Tag Archives: Heart Surgery

Still Ticking or: The Tenth Second Birthday

18 Monday Apr 2022

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Salutations™!!

First, Dear Reader, a few housekeeping items. One, this is a picture of me TEN years ago (tomorrow) and I am not in the hospital and I’m not going through this right now. Two, I know I’ve been away, but as I mentioned in the Useless Podcast (you did listen to that episode, right?), I’ve been extra busy and not been able to experience a lot of things to really talk about that would have been clever, funny, or interesting.

24-hours post-surgery in 2012

I have told this story for the last eight years and I’m going to do it again.

Today, Dear Reader is my 10th birthday. My 10th second birthday that is. Ten years ago today, I was shorn of every hair on my body that wasn’t on my head. Every single hair, from my chest, to my back, my armpits, my legs, there all the way down to the hairs on my toes. Why you ask? Well, because I was a mere hour or so from being wheeled into an operating room to have my chest sawed open, my shoulders pulled back toward each other, my ribcage separated and my body basically put on a machine while my heart was disconnected. There were a couple of holes in my abdomen for drainage tubes. Then, a vein was removed from my leg slightly to the left of my right knee cap and snipped about halfway down my shin. That was used to create a bypass of three arteries, therefore constituting a triple bypass.

A CABG (pronounced cabbage), which means Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting.

They put a wire or two around my sternum to help it heal, did internal stitches on me that dissolved on their own, and wheeled me on to recovery where I spent a whole day asleep, basically. My lungs were still collapsed and weren’t inflating so I had to stay on a respirator with tubes in my stomach, down my throat, and on a lot of sedatives. My mother tried to be funny and tell me that I really do have a heart, to which, I motioned for the nurse to bring me a pen and paper. I wrote, “leave the comedy to me.” Everyone told The BCPF that I was going to look bad and be in a bad mood and all that stuff when I finally woke up. They prepared my son to see me like that. To everyone’s surprise, I was not bloated and didn’t look bad, considering the circumstances. And, I was in a good mood, again, all things considered.

This picture, which I use every year was taken 24 hours after my surgery. All I wanted to do was post a selfie showing that I was still alive. That was immediately after being wheeled into my room.

Special thanks to The BCPF for always watching over me. It gets annoying at times but truly without her constant vigil over me, I’d probably not be here today, new heart or not. I love you, baby!

Until next time, same blog channel…
Scorp out!

—

“Being alive. After heart surgery, you dig that part. Breath, family, and friends are just amazing. Just to have a second shot is pretty great!” – Robin Williams

Second Birthdays or: The Longest Day

18 Sunday Apr 2021

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Salutations™!!

Today, Dear Reader, is my ninth birthday. My ninth second birthday that is. Nine years ago today, I was shorn of every hair on my body that wasn’t on my head. Every single hair, from my chest, to my back, my armpits, my legs, there all the way down to the hairs on my toes. Why, you ask? Well, because I was a mere hour or so from being wheeled into an operating room to have my chest sawed open, my shoulders pulled back toward each other, my ribcage separated and my body basically put on a machine while my heart was disconnected. There was a couple of holes in my abdomen for drainage tubes. Then, a vein was removed from my leg slightly to the left of my right knee cap and snipped about halfway down my shin. That was used to create a bypass of three arteries, therefore constituting a triple bypass.

A CABG (pronounced cabbage), which means Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting.

They put a wire or two around my sternum to help it heal, did internal stitches on me that dissolved on their own, wheeled my on to recovery where I spent a whole day asleep, basically. My lungs were still collapsed and weren’t inflating so I had to stay on a respirator with tubes in my stomach, down my throat and on a lot of sedatives. My mother tried to be funny and tell me that I really do have a heart, to which, I motioned for the nurse to bring me a pen and paper. I wrote, “leave the comedy to me.” Everyone told The BCPF that I was going to look bad and be in a bad mood and all that stuff when I finally woke up. They prepared my son to see me like that. To everyone’s surprise, I was not bloated and didn’t look bad, considering the circumstances. And, I was in a good mood, again, all things considered.

This picture, that I use every year was taken 24 hours after my surgery. All I wanted to do was post a selfie showing that I was still alive. That was immediately after being wheeled into my room.

