Week That Went Whoosh...

 It's rarely a slow week around here, and this last one had all of the excitement I really wanted to avoid.  And some nice moments.

After last weekend's away time, we got home last Sunday, 10/17, and Monday I spent most of the day recovering.  Which was probably a good thing.

My typical night-time bedtime routine is fairly standard.  I have medication which I take before coming down to the bedroom, where I toss in a pair of benadryl to keep my nose from getting too stuffy, and most nights, I'll add a pair of generic Tylenol which usually kick in just about the time my brain decides to focus on my aches and pains, and I'm out like a light.  

Thus was where I was when my wife shook me awake last Monday evening at 10:30 or so.  "I don't feel good.  Let's go to the ER."  

Now, for those of you who have not spent the last 31 years in constant daily contact with She Who Must Be Obeyed, the nickname "Iron Lady" is far more appropriate to her than to Margaret Thatcher.  Oh, sure, Thatcher won a few elections, but my wife didn't need those.  In general, she has something of a skewed pain tolerance.  I suspect it started when she was young, when she slipped under her father's riding lawn mower which took a chunk of muscle out of her calf.  

In other words, the woman has asked me exactly four times thus far to take her to the hospital.  The first time was a full 6 hours early on an October morning which saw us become parents for the first time.  The second time was a much colder November morning, preceding one of the snowiest weeks I remember, where we went to a two-child family.  The third time was when she was diagnosed with pancreatitis.  As she informed me last week, of the top 100 most painful things, according to an on-line survey she had found, Pancreatitis exceeded childbirth and was in the top ten of overall most painful experiences.  

And last Monday night was #4.  When she came back up from the Lake Superior shore line when we were visiting a roadside rest, park, and nature center, her heart started to race.  This condition continued from that point until Tuesday morning.  But I'm ahead of the story.

We walked into a fairly full emergency room waiting room Monday evening.  And she said "This wait won't be long for us."  I wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, because I figured we were likely to be there for a few hours before things got sorted, but she was exactly right.  We first had to acquire and put on some paper masks because, you know, there's a bit of a pandemic thing going about, and then we were directed to another desk where the nurse behind it asked what brought us in to the ER on a Monday night near a full moon.

Rather than let me say "insanity" my wife started explaining her symptoms.  The nurse took the information and then instructed us to find a seat as she would be organizing the information and figuring out where we fit in the waiting list.  We looked around the room, I found a block of about six empty seats with no disturbing people near them, and guided her to that corner.  I believe I had managed to seat myself, look over at the vending machines, and realize I had no cash when her name was called.  We rather quickly were guided to an examination room where they started asking the usual questions.  What is it, how do you feel, how long has this gone on, etc.  

And she was right.  As she explained in the car ride to the hospital, patients who have concerns about their heart function are typically escalated above others in the ER.  I suppose it may be because the golden hour between onset of symptoms and, well, the first sixty minutes was what might make the difference between life and death.  Fortunately for us, we weren't near that critical a cutoff point, but the nurses made it plain they were concerned.  After the initial consultation and evaluation, we were moved to another small room where a young fellow came in and placed small electrode contacts on her stomach, upper chest, back, and lower legs.  With nearly a dozen points of contact on her, they must have seen something that was definitely worrisome, because in about five minutes we went from that small exam room to an emergency room "suite" - a room about 15 x 15 feet square with a large glass wall which included a sliding glass door and a single one of one of the most uncomfortable chairs ever built.  Obviously, the comfort and care of the symptomatic individual is far more a focus than the bystander who happens to be groggy AND worried...

But she was quickly reconnected to monitors which allowed us to see her heart rate and blood pressure, among other bits of information.  And I could see what she was trying to explain.  After years of TV Medical dramas, I've seen what the EKG should look like - provided it's not flat - and this one was most definitely not near normal.  It was not flat, but it was ... rather squiggly.  

