What to Expect When You're Expecting (to have an ICD plugged into your heart)

The surgery went well, yay!

I cracked a joke about getting breast implants while the doctors were in there, but the chorus of crickets indicated it fell flat.

(Is it sanitary to have a chorus of crickets hanging around the OR? It's not like they're gonna scrub in and pass the scalpel.)

On the off chance someone interested in ICDs and CHF and bad puns stumbles across this blog looking for information, I'm going to go into a lot of detail that has little to do with the science behind it all. This is more the "What It Feels Like For A Girl getting an ICD, and has nothing to do with Madonna, but maybe I'll get a few hits from Google searches" post.

Also, I'm on Percocet.
::delighted little chuckle here::

-----------------

• Friday morning, traveled to Shands for the procedure. We had a free valet parking pass, but husband decides he'd rather park the car himself, so he knows where it is in case he needs to get something out of it. ::sigh:: Fine. But he totally dropped me off at the doors anyway.

• Wait around for "transport" to bring me a wheelchair. Felt pretty silly because the night before I had walked 2 miles on the treadmill at an incline of 3.5. But hey, hospital policy and all that. Taken to Cath Lab to fill out paperwork. Told to walk to end of the hall and go into the Cath Lab waiting area. No wheelchair this time. Cause that makes sense...?

• Very nice guy starts directing me on undressing, has to confirm the necessary steps with another nurse. Only in a hospital is there a right and wrong way to get nekkid. Ok, maybe in a porno if you aren't following the script. But still, there's a lot of time-wasting and unnecessary confusion going on in a place you really don't need that. Shouldn't they have this down by now. There's like 10 of us sickos in various states of pre and post-surgery awareness. I'm not the first catch of the day.

• Lots of questions later, someone else comes in to set up the IV. It goes in the left arm because that's the side the ICD is going in. My veins rebel and 10 minutes and lots of blood later, we have achieved success. Maybe it's not my veins. I watch them mop up IV blood twice while I'm there. These nurses? Not so good.

• Doctor comes in, says hi, gives the 28-second version of the procedure. I make faces at him, ask a few questions. He gets amused and encourages me to pee in a cup. Because I totally want to go waltzing around a room filled with a disproportionate amount of guys with my back end totally exposed. Well, not totally. After much debate, I was allowed to keep my underwear on. And I wore my favorite comfy pair. They are black. This decision will haunt me throughout my hospital stay.

• I am wheeled into the OR. Well, technically it is not the OR, it is a surgical room in the Cath Lab, but whatever. There are monitors resembling Jumbotrons at the foot of the table. The table looks like an ironing board, and is about as wide. I am positioned. And then I am strapped in. Oh yeah, they don't mention that ahead of time. They strap you down. So you don't go poking around the surgical site while they are mid-thread of the leads. Yeah, I get that. Sterile = good. But still, it's a cross between kinky and troubling, and then they go and mention cameras and seriously, you wonder if this is a scene from an upcoming torture porn flick and you don't remember signing any release forms and....

• Well, now random man #4 is painting your left shoulder and boob with iodine. Some sort of cold pads are stuck on your side and back. IVs full of delicious wake-me-not juice are hooked up. You are reminded that you will be awake but not really aware of what is going on. Yet you will be able to communicate with the docs should you need to, but you won't remember anything. Um, huh? Is this that 'twilight sleep' your mom was given when she went into labor with your sister? That would explain a lot. And a man in a cape and top hat swings a shiny coin on a chain in front of your face and tells you to count backwards....

• You wake up, look around, determine nothing requires your immediate attention and you drift back off.

• You wake up, someone is talking to you, you determine it is your husband (or random guy off the street, you can't really remember) and decide sleep is the answer to whatever question you are being asked.

• You wake up, because a couple of uncoordinated damn fools are trying to strap you into some sort of deviant device, and seriously, did you sign a waiver about this?

• You wake up, because a couple of guys are pushing you down the hall, and you feel like you are flying, it is AWESOME, this floating sensation and you may or may not giggle. A lot.

• You wake up and a group of people are sliding you off your stretcher, down a ramp, and into a bed. It is not nearly as pleasant as the flight down the hall a few minutes ago.

• You try to drift back off, but people won't shut up with the questions, so you open an eye and decide jerking them around and speaking in tongues takes too much energy. You talk, you drink some water, you realize it's been like 15 hours since you last ate, and you fall back asleep before you get any food.

• Sometime in the evening you come fully awake. There is a complicated sling wrapped around your neck and cradling your arm, and it is velcroed around your stomach. Your left side is quite achy. And itchy. Never having had a cast, you panic at the thought of never being able to scratch your elbow again. Then a tray is brought to you and you realize how hungry you are. You eat, you chat with your loved ones, you discuss the procedure and realize no one knows what went on once that magician left the room, because your husband was playing AngryBirds in the waiting room and you were doing God knows what while strapped down on an ironing board.

• And then you have to pee. The nurses told you to buzz for them because you weren't allowed to get out of bed on your own. You buzz. Nothing. You buzz again. Someone calls into your room via the little speaker on the doohickey that somehow controls the tv, the bed and your call button, wow technology is great, um yeah, gotta pee, you said to call. And 10 minutes later someone shows up. Really, helping someone pee not as important as administering meds and running for the crash cart, but it's been nearly 12 hours since you've peed and yeah, things could get messy.

• Your gown, and seriously, can you call a garment a gown when not even Cinderella and her rags would bother with it? Anyway, the sling is situated in such a way that the gown, which had to be left open and off your left shoulder, really does no more than drape your right side. You and your black undies are totally on display.

------------------

The quality of this post, such as it is, has deteriorated from the first paragraph. Seriously, I don't even know what tense I'm trying to write in. I totally switched from First Person to Second Person POV, didn't I? This is because I took some Percocet about 45 minutes ago. I think I will post this and come back later to finish up. Hospital bathrooms are seriously fucked up. Black underwear and chest xrays are not a good mix. Surgical tape that doesn't stick, sucks. And so much more!

Also, I have to pee. See how it all ties together?