And there you have it. It’s my ninth second birthday today. I’m glad to be here.

Until tomorrow, same blog channel…
Scorp out!

—
“Open-heart surgery is now part of a typical life experience for many people. Folks talk casually about ‘having a stent put in,’ as if they had their tires rotated.” – Roger Ebert

The Bonus Post or: Happy Second Solar Cirucmnavigational…

18 Saturday Apr 2020

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Salutations™!!

So, in a rare gesture, I’m posting for the second time today. When I did the “Sounds Like Saturday” post, it was just after midnight this morning and I wasn’t thinking straight. Like I have said, I can keep up with what day of the week it is, but dates are flying by. In that, I didn’t realize that today is my 8th Second Birthday.

That’s right, eight years ago today, I had my triple-bypass heart surgery. I’m not going to go into a long rambling post about it. If you use the search box and look for April 18, I’m sure there are plenty of posts that will give you the heebie-jeebies.  You know me better than that. I’m not that graphic. But, I tell the story in at least one of them. I mean, this blog has been going on for six years straight. I had to have covered it.

This picture was taken on April 19 or 20th. The BCPF can’t remember. Those times were blurry, too. But, today is the day it happened. So, Happy 8th Second Solar Cirumnavigational Anniversary Day to me! And, here’s to many more.

Second Birthday

Until tomorrow, for real this time…
Scorp in! See what I did there?

—
“Open-heart surgery is now part of a typical life experience for many people.” – Roger Ebert

A Happily Recurring Theme or: Seventh Second

18 Thursday Apr 2019

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Salutations™!!

Note: I liked what I wrote about this day last year so I just copied it and reposted. It’s hard to write this story without repeating myself so, why fight it? I want to bring attention to the fact that I’m still here to annoy you, Dear Reader. I am happy to be able to say that (that I’m still here).

It was  six seven years ago today that I received my “zipper.” Being at the hospital before the sun came up, getting shaved from neck to (literally) toe, seeing my family, having my (then) fiance – The BCPF – standing holding my hand and trying to keep a happy face, having my parents pray over me as I get wheeled through some ominous doors, being moved onto a mostly comfortable operating table and telling stupid jokes to the operating staff before I just blacked out counting back from 100. That’s how I remember it.

I groggily stirred with a breathing tube snaked through my gullet whilst hearing a nurse, whose name I believe was Sandy, talk to me and me nodding that I understood whatever it was she was saying to me. The BCPF came in to see me, touching me, stroking my hair (I still had a little bit). I’m not sure of the timeline, I was still very doped up on morphine at the time. Maybe some time passed, maybe it didn’t, but Ma Mère came into the recovery room and in a moment we will all talk about until we’re no longer here, she patted me on the left shoulder and said, “see, you really do have a heart.” At this point, I pointed to “Sandy” and made a motion to bring me a writing utensil and something to write upon. In my continued, and glorious haze, I scribbled to my mother the following:

Leave the comedy to me!

I remember everyone laughing. My job was done, I went through another phase of “blacked out.” They had collapsed my lungs in order to get to my arteries and heart and whatever else they were doing with me and, as a lifelong asthmatic, my lungs and I have a long history of arguing. They weren’t wanting to cooperate and inflate so I could breathe on my own. So, recovery took a little longer than it should have. Then they wheeled me up to my own private room. I had to get up and sit in a chair. I asked for my phone and that’s when this selfie was taken:

Tim After Surgery

My son came in to see me, as did my family. I had put them all through a lot. They were tired, nervous, but happy that I was sitting there making stupid faces at them, I was alive. I had survived. Hand me my heart-shaped pillow and let me cough. There was no laying down for a while, that’s for sure. When I sat back, I could feel my chest shifting. After all, they did saw me in half. I didn’t lay down for about four weeks, actually. But, over time my strength came back and I was able to maneuver around like a real person.

On the way to that, though, I had people watching over me like a hawk. The BCPF made sure that someone was “on duty” with me the whole time, from my sister to my mother, her to her mother. Someone was always here. It got to where I had to fake needing to go to the bathroom just to go sit on the toilet lid and be by myself for a few minutes. I had some great friends bring me and my chaperones food. I can’t tell Chris and Ashley, Doug and Molly and Jerry and Jennifer how much I appreciate them doing that.