And then the diagnosis started flying past us.  Her heart had entered a state of "arhythmia."  Or, as one of the doctors described it, the heart is a muscle with four chambers separated into the upper controller and the lower pump.  The upper part initiates things, while the lower part does most of the work.  And in her case, the upper part was - and I swear to you, this was the doctor's exact statement, lacking only the hand motions that described it - her upper heart was behaving like "a bag of worms, and the bottom isn't getting clear signals."  

Yeah.  Like that.  So, to both my surprise and a little horrified interest, they began infusing a medication into her by IV.  The medication was one of a number of tools which they had to permit them to attempt to correct her heart, first by slowing the rate down from over 150 beats per minute to a more regular "under a hundred" goal, and then work on synchronization.  I did ask, as my father experienced something a little more worrisome back in 1988 or so called "ventricular standstill."  I was concerned that they might need to implant a pacemaker or an internal defibrillator to control her heart.  The doctor said that was not a likely outcome.  If her heart did not respond to the infused medication, they would shock it back to rhythm.  That brought the inevitable images of the two "paddles" being covered with gel, rubbed together, and applied to my wife's chest with the physical jolt.

Except, as the doctor continued to describe, this would be a much more controlled and leisurely conducted procedure, where they would sedate her and also introduce into her esophagus a camera to monitor her heart.  Now, my most recent experience with the study of human internal systems ended after 7th grade - I was fed up - but I was pretty sure that the esophagus was part of both the digestive and respiratory system, whereas the heart was part of the circulatory system, and while they passed near one another and did tend to work together to keep a body functional, I was at a total loss as to how you could see the heart from the esophagus.

As the doctor explained it, the camera in the esophagus would permit them to confirm what they were doing was having the desired effect.  Given that there are modern pills (which do tend to be a bit larger than even the largest fish oil pill I take on a daily basis) are completely self-contained cameras and transmitters which can show the entire trip from top to bottom through a digestive system - which brings me back to the old movie "Fantastic Voyage" - but this wasn't quite that.  Or so I was told.  But again, I'm ahead of myself.

We landed in the ER Suite on around 11:45 pm, and the doctors and nurses were in and out until 4:30.  It was during that time we learned that, should it be necessary, there was no open bed in the hospital's ICU.  Every bed was filled.  Not just in our suburban hospital, but in the entire state.  We learned this because one of her nurses shared with us that there was a patient "down the hall" who needed an ICU bed, and would not be leaving the ER until they found one.  

And then, we saw an ambulance crew from the county north of us bring in a patient on a gurney.  Now, I'm no ER expert, but I should think that if a patient is going to be removed from their home county to another one, it might be because that destination target one has a better hospital.  But when some of the better hospitals in the country are about an hour to our southeast, in the Mayo Clinic, some of the best hospitals in the state are in the county north of us.  

But they were full, too.  

So we watched the ebb and flow of people in and out of the ER treatment areas until the doctors decided that the issue was not going to be quickly resolved, she would have to be admitted, and thrilled as they were I was there, once she left the ER, I fell under normal hospital operating procedures like, oh, hey, visiting hours - which weren't scheduled to start for some 3 1/2 hours.  Or in other words just about exactly the same time my vacation was scheduled to end and I should be punching in.  But I have a very understanding employer and supervisor.  I texted her at 4:30 am, letting her know I would be in late, because my wife was hospitalized.  And I went home and fell into bed for all of about 5 hours.  

I then got up, got cleaned up, and headed to the hospital, where I ran into the reality of hospital visitation in the time of a pandemic.  My wife was permitted exactly one visitor per day.  That individual could come and go as they wished, but only between 8:30 am and 8 pm.  And I was the one.  I got to her room, and discovered that she'd been removed to the "Cardiac lab" where they were at that moment re-synchronizing her heart.  And of course, this delicate procedure did not require some goon like me to supervise.  So I came home and went back to work for a couple of hours.  

