DAY 6
February 1, 2009
Saturday
9:00 am
We got a call at about 9 in
the morning from Ed, and he was excited to tell us that he was going home in
half an hour! I was mostly ready to go
anyway, but we scrambled around and got ready to head out the door. I grabbed some clean underclothes, pants,
shirt and socks and put them by the door so I wouldn’t forget his shoes.
When we got to the hospital, it didn’t take long for the
discharge nurse to come in and finalize everything, including giving us the
necessary prescriptions and instructions.
Ed got dressed and then said to me, “Did you bring my shoes?” I thought of the moment in the Chevy Chase
movie “Christmas Vacation” when the family wanders out to the frozen forest and
finds the perfect Christmas tree and one of the kids thinks to say “Did you
bring a saw?” I couldn’t believe I’d
forgotten his shoes. Needless to say, I
felt like an idiot. I called Alex and he
said he would bring some shoes.
We decided he could wear his hospital slipper-socks out
while I pulled the van close to the hospital door. So then he said “Did you bring my coat?”
I called
Alex, and he laughed and said he would bring his own coat—but then we decided
we would just wing it and go in the warmed up van—all he had to do was walk
into the house from the car and he insisted he would be fine. I think he was just glad to go home—it had
been almost a week and he was tired of being poked and prodded every couple of
hours.
One
interesting thing about Ed’s heart attack— while we were driving home from
the hospital, he said that toward the end (before he lost consciousness) he realized
he must be having a heart attack because the pain was like a severe
squeezing—like his heart was going to burst—so tight he couldn’t breathe.
We were asking him if he saw his life flash before his eyes like you often hear about,
and he said no—he just saw blackness. He felt his eyes were open, but all
he could see was the blackest of black—no lights, no images, no spots—just the
darkest black—he said darkness everywhere.
He said “don’t worry, I
didn’t see any white light”—he didn’t dream, he didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear
anyone (at least that he remembers)—just total darkness—no peaceful feeling or
content, no fear— the best word for what he was trying to describe is a
“void”—emptiness, nothingness. The next thing he remembered was opening
his eyes and seeing a wall calendar opposite him that said JAN. 29 (those kind
that you tear off the day each day) and trying to remember what day it was and
what happened to the other two days.
Same day
10:39 am
Once we got home, I left Ed with Alex while they watched
TV, because the Super Bowl would be on soon. I went to the store to get some groceries and
all the medications. I bought some skim
milk and low-fat and low-sugar groceries which Ed seems more than happy to
consume this time. Previously if the label indicated any such thing he
wouldn’t even try it.
When I
returned, Karen came over and we mostly relaxed. The girls and I played Clue while Ed and Alex watched the football game. Ed got a call from his high school friend
Mike Jordan towards the end of the game.
Ed was on
four medications: Plavix (clopidogrel) which is basically a blood thinner,
antiplatelet agent to keep clots from forming; Crestor (rosuvastatin) which
will help lower his cholesterol; Lisinopril, which is for high blood pressure
in heart attack survivors; and Carvedilol, which is an alpha and beta-blocker
(for blood pressure). One of these is supposed to reduce the body’s
ability to reject the stent, but I didn’t know which. The bill for
today’s meds was over $300, and two of those qualified for Wal-Mart’s $4
prescription program. The Plavix and Crestor were very expensive, and
each pill is over $5.
This has
been a very sobering experience, at least for me. All of the trouble and cost involved in a
heart attack sure does make it worth while to take care of yourself, if only to
save money, doesn’t it? A pharmaceutical bill of over $300 a month, and a
hospital bill that will run into the tens of thousands of dollars, not to mention
time lost in work, and the heartache you put your family through. It
makes me want to take better care of myself, that’s for sure.
I heard
Ed tell someone on the phone today that he is paying the price for not
listening to anybody—and that it is time he admit it to himself. That is
certainly a good thing, and a step in a positive direction, but that price tag
sure is a biggie. As for me, all I could do is keep breathing and take one
day at a time.
Same day
9:42 pm
Tomorrow I am going to see
my sister off at the airport—it sure was nice having her here, it won’t ever be
forgotten. The best word I can think of to describe me during that
time? “Distraught” – completely at a loss, total shock. I always
knew Ed would have a heart attack because it seemed he was intent on it—but I
never in my wildest dreams thought it would be the one to kill him, let alone
12 times. I do know that I can’t do that again.
***************************************************
Even though it had never occurred to
Ed that he was dying in the Emergency Room, the reality became all too
evident for him. In his reality, he did die, and God saw to it that he
lived. Medical technology and skill;
Alex; the prayers of loved ones—all of these came into play to bring him
back. The thought that occurred to him
now, was how to live a life that would be worthy of this gift?
***************************************************
Update 2013: Memory continued to be a problem for Ed, his short-term memory as well as a foggy long-term memory. Some memories fused with false "memories" or thoughts, and became confabulated memories. It is well known that heart failure is linked to memory problems and cognitive impairment for which he was unable to escape. The doctors were cautiously optimistic that it might improve, but the odds were not in his favor. Additionally, he suffers from work-related peripheral neuropathies but he hasn't let it stop him from pursuing other interests in his life, particularly art in pyrography.
The kids are doing well, though the scars from the trauma remain, complicated by divorce two years later. I am doing well, and have returned to the health-care work force, where I am studying to be a Registered Nurse.
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