After this, though, The BCPF and I decided that we’re going to live. LIVE! And, that’s what we’ve done. We’ve been to Europe twice, the second a wedding/honeymoon expedition. So glad I got to see Notre Dame before this week happened. We accompanied friends to Costa Rica. We went to Walt Disney World with my family. We have time with each other. We enjoy just about everything we do. We collect records, we eat really delicious food, we hang out with really terrific friends, we just love our lives.

I have to really thank The BCPF for everything, because if it
weren’t for her, making sure I take my meds regularly, eating right, doing what little exercise I’ll do, going to my doc appts, and just living the heck out of IMAG0150me, I wouldn’t be here today to write this. She didn’t sleep much that first week. When she did it was in my hospital bed. My boy is also a huge part of my life. He’s almost 16 17 so he’s testing my ticker a good bit, but I love that boy to no end. They together are truly my everything. To my family, thank you all for your support and being here for me. To my friends, you’re all my bedrocks. You’re the foundation that I build on. To The Beer Dads, Jon and Paul, thank you guys for traversing this weird ride with The BCPF and me in our quest for World Domination. To everyone. I love you. Just… I love you. To Dr. Bret Borchelt. Thank you for “fixing” me.

I was 41 when this happened. I’m 46 47 now. I have to at least make it to 82 for me to be satisfied with it. I have to say, in all sincerity, I would never want to go through this again. However, in the grand scheme of things, it was all worth it and really, for me, wasn’t all that terrible. I think my family and friends had it worse than I in this ordeal. I got taken care of, waited on and yes had to endure some pain, but it wasn’t too awful. I’m just glad we have hit the “magic number” (no not three in this case) of six seven. That’s when the docs stop looking so closely at the procedure. I’m still here and other than being ridiculously fat, I feel great. So, all is well on this side of the world. I hope all of you have as wonderful a time as I do. Happy sixth seventh second birthday to me.

Until tomorrow, still kickin’…
Scorp out!

—
“Open-heart surgery is now part of a typical life experience for many people. Folks talk casually about ‘having a stent put in,’ as if they had their tires rotated.” – Roger Ebert

A Unique Piggyback or: Sixth Second On

18 Wednesday Apr 2018

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Salutations™!!

Note: I liked what I wrote about this day last year so I just copied it and reposted. It’s hard to write this story without repeating myself so, why fight it? I want to bring attention to the fact that I’m still here to annoy you, Dear Reader. I am happy to be able to say that (that I’m still here).

It was five six years ago today that I received my “zipper.” Being at the hospital before the sun came up, getting shaved from neck to (literally) toe, seeing my family, having my (then) fiance – The BCPF – standing holding my hand and trying to keep a happy face, having my parents pray over me as I get wheeled through some ominous doors, being moved onto a mostly comfortable operating table and telling stupid jokes to the operating staff before I just blacked out counting back from 100. That’s how I remember it.

I groggily stirred with a breathing tube snaked through my gullet whilst hearing a nurse, whose name I believe was Sandy, talk to me and me nodding that I understood whatever it was she was saying to me. The BCPF came in to see me, touching me, stroking my hair (I still had a little bit). I’m not sure of the timeline, I was still very doped up on morphine at the time. Maybe some time passed, maybe it didn’t, but Ma Mère came into the recovery room and in a moment we will all talk about until we’re no longer here, she patted me on the left shoulder and said, “see, you really do have a heart.” At this point I pointed to “Sandy” and made a motion to bring me a writing utensil and something to write upon. In my continued, and glorious haze, I scribbled to my mother the following:

Leave the comedy to me!

I remember everyone laughing. My job was done, I went through another phase of “blacked out.” They had collapsed my lungs in order to get to my arteries and heart and whatever else they were doing with me and, as a lifelong asthmatic, my lungs and me have a long history of arguing. They weren’t wanting to cooperate and inflate so I could breathe on my own. So, recovery took a little longer than it should have. Then they wheeled me up to my own private room. I had to get up and sit in a chair. I asked for my phone and that’s when this selfie was taken:

Tim After Surgery

My son came in to see me, as did my family. I had put them all through a lot. They were tired, nervous, but happy that I was sitting there making stupid faces at them, I was alive. I had survived. Hand me my heart-shaped pillow and let me cough. There was no laying down for a while, that’s for sure. When I sat back, I could feel my chest shifting. After all, they did saw me in half. I didn’t lay down for about four weeks, actually. But, over time my strength came back and I was able to maneuver around like a real person.