After exchanging a few more text messages, I finished my work day and headed back to the hospital and got the blow-by-blow details, and the good news.  Her heart had behaved itself, returned to a normal rhythm, she needed to pick a dinner from the cardiac menu (I hadn't had breakfast, lunch, or dinner at that point), and she would probably be going home on Wednesday - which would be our 31st Wedding Anniversary.  A perfectly wonderful gift.  

So the next morning, after some unspecific direction, I was told point blank "Are you coming to get me?  I can leave any time."  Oh, I did not get that from the "the hospitalist is on the floor, will be here at some point to send me home."  So I punched out, brought her home, and went back to work.

And she was back to near normal.  Along with a fully synchronized heart, she was also bringing home two new medications, some restrictions on wine and caffeine consumption for the next few weeks, and a few attaboys from her new doctors.  And she had me considering upgrading my own "health monitoring" stuff.  For example, going from finger-stick monitoring of my blood glucose to a stick-on CGM - Continuous Glucose Monitor - which would communicate my blood glucose every 5 minutes to a "smart device" - which one presumes would be my phone.  Which means I will most likely be looking for a new phone which includes either a great deal of storage or removable storage.  One suspects that's gone like a dodo, but it is what it is.  And yeah, much as I do not want one, a "smart watch" might be in my future, as it assisted her doctors in tracking the point of change, and allows her to continue to monitor her progess. 

So it seems likely I will soon be supervised and irritated by a couple of medical-grade devices I buy on my own.  Lovely.  In the middle of a pandemic and world-wide supply chain disruption.  So I'll be waiting to see what comes of it.  But after all of that excitement, the week literally ended with much more of a whimper, sliding into the "oh, hey, it's payday - but we have to pay rent out of this check in 13 days."  My least-favorite activity.  But thankfully She Who Must Be Obeyed has done a fantastic job of resurrecting our finances from the wreckage I'd made of them, and we're damned close to having our financial heads above water all month long.  So I'll take that as a gigantic positive, and keep swinging for the fences.

And getting ready for winter, as we had our first "light" frost this past Friday morning.  So I have hoses to drain, coil up, and store for the winter, along with a great deal of outdoor furniture which I am hoping I will not have to store in the garage, but in the storage locker we already have.  So we got that going for us so far, and we'll see how it all works out.

And I hope you have a peaceful, restful weekend.  Next weekend is likely to be busy with the wee beasties extorting candy, and then there's the dreaded holiday season.  I'm no longer in retail, but I guess I'm getting right down to the old "bah humbug" as the holidays blast over us.  I do like Thanksgiving, because my wife makes an absolutely wonderful turkey and all of the fixings.  Then we roll into Christmas which was always a big deal for my mother, who spent most of the year making more ornaments for the tree.  I'm no where near as talented as she was, so I'm always popping off ideas, but not much else.  We'll see how this year goes, because I have, over the past few months, acquired a few new ornaments.  There's the copper loon ornament we got at the Renaissance Festival this year, and we also picked up two small ornaments - an ore boat and a miniature light house - from our trip up north.  

So we have that.  Now if we only had a place to put a nice big tree and fill it with lights and ornaments.  Oh, but those are likely to be expensive, as well, so we'll see what we see when we see it.

Stay well, stay safe, stay healthy, and get your vaccine boosters.  We're not going to go back to "normal" - we're going to find a new normal.  Let's hope all of the folks who don't get the vaccine and the upgrade to 5G and have to settle for deworming themselves and breeding new variants can shuffle off to ... well, let's let them colonize Venus.  I should think that if they're willing to volunteer to permit a deadly disease to run rampant within their bodies, they may also be thrilled to colonize a planet with an atmosphere which could cook any diseases - or life in general - right out of their bodies.  

Seems a fair trade.  And if things go the way I expect they could if we try that plan, maybe we can let the nutjob warmongers launch a planet-load of nukes towards Venus when the fetid cesspit of germs they leave behind rises in function and coordination to pass for a quasi-intelligent being of some sort, hell-bent on returning to their former home and exacting revenge.  There's a lovely plot for another dystopian future sci-fi epic I'll never write, either.

Stay well.