Yes, I was back at work on Monday.
No, I did not feel the best that I could have felt.
No, I was not afraid I would lose my job if I did not show up.
Yes, I have plenty of vacation days available to me if I need them.
You are probably right, it wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve had lately.
I was just going stir crazy at home and it had only been three days – two and a half, actually.
No, I was not resting comfortably in the bed or in my easy chair.
Yes, my leg is a little sore.
No, I have no heart pain right now and haven’t noticed any since I underwent the procedure on Friday.
No, it wasn’t like the procedure they performed on Lewis Grizzard. They did not tear out my heart and stomp the sucker flat. They merely sent in the roto-rooter to clean up the piping.
Does that pretty much answer your questions? Or did I just create new ones?
What happened is . . .
On Aug. 5, I spent a whole day, it seemed, going through a stress test on my heart, which was giving me no indication of a problem. It was just your routine annual-type check-up. It was not the first time I have been made to have a stress test – though I think most of a stress test has to do with the stress involved in having to take the test in the first place. Does that make sense?
Well, anyway, I took several tests – all involving a great deal of stress – on that day. Then after all the tests, I was given a monitor to wear for 24 hours. That did not work out too well. The leads kept coming loose and the sticky pads they were to connect to were not very cooperative. In the end, it really did not matter. The doctor’s office – well, one of his nurses – called and said they wanted me to return immediately for more tests. Of course, I was all happy about that. Not really.
They wanted me back “immediately.” I said okay, I would be back that way next week. My youngest child’s birthday was on Saturday. They wanted me there on Monday. I said no way. I had a newspaper edition to get out that would take up Monday and Tuesday. So, the next “immediately” available date was last Friday, Aug. 14.
I’m not sure the doctor and his staff were exactly happy with my decision to wait until last Friday, but they were not exactly stressing the urgency of the matter, either. They said they just wanted to run some dye in my system to see what was causing an “abnormality.” It was not until after I arrived and was prepped for surgery that I was informed the test might result in some immediate attention, if possible.
First of all, why was I being prepped for surgery when all I was there for was a procedure? And why is it that when I refer to it as a procedure it becomes surgery and when I say surgery it becomes a procedure? You can see my confusion.
Well, I was doped up and sent to la-la land right after the prepping. They woke me up to move me across the hall to the operating room where I was doped some more. I had been told I would be able to watch the doctor as he fished around inside my heart. Maybe I could have if I had been able to stay awake, but I slept through the whole procedure/surgery, which did in fact require some immediate attention – a stint to relieve a blockage of about 95 percent. They did not tell me the “abnormality” was that abnormal.
I was told, when I awakened in the recovery room, that I was doing well and would be released from the hospital in an hour – an hour that I had to stay lying still on my back. If I had been able to sleep through that, I would have handled it much better. That was the worst part of the procedure/operation – having to lie flat for that final hour, 60 minutes, 3,600 seconds. I was also told, if I felt like it, that I could return to work the next day, which was Saturday. They could have added that I would not feel like it, though.
Truth of the matter is, I felt like I had been run over by a fleet of 18-wheelers – however many that is. I still felt that way on Monday, but I was going stir crazy and needed to get out of the house. I was later informed by the folks that said I could go right back to work that, I would probably feel the way I was feeling for several days. My immediate thought about that was that it would probably go over about as well as that last hour in the recovery room.
I’m sure I will get better. I have to. I’m fixed. Well, part of me is fixed. I still have other problems for other doctors to deal with, but maybe some day I will be completely fixed. Until then, I will be thankful for the parts of me that do work correctly. If you have any parts that you suspect need a doctor’s attention. Get it. If the doctor and his staff tell you they want you back immediately, listen to them. Just do not believe the part about feeling good enough to return to work in a day. It will probably take a little longer than that.