On the way to that, though, I had people watching over me like a hawk. The BCPF made sure that someone was “on duty” with me the whole time, from my sister to my mother, her to her mother. Someone was always here. It got to where I had to fake needing to go to the bathroom just to go sit on the toilet lid and be by myself for a few minutes. I had some great friends bring me and my chaperones food. I can’t tell Chris and Ashley, Doug and Molly and Jerry and Jennifer how much I appreciate them doing that.

After this, though, The BCPF and I decided that we’re going to live. LIVE! And, that’s what we’ve done. We’ve been to Europe twice, the second a wedding/honeymoon expedition. We accompanied friends to Costa Rica. We went to Walt Disney World with my family. We have time with each other. We enjoy just about everything we do. We collect records, we eat really delicious food, we hang out with really terrific friends, we just love our lives.

I have to really thank The BCPF for everything, because if it
weren’t for her, making sure I take my meds regularly, eating right, doing what little exercise I’ll do, going to my doc appts, and just living the heck out of IMAG0150me, I wouldn’t be here today to write this. She didn’t sleep much that first week. When she did it was in my hospital bed. My boy is also a huge part of my life. He’s almost 15 16 so he’s testing my ticker a good bit, but I love that boy to no end. They together are truly my everything. To my family, thank you all for your support and being here for me. To my friends, you’re all my bedrocks. You’re the foundation that I build on. To The Beer Dads, Jon and Paul, thank you guys for traversing this weird ride with The BCPF and me in our quest for World Domination. To everyone. I love you. Just… I love you. To Dr. Bret Borchelt. Thank you for “fixing” me.

I was 41 when this happened. I’m 46 47 now. I have to at least make it to 82 for me to be satisfied with it. I have to say, in all sincerity, I would never want to go through this again. However, in the grand scheme of things, it was all worth it and really, for me, wasn’t all that terrible. I think my family and friends had it worse than I in this ordeal. I got taken care of, waited on and yes had to endure some pain, but it wasn’t too awful. I’m just glad we have hit the “magic number” (no not three in this case) of five six. That’s when the docs stop looking so closely at the procedure. I’m still here and other than being ridiculously fat, I feel great. So, all is well on this side of the world. I hope all of you have as wonderful a time as I do. Happy fifth sixth second birthday to me.

I talked to The BCPF this morning (2018) and inquired about her writing a post one year to recount the experience from her perspective. She said that would take time and she doesn’t have time right now, but one day. I may get her to do it and save it for when I need it. You can hear me talk more about it on The Less Desirables tonight.

Until tomorrow, still kickin’…
Scorp out!

—
“Open-heart surgery is now part of a typical life experience for many people. Folks talk casually about ‘having a stent put in,’ as if they had their tires rotated.” – Roger Ebert

Fifth Second Birthday or: The Things We’ve Done

18 Tuesday Apr 2017

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Salutations™!!

It was five years ago today that I received my “zipper.” Being at the hospital before the sun came up, getting shaved from neck to (literally) toe, seeing my family, having my (then) fiance – The BCPF – standing holding my hand and trying to keep a happy face, having my parents pray over me as I get wheeled through some ominous doors, being moved onto a mostly comfortable operating table and telling stupid jokes to the operating staff before I just blacked out counting back from 100. That’s how I remember it.

I groggily stirred with a breathing tube snaked through my gullet whilst hearing a nurse, whose name I believe was Sandy, talk to me and me nodding that I understood whatever it was she was saying to me. The BCPF came in to see me, touching me, stroking my hair (I still had a little bit). I’m not sure of the timeline, I was still very doped up on morphine at the time. Maybe some time passed, maybe it didn’t, but Ma Mère came into the recovery room and in a moment we will all talk about until we’re no longer here, she patted me on the left shoulder and said, “see, you really do have a heart.” At this point I pointed to “Sandy” and made a motion to bring me a writing utensil and something to write upon. In my continued, and glorious haze, I scribbled to my mother the following:

Leave the comedy to me!

