my
mental capacity, and prepare for the operation, I told him to stay home. For
whatever reason, at that moment, I thought it was the last rites. Fr. Anthony
is a great guy, I was still processing. I slept on it and prayed. I realized
that if I'm praying, I need to integrate God into this situation more. My good
friend, Fr. John came and visited me. He’s my elder by 3 months. He made me
laugh, gave me confession and communion. It was pretty funny because my surgeon
walked in and saw us laughing and praying. He was taken aback at how hard we
were laughing. Father John was a godsend literally. He put my head in the right
place that had me focused and ready spiritually.
Getting in the right state of mind for me was imperative. It
had to include a boatload of prayers. When contemplating your mortality, I thought
of what I would leave behind. I couldn't totally visualize my funeral, but I
could visualize Alexis alone. That was heartbreaking. We have much more life to
live together. Then I thought about Anna Banana, Tri-Tri and Big Baby Dean. How
I desperately want to travel with them, and they would barely know me if I just
went now. It was almost suffocating.
One of the interesting things in the prayer that Fr. John
said on my behalf was, he thanked God for revealing the technology for bypass
surgery. He then prayed that He guides the surgeon's hands to take full
advantage of that technology God had revealed to us. This doesn't mean that God
invented bypass surgery. He revealed it, and the surgeon could do it. (I mean,
let's face it, if we can choose miracles from God that I could use every day,
it'd be the water to wine thing. In fact, to be more specific I would say water
to Sangiovese wine.) I thought a lot about God revealing and guiding hands dichotomy.
Fr. John and I talked about how this is a synergy between me and God. That I
will pray, and do the best that I can, and know that God's grace will be with
me. I can only do so much. I need a team that can help save me. That was and is
my blessing.
The actual surgery part
The surgery went off without a hitch, I guess, because I was
out of it the whole time. My research without the internet paid off. I woke up
intubated, moved my fingers, and went back to sleep. They vacuumed my insides,
then decided to let me wait, and vacuum me again. I guess I should have had Doctor
Hoover because it sucked so much (that was a reach). Finally, Brian the nurse
removes the tube. They asked me to say my name, and I responded like Froggy
from the Little Rascals and say “Jimmy”.
Evidently, Morphine is my friend. When I finally woke up,
the medical team asked me how I would rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I
answered 4. Which was true. It felt like I was pinned against the wall by my 2017
black jeep Cherokee named Mavrodaphne. It didn’t really hurt. Thanks Morphine! Then,
when I was talking to Lexie and Billiam, I closed my eyes for like a milli-second,
suddenly I saw a bright, white, glossy golf card, with the outline of the holes
10 across with different colors. Then, to my surprise, they started spiraling
into a whirlpool in the middle of the card. Thanks Morphine! That evening, I
could feel the bed sway left and right, while a little electric pulse was
zapping me, to get the blood flowing. Nurse Karen would reset the bed into
twisty mode every now and then. When that finished, the black laser cutter,
straight out of Star Trek: the Next Generation, borrowed from the Borg, was on
my left side. I asked Karen, the singing Filipina nurse, when I could move my
head. She giggled and I woke up, Thanks Morphine!
However, Day 3 was the worst. Tubes are attached to your
chest. They sort of dangle, and every movement is torture. The only time I
swore was when I asked Tom, part of my Cabbage Team, when the tubes were coming
out. “They hurt like a Mofo”, I said. They would come out within 24 hours. No
more morphine. Thanks for nothing morphine.
I am Farticuss. The Great Fartipotimus!
The next thing that I wanted to get accomplished was to have
bowel movement. It is important because your colon is paralyzed during surgery.
Bowel movement meant go home sooner. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t ready to give
up a bowel movement on my schedule. I wound up becoming the great Farticus, leader
of all the men who needed to have bowel movement. Here it is I would think, and
yet, all I could do is just let out a small fart, every trip to the toilet. It
felt like I was prairie dogging for 48 hours. It was crazy. Then, out of
nowhere, the shape of a glacier in Scotland exited my hairy anus. I can’t
remember when I’ve ever been so happy to release such a gelatinous glob of
happiness.
