It is hard to believe that it has been two years for me since that life-altering experience known as open heart surgery. Not a day goes by that I don't think about February 16. My family is wonderful, but I bet there will be no surprise parties tomorrow complete with a nice cake baked with (Type 2-friendly) Splenda. They still think my birthday is back in November. But in my own mind, February 16 is my new birthday, my real birthday, my re-birthday.
Tomorrow I will be 2 years old, a Terrible Two.
Without February 16, a marvelously skilled surgeon, and many prayers, I would not have been around the past two years to enjoy the birth of my first grandson, the blossoming of my two granddaughters, our 40th wedding anniversary, a move to the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, and big career successes for my son and daughter. (Not to mention other happy moments, such as a St. Louis Cardinals championship and a Carrie Underwood concert. I am richly blessed.
The enlargement and leakage the surgeon found when he went in were so bad (worse than the diagnostic tests had indicated) that I am confident in saying I would not have been around much longer than a few months without the surgery.
On Valentine's Day, 2005, I was at the hospital for my pre-op wishing those cute nurses would give me a "Be My Valentine" card or a candy kiss or something. Instead they were giving me that awful scrub soap and instructions for being back before dawn on the 16th to be split open like a baked potato., They were very helpful and thorough. It was surreal to have all that OHS prep on Happy Hearts Day. But I have a happy heart now, and I am grateful.
The last thing I remember before being wheeled into surgery was my 6-5 son (a former college pitcher) decked out in my bright red Cardinals windbreaker looking down on me. Growing up, he'd always picked a team different than mine and kidded me about Redbirds' losses. It was all in fun. But I guess he figured that if the old man was going to check out now, he'd send him on his way with a vision of his son as a Cardinals convert.
I remember half waking up in the ICU after the 5-hour surgery with the breathing tube still in, something I had dreaded. But I also overheard a nurse talking about my oxygen intake having been "alarmingly low," and so I was grateful for that tube after all. When it finally came out, I had to sleep with an oxygen mask a few nights and work hard to get my lung capacity back up enough to go home. I still don't know why. I had quit smoking 40 years earlier. I had been physically active. Guess I just had "lazy lung." My body had decided it was time for this old-timer to check out. I had to teach my body a lesson or two about "miles to go before I sleep" in cardiac rehab.
I could ramble on and on, but I won't. This 2-year-old just wants to say how grateful he is for the people on this Forum always being here. They were wonderfully supportive before that amazing 16th of February, and have been ever since, no matter how cantankerous I occasionally get.
Cheers to all,
Tomorrow I will be 2 years old, a Terrible Two.
Without February 16, a marvelously skilled surgeon, and many prayers, I would not have been around the past two years to enjoy the birth of my first grandson, the blossoming of my two granddaughters, our 40th wedding anniversary, a move to the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, and big career successes for my son and daughter. (Not to mention other happy moments, such as a St. Louis Cardinals championship and a Carrie Underwood concert.
I am richly blessed.The enlargement and leakage the surgeon found when he went in were so bad (worse than the diagnostic tests had indicated) that I am confident in saying I would not have been around much longer than a few months without the surgery.
On Valentine's Day, 2005, I was at the hospital for my pre-op wishing those cute nurses would give me a "Be My Valentine" card or a candy kiss or something. Instead they were giving me that awful scrub soap and instructions for being back before dawn on the 16th to be split open like a baked potato.,
They were very helpful and thorough. It was surreal to have all that OHS prep on Happy Hearts Day. But I have a happy heart now, and I am grateful.The last thing I remember before being wheeled into surgery was my 6-5 son (a former college pitcher) decked out in my bright red Cardinals windbreaker looking down on me. Growing up, he'd always picked a team different than mine and kidded me about Redbirds' losses. It was all in fun. But I guess he figured that if the old man was going to check out now, he'd send him on his way with a vision of his son as a Cardinals convert.
I remember half waking up in the ICU after the 5-hour surgery with the breathing tube still in, something I had dreaded. But I also overheard a nurse talking about my oxygen intake having been "alarmingly low," and so I was grateful for that tube after all. When it finally came out, I had to sleep with an oxygen mask a few nights and work hard to get my lung capacity back up enough to go home. I still don't know why. I had quit smoking 40 years earlier. I had been physically active. Guess I just had "lazy lung." My body had decided it was time for this old-timer to check out. I had to teach my body a lesson or two about "miles to go before I sleep" in cardiac rehab.
I could ramble on and on, but I won't. This 2-year-old just wants to say how grateful he is for the people on this Forum always being here. They were wonderfully supportive before that amazing 16th of February, and have been ever since, no matter how cantankerous I occasionally get.
Cheers to all,