I remember everyone laughing. My job was done, I went through another phase of “blacked out.” They had collapsed my lungs in order to get to my arteries and heart and whatever else they were doing with me and, as a lifelong asthmatic, my lungs and me have a long history of arguing. They weren’t wanting to cooperate and inflate so I could breathe on my own. So, recovery took a little longer than it should have. Then they wheeled me up to my own private room. I had to get up and sit in a chair. I asked for my phone and that’s when this selfie was taken:

Tim After Surgery

My son came in to see me, as did my family. I had put them all through a lot. They were tired, nervous, but happy that I was sitting there making stupid faces at them, I was alive. I had survived. Hand me my heart-shaped pillow and let me cough. There was no laying down for a while, that’s for sure. When I sat back, I could feel my chest shifting. After all, they did saw me in half. I didn’t lay down for about four weeks, actually. But, over time my strength came back and I was able to maneuver around like a real person.

On the way to that, though, I had people watching over me like a hawk. The BCPF made sure that someone was “on duty” with me the whole time, from my sister to my mother, her to her mother. Someone was always here. It got to where I had to fake needing to go to the bathroom just to go sit on the toilet lid and be by myself for a few minutes. I had some great friends bring me and my chaperones food. I can’t tell Chris and Ashley, Doug and Molly and Jerry and Jennifer how much I appreciate them doing that.

After this, though, The BCPF and I decided that we’re going to live. LIVE! And, that’s what we’ve done. We’ve been to Europe twice, the second a wedding/honeymoon expedition. We accompanied friends to Costa Rica. We went to Walt Disney World with my family. We have time with each other. We enjoy just about everything we do. We collect records, we eat really delicious food, we hang out with really terrific friends, we just love our lives.

I have to really thank The BCPF for everything, because if it
weren’t for her, making sure I take my meds regularly, eating right, doing what little exercise I’ll do, going to my doc appts, and just living the heck out of IMAG0150me, I wouldn’t be here today to write this. She didn’t sleep much that first week, when she did it was in my hospital bed. My boy is also a huge part of my life. He’s almost 15 so he’s testing my ticker a good bit, but I love that boy to no end. They together are truly my everything. To my family, thank you all for your support and being here for me. To my friends, you’re all my bedrocks. You’re my foundation that I build on. To The Beer Dads, Jon and Paul, thank you guys for traversing this weird ride with The BCPF and me in our quest for World Domination. To everyone. I love you. Just… I love you. To Dr. Bret Borchelt. Thank you for “fixing” me.

I was 41 when this happened. I’m 46 now. I have to at least make it to 82 for me to be satisfied with it. I have to say, in all sincerity, I would never want to go through this again. However, in the grand scheme of things, it was all worth it and really, for me, wasn’t all that terrible. I think my family and friends had it worse than I in this ordeal. I got taken care of, waited on and yes had to endure some pain, but it wasn’t too awful. I’m just glad we have hit the “magic number” (no not three in this case) of five. That’s when the docs stop looking so closely at the procedure. I’m still here and other than being ridiculously fat, I feel great. So, all is well on this side of the world. I hope all of you have as wonderful a time as I do. Happy fifth second birthday to me.

Until tomorrow, still kickin’…
Scorp out!

—
“Open-heart surgery is now part of a typical life experience for many people. Folks talk casually about ‘having a stent put in,’ as if they had their tires rotated.” – Roger Ebert

Happy Second Birthday or: Alive and Kickin’

18 Monday Apr 2016

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Salutations™!!

Every year, I go into some big long storytelling session about what happened on this day a few years back. I’m not going to do that this year. There’s archives now, either on here on this blog or on Facebook.  I’m going to try to talk briefly about it, instead.

It started in mid-February, 2012; these weird tingling sensations in my left arm. Not pain, per se, tingles. It was like if you fall asleep with your arm off the side of the bed and you Tim After Surgeryhyper-extend it around the elbow and it aches. That’s what it started as, except I was awake, up and about. It started to stand out on March 10. I was playing a memorial for an acquaintance that had recently passed away.  Moving that equipment around and exerting myself brought a little more intensity to the tingles.