My Kickass Team
Dr. Chris Konstantelos
I start here first with Dr. Chris because he’s a dynamic doctor. He does seriously care about me. I’ve been spending the last year Reframing different parts of my life. For instance, last year I stopped drinking for about 60 days, and pretty much continued the moderation habit of having a drink or two on an occasion, but certainly not at rates of earlier years. The next part is trying to get food back in order. I’ve been struggling but doing slightly better. Third was working out. This is where I had a routine doctor appointment with Dr. Chris. He was unhappy with everything that I was telling him about wanting to work out. I was getting some chest pain but I didn’t think much of it. I pointed out that I was old. He said, “Jimmy, I need you to get a stress test. I don’t want what happened to your friend, that Priest (Fr Stacey Richter) who died, happen to you. I need you to be healthy and we need to follow up on these things. So that’s what I did. I scheduled all these tests that need to get done, and by the way are covered by my fine insurance company. Dr. Chris, and Fr. Stacey, saved my life. I’m eternally grateful.
My Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting CABG team.
Pronounced "cabbage", this team rocked and worked like
a well-oiled machine. They told me what to expect. Walked me through everything
and were always optimistic. They answered every question with patience, and
sometimes twice. Quick note, morphine can make you forget. Part of being on
Team Jimmy is a sense of humor. They all had a sense of humor, or at least they
laughed at my jokes publicly. From Dr. C, the surgeon, to Tom G (a Sox fan to
boot) and close to my age, Daniel, and Dr. Nicole (part Greek and great
disposition) I always knew I was in good hands. I had the best cabbage patch kids
anyone could ask for. I am in no hurry to see them in a formal capacity again
lol.
The symphony of ICU nurses
To me, and this is personal, the ICU is the toughest place
to be in the hospital. Especially if you're the patient or visiting a patient.
I vividly remember being in the ICU for my dad. I remember the gunshot wounds
of the people they were bringing in and how we had to kind of avoid the warring
parties. Probably one of the most priceless things I've ever heard, or
overheard, was a family that said, and I quote, “I am pretty sure that it is
premeditated when you drove over the body the second time. Throwing the car in
reverse into reverse was premeditated murder.” While I was in the ICU I didn't
have to hear anything that bad. But I did hear a family fight. I do know that
the nurses we're trying to calm down a person who pulled their intubating tube,
then subsequently punched the nurse, and I do know of a horrible construction
accident that was tended to in a room near mine. Unfortunately, the nurses also
had to tend to my needs for going to the bathroom. In this was a frequent
occurrence. If Karen couldn't help, someone else stepped up and came to help
me. When one nurse was working with somebody, or two nurses were working with
somebody, another nurse stepped up and took that person's place. It was like a
ballet where everybody weaved in and out, and it was seamless to the audience. I
use the word ballet purposely because there were technical things going on, and
not once did you notice anybody that stood out because they all stood out. I
remember thinking this every night that I was in the ICU.
Billiam Mullin
Billiam Mullin and I have been friends for 30 years. He is
10 years and two months older than me. He has been like a big brother. We have
gone through births, deaths, weddings, graduations, job changes, and the like
together. At the beginning of the year, we had a disagreement to the point I
wasn’t sure where our friendship was headed. I was in KC, where he lives, and I
picked up the phone. I felt we should talk. I am glad that I did. It was
choosing love over being pissed. 30 years is a long time, and why waste all
that emotional investment. Upon hearing I was in the hospital, Billiam felt the
need to come visit. It was great for a few reasons. First, he was my big brother,
he would be a great comfort to Lexie and me, and finally something else.
Billiam and I had a chance to talk. I told him to get a stress test. It’s just
a good idea. Billiam would have his open heart, double bypass surgery two weeks
later. That trip to see me likely saved his life.
Saint Alexis
My awesome bride Alexis, captain of Team Jimmy, biggest cheerleader,
and coordinator. She has been great at being a nice Nurse Ratchet. She needs a
spa day! I also know she needs to have a good cry because this has been so hard
on her. I’m pretty helpless at the moment and she is taking charge and moving
us forward. I thank God every day for her. I’ll just leave this here for right
now.
