It would be a dumb cliche to call this "Heart to Heart"

OK, it has officially started. I went yesterday for the first of the preliminary procedures to check out the heart to provide the surgeon with a “road map” for the main surgery.

Yay.
But, first, for those of you who don’t know, I’ll flash-back to just six weeks ago . . .

In March, 2015, I went to the doctor for a routine checkup and was told, much to my dismay, that the heart valve being monitored through the years is failing, specifically it’s closing. The situation is kind of like what happens when you put a thumb over a garden hose -- you now have a restricted flow of water with which you can spray your car or your wife - a bit of fun with the wife, but not so much with the blood flow.

From scientific analysis of an ultrasound, the doctor concluded that the heart valve that allows blood to flow into the aorta has closed off over 50%. Instead of a steady flow of blood through the heart, I now have blood that is spurting into the main aorta at an increased speed but at a reduced rate, and he needs to "go in" to get a better look see, hence the arteriogram.

Now a little biology: The human circulatory system is a closed system, meaning that when all is well the blood is pumped around and around through the arteries and veins without interruption, with a stop-over at the lungs to pick up oxygen molecules. But, in my case, the main valve from the pump doesn’t open fully, restricting the blood out of the heart and causing the blood to be forced back into the lungs through another normally closed valve, damaging that valve and making the pump, i.e. the heart, work harder.

This causes numerous symptoms: The restriction of oxygenated blood to the rest of the body causes light-headedness, blurred vision, increased anxiety, muscle weakness, and lowered hormone generation, which in turn results in lowered testosterone, lowered thyroid function, lowered adrenal function, lowered pituitary function -- essentially all bodily functions are not working up to snuff right now. If left untreated, the blood will backwash into my lungs enough to rupture the capillaries there and I will start to cough up blood, the heart will want to pump harder, and the circulatory closed system will no longer be a closed system.

The only fix for all the problems is to replace the recalcitrant heart valve with either an artificial valve, or a "biological", i.e a valve harvested from a pig.

I’m opting for an artificial valve, primarily because I don’t want to be referred to as “Pig Boy” by the folks at work (and by the Big Sis in Bixby).

After the bad news, I asked the doc if I could continue hiking. He said - and I’m not kidding here - he said, "Yes, you can still hike, but NOT uphill." (He either needs to get out of central Oklahoma more, or this was a sarcastic way of saying I shouldn't go hiking at all).

The arteriogram I had yesterday is similar to the angioplasty I had in 2005 and the angiogram in 2010, except that this time two catheters are inserted, one in the femoral artery and one in the nearby vein, both to accomodate small cameras that are snaked into both sides of the heart to take "home movies" to see how much damage has already occurred to the entire heart. I’m sure some of the pictures will be used to entertain guests at a subsequent party of other cardio-surgeons. I can only hope they find them as boring as other home movies -- if they find them entertaining, then I’m in more trouble than I think.

I don’t know exactly what the second procedure involves, but I’ve been assured that it will not be invasive. Some sort of electrocardiogram thing.

But, I’m not looking forward to the third procedure. It has been described as follows:

A tube will be inserted into my throat and a camera sent down for pictures. I didn’t really follow the purpose of this procedure - I kind of got lost in thought after the doc said "inserting a tube down the throat". But, since the procedure was considered necessary by the attending surgeon, the one who will soon have my beating heart literally in his hands, I didn’t want to appear unenthusiasitc.

What really concerns me is the "main event", when the surgeon cracks open my chest to expose the beating life within me. I haven’t been told what to expect, not by the surgeon at least. But, I have an acquaintance who has had this surgery and he told me what to expect, and it ain’t pretty. He told me he doesn’t have any pictures of the "main event", but that the beginnings of the recovery was horrendous. He told me after a few days recovering at home he was able to walk across the room, and it took him "only" two minutes(!) But, he did say that now he feels better than ever. He just can’t do some of the things he used to be able to do, things like running marathons, and extreme weight lifting, and swimming with sharks, and wrestling grizzly bears and such things as that. I figure I can give up those activities pretty easily. I just hope Nana Pam isn’t expecting too much in the bedroom (if you know what I mean) -- past experience tells me that would be a heck-uv-a workout.

Anyway, I digress.

The arteriogram is now behind me, and it went really smooth, except that they did find the heart valve much more restricted than indicated by the ultrasound a couple of months ago - not so bad as to have to have emergency surgery, but the situation has now changed to "urgent" and I need the problem fixed as soon as the surgery can be organized. One thing that threw the doctors off is my surprisingly good physical condition (no kidding). Apparently, at this point I should be writhing on the floor unable to control my own bladder and expecting to die at any moment. I guess I’m a testament to clean living - either that or the copious amounts of adult beverages in my system made me oblivious to the situation.

For the next trip to the hospital, I should be prepared for a "sleep over" -- and I don’t mean a sleep over with scantily clad nurses each with a tray full of jello-shots dancing to the tunes of the "Mighty Mighty BossTones"; I mean I should expect to be "entertained" by "Nurse Burley and the Probing Quintet" for a few nights.

Believe me, with the picture of "Nurse Burley and Probes" floating around in my little pea-brain, I’d do most anything to avoid a long stay in the hospital, up to and including hijacking a wheelchair and pretending to be sweet little demented Miss Beasley rolling lazily down the hall; Or making my way to the elevator pretending to be a gay male nurse collecting stool samples from all the other poor saps on the floor; Or even putting on a burka and yelling "General Akbar" at the top of my lungs while running down the stairs.

OK, OK, so maybe I’ve watched too much "Star Wars", so what? The point is, I don’t want to be in the hospital any longer than I have to be, even after a third party goes into my chest cavity to say "Hello to my Little Friend".

All right, enough of the movie references already -- it’s just my way of dealing with the situation. I don’t really want this to be happening to me, but I know it’s inevitable, that it's second hand news. I know I will be feeling all right when it's done, but, don't misunderstand me, I also know just how painful and uncomfortable I’m going to be for the next few months. The thought of the whole process turns me a whiter shade of pale, and I just hope they give me enough pain killers to make me comfortably numb. I don’t want cocaine or anything the pusher could provide, just something to feed my head and to think I’m chasing rabbits and to give me a feeling of deja vu for a day or two.

I’ll write more later - I have an inexplicable hankerin’ to listen to some music right now. Maybe something soothing, like "Fendal’s Cave" from the Peer Gynt Suite. Or maybe a bit o’ Led Zeppelin. (Hmmmm, "Black Dog" . . . . ).