I was going to Florida with 3B and The BCPF to graduate college. I told The BCPF about it for the first time. The plane ride for that was okay but the hurrying to get to the plane was rough. It was the first time, really, that it was more than tingling. It was pain, pure and simple. That intensified over the weekend, including The BCPF’s birthday. Sorry babe.

Fast forward, got checked. I had to have surgery. And I did. It was over two weeks past when all the tests were run and The BCPF was more upset about that than I was. Then it was to happen on a Tuesday. I went for pre-op on Monday, but was told that my surgery had been moved to Wednesday due to someone else needing emergency surgery. That was a bit nerve-wracking but I’d have wanted someone to give up a spot for me if I needed it. Anyway, I went to sleep around 7 or 8 Wednesday morning, April 18, and actually, fully woke up sometime Thursday, I think. That’s kind of a blur for me, you understand? They wheeled me to my room where 3B and my parents were waiting to see me. I couldn’t resist taking a selfie when I got to the room. I use this picture every time, so why not one more time?

Anywhat! I call this my “second birthday” and today is my fourth. I am glad to be here. I am thankful to all my family for their love. I am thankful to my friends for their support. I am thankful to my son for not giving me a true heart attack (I’m kidding), he’s a good kid. I am thankful to Dr. Borchelt and all the staff at Forsyth Hospital. They made everything as comfortable as they possibly could and Dr. Borchelt fixed me right. I am thankful to anyone I missed that is involved in my life. And, I am especially thankful to the love of my life, The BCPF. Without her, I’m sure I’d not be here to write this blog everyday, do the podcasts that I do, or live our life the way we do. She keeps me grounded and “in-line.” I ain’t a-skeert of saying that. I love all of you.

So happy Fourth Second Birthday to me. Okay, this was longer than I expected. I didn’t want to get all mushy like I usually do. But, I just wanted to touch on it. I apologize, but have a great day.

Until tomorrow, same blog channel…
Scorp out!

—
“Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact.” – William James

The Tell-Tale Heart or: Second Birthdays

18 Saturday Apr 2015

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Salutations™!!

I know that generally, Saturdays are the posts for The Less Desirables Movie of the Week (brought to you by a/perture Cinema). But, Dear Reader, today is an important day for me. Today is my 3rd Second Birthday.  What, pray tell, is a Second Birthday?  Well, I will tell you.

It was on April 18, 2012 that I underwent triple bypass heart surgery. I don’t remember much about the day, truthfully.  I’ll recap what I do remember but it won’t be much.  I remember having to get up and be at the hospital at 5:30. I was allowed to shower but had to use regular soap, no body washes or cologne (which is not hard for me because I’m allergic anyway), had to trim down my goatee the night before and had to take off my black O-rings (the bracelets that I always wear) and take my earrings out – I haven’t worn them since and I miss them terribly – and I had to take my Scorpio necklace off. The BCPF wore that necklace until I was sufficiently healed to wear it again.

Tim After Surgery

Showing off the new zipper

My fiance (The BCPF), my mother, my father, my sister and my brother-in-law were all there, as was my future mother-in-law. They all huddled around my temp bed until a gentleman came in to usher them all out, except for The BCPF, so that he could shave me.  They shaved everything from the neck down. I mean everything, front and back.  Even the hairs on my toes were shaved off. “That’s a lot of hair!” said the man in an actual exclamation. It was, too.  Locks of Love could have formed it together to make a wig, I think.  Then the Fam came back in and we talked for a bit before they came to get me to take me back.  I got kisses and touches and such as they all told me they loved me.

They wheeled me into the OR and started chatting me up, in an attempt to calm me, I understand. I didn’t really need calming. I was good. I knew I was in the best hands. Dr. Bret Borchelt was top doc at Forsyth Memorial and that hospital had just been voted #1 in the country, so I had the absolute best of the best. Besides, if I didn’t have the surgery done I’d probably have died not far after that anyway. Not being morbid, just being truthful.  So, the worst that could happen was probably inevitable otherwise, this had to be OK. They put the IV in me and things started getting fuzzy.  It was just a lot to take in, calm or not.  They told me to count backward from 100 and I think I remember 100. I was out quick.

