The evening before the hospital tests, I feel a bit apprehensive. A vision of myself as a sick person looms in my imagination. I don't want to think of myself as an invalid. I decide to do some singing practice. The swelling in my heart has tightened my breathing, and I've had a bit of a cough, which my doctor thinks is connected with my heart condition. But it seems to have improved a bit with the medication. I start on some vocal exercises and find that when I make a big effort I can breathe deeply and my voice comes out quite well. It makes me feel powerful and in control, whereas in hospital you have no choices and are subject to the control of others.
Next morning, my daughter takes me to the hospital at the crack of dawn. I'm not allowed to eat anything or even have a drink of water. I am escorted to the day clinic. A nurse, Anna, bounces over and inquires "Hello, are you a patient?" She sets me up in a bed and she and her colleagues Adrian and Marty attend to all the preliminaries.
They call the first test a TOE (trans-oesophageal echocardiogram). The doctor sprays an evil-tasting anaesthetic into the back of my throat. Then they bundle me over onto my left side and help me to swallow a mobile-phone charger (at least, that's what it feels like).
The second test is a coronary angiogram. A tube is inserted into the artery in my groin and snakes its way to my heart, where it releases its cargo of dye to illustrate the interesting bits. An action-replay of the video reveals that my arteries are clean and healthy, with no narrowing. There is a lot of "back-wash" of blood through the valve, but there is a chance that it might be repaired rather than replaced. This would mean I would not need to take Warfarin (blood thinning medication) for the rest of my life.
I can see the surgeon tomorrow. He will advise me of my likely fate.
Back in the recovery room, I eat a pumpkin scone with strawberry jam and a ham salad sandwich (in that order). I phone my mother and let her know the good news from the tests. I ask the doctor if it would be OK to sing in the meantime. He says "If you can breathe, yes, go right ahead." I text my singing teacher "Put me on the program for next week's concert, pls!"
My son collects me from hospital and for the rest of the afternoon I watch videos, including Diana Krall in Rio. Bill phones to say he has spoken to the cardiologist. He sounds much happier now that he has first-hand information.
One way or another I will be fixed.
Video from the concert
Next morning, my daughter takes me to the hospital at the crack of dawn. I'm not allowed to eat anything or even have a drink of water. I am escorted to the day clinic. A nurse, Anna, bounces over and inquires "Hello, are you a patient?" She sets me up in a bed and she and her colleagues Adrian and Marty attend to all the preliminaries.
They call the first test a TOE (trans-oesophageal echocardiogram). The doctor sprays an evil-tasting anaesthetic into the back of my throat. Then they bundle me over onto my left side and help me to swallow a mobile-phone charger (at least, that's what it feels like).
The second test is a coronary angiogram. A tube is inserted into the artery in my groin and snakes its way to my heart, where it releases its cargo of dye to illustrate the interesting bits. An action-replay of the video reveals that my arteries are clean and healthy, with no narrowing. There is a lot of "back-wash" of blood through the valve, but there is a chance that it might be repaired rather than replaced. This would mean I would not need to take Warfarin (blood thinning medication) for the rest of my life.
I can see the surgeon tomorrow. He will advise me of my likely fate.
Back in the recovery room, I eat a pumpkin scone with strawberry jam and a ham salad sandwich (in that order). I phone my mother and let her know the good news from the tests. I ask the doctor if it would be OK to sing in the meantime. He says "If you can breathe, yes, go right ahead." I text my singing teacher "Put me on the program for next week's concert, pls!"
My son collects me from hospital and for the rest of the afternoon I watch videos, including Diana Krall in Rio. Bill phones to say he has spoken to the cardiologist. He sounds much happier now that he has first-hand information.
One way or another I will be fixed.
Video from the concert
No comments:
Post a Comment