I then faintly remember some more stuff from that day. I remember coming to in recovery. I was quite groggy, obviously.  I also couldn’t talk because there was a tube down my throat, I think, because my lungs had been collapsed to make room to do the surgery. I’ve always had a hard relationship with my lungs, I grew up asthmatic and breathing has always been difficult for me. Anyway, I felt to my chest and could tell there was stuff on it. I also had a catheter and, no it wasn’t fun, but really wasn’t too bad. I had a nurse, whom I want to call “Nancy,” taking great care of me. She asked if it was OK that my family came in. I nodded yes. I can’t really remember who was in there. I don’t know if I ever knew. I do know that The BCPF was and I know my mère was in there because the next part of the story has to do with her.

So, I’ve always been the comedian in the family, at least the good one. Ma mère et père both try to be funny and kind of are, in their own way. My sister, well, she tries, too. Anywhat! Mom reached over and patted me on the shoulder and said, “see baby, you really do have a heart.” And that brought laughter about the room. I motioned to “Nancy” with slow gestures for a writing utensil and a piece of paper. She brought it to me and in a stupor, I wrote on the paper, in probably very crappy handwriting, “leave the comedy to me.” Which brought more laughter.  After a bit with me, and with me fading in and out of sleep, they ushered the Fam out.

I awoke several more times and they were finally able to take the tube from my throat; I was breathing well enough on my own. “Nancy” was shocked that I knew her name. She said no one ever remembers her name.  I told her that I pay attention to everything going on around me, at least the best I can. I had heard her tell someone her name in my in- and out-fades. She was getting off duty and I thanked her for taking such good care of me.  Another nurse, a male I can’t remember much of, took her place and was able to remove the catheter. I’ll tell you, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Go figure.

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My girl taking a nap in the hospital bed after the long and hard ordeal.

Now, this whole time, I was in ICU. The BCPF tells me that it was all day and all night. They kept me in there over night. I didn’t wake up the first time until much after the surgery and the events that I described happened very sporadically and wasn’t in a small window. The next day I finally was well enough that they were putting me in my room, where I’d stay until April 22. Even that was in the afternoon (so you can see how long I was out) because 3B was out of school and he didn’t get out of school until 2:40p. He saw me being wheeled down the hall and I was so happy to see him. They had me get up and move into a chair where I took the picture I included above. I think I look surprisingly well, all things considered.

I’m going to save details about the rest of the hospital stay because it’s mostly boring. It involves The BCPF sleeping in the hospital bed because I couldn’t, she and I having our first real fight (it was my fault, I admit it), lots of people coming to see me and a lot of hobbling along the halls trying to get my laps in.  I’m glad they finally allowed The BCPF to bring me some underwear. I’m not afraid to show off my junk, but that’s when I want to show it, not just always hanging out. All in all, though, I have to really thank my family and friends.  They saw me in the hospital, they came to take care of me at home – my sister, mother and mother-in-law rotated, my friends brought me healthy foods and good wishes.  3B did anything asked of him and that’s hard for a boy of 9, seeing his dad go through this. Brian and Eugene did The Less Desirables the night of my surgery and did a fine job.  I know it was hard on them, it’s not an easy task to produce that show when you’re really not sure what you’re doing.

But, the most credit has to go to The BCPF. She really, really, really stepped up and did more than I could ever ask of her. She was hard on me but so good to me. She loved (and still loves) me more than almost anyone has ever shown. I truly owe her my life as it’s because of her that I still have one. She’s my rock, my ship on the water and my cloud in the sky; all three at once. I love her. Plain and simple.

So in conclusion of what was only meant to be a joke about my 3rd Second Birthday, I thank all of you for all your support being a friend, acquaintance, partner or just reading my blog and listening to my podcasts. If I’ve ever known you, I cherish that. I said at the beginning it wouldn’t be much but now, 1,450 words later, it was a good bit, I guess. Thanks for reading it. Now, let’s go to Record Store Day and see Led Zeppelin performed by the Winston-Salem Symphony.

Until tomorrow, same blog channel…
Scorp out!

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“We love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving.” – Frederich Nietzsche