My Open-Heart Surgery

I have wondered how I was going to start telling this part of my story, as it was and still is the most difficult hurdle I had to overcome (even more difficult than immigrating here in Canada).

Let me begin by sharing this experience, then move my way towards certain significant events I still consider as my watershed moments.

Perhaps as I work my way back, I would hopefully remember “The Beginning”.

My open-heart surgery was inevitable.

At age thirty-five, just a few weeks after I got my permanent resident card, I reluctantly made that appointment with my cardiac surgeon’s most persistent and most persuasive medical assistant.

You see, I have a heart disease called Atrium Septal Defect or ASD. I won’t try to bore you with too many medical terms. All it means is that I have a hole in the wall of the upper chambers of my heart (this is literally what it said when I searched the term on Google — bless its founders). And that I’ve known about this and have carried around this condition like it was a “normal thing” since I was seven years old and was diagnosed with it.

According to my cardiologist in the Philippines, there are two types of ASD’s of the heart. One is where the hole of the valves would stay the same or would close on its own as the patient ages. The other type, which is what I got blessed with — is where the hole of my valve grows bigger as I grow older — fun!

I remember how my father looked at me with so much concern on his face and started warning my mother to go easy on me from the time they learned of my condition. He always noticed how easily I got exhausted compared to my sister when doing physical things like playing sports or just running around playing tag with my friends, cousins, and sister.

That cardiologist gave me a life timeline. He mentioned to my parents that I would be very lucky if I would ever get to live over the age of thirty-five.

Et voila! How lucky I am indeed!

But first things first.

The thing is, when a very curious seven-year-old hears a stranger tell her that her life span was limited and mentions the number 35, she’d think, “That gives me lots of time to play!” — because that’s just how seven-year-olds think. Their main priority in life is — play.

I thought, thirty-five years in the future seemed like a loong ways away from where I was and that I had to make the best out of it!

In retrospect, perhaps this explains how “living life in the moment” began to form as my ultimate life principle. I now realize the impact that day had — not just on me but also on my family.

This is why choosing to take the least responsibility was important to me. Well, I took responsibility as best as I could. After all, I was the eldest. I had to show that I did have some semblance of self-control.

BUT at the back of my mind, I always thought — with my limited time on earth, wouldn’t choosing to have fun over anything else, make the best sense for me, before I die?

Those were my very first formative thoughts about death. I looked at life as my “deadline” (every pun intended) :D

Now I am thirty-seven. I had my surgery in the summer of 2018 — just last year — and I am alive!

My heart never felt stronger than ever. I feel like I could do anything and outrun anyone.

This makes me feel most grateful to The Almighty every morning.

And this morning, I had the luxury of allowing my chunky cat to walk over my chest scar as he finally decided to lie upside-down on top of my chest, with his back towards my left cheek, while he purred contentedly — fully knowing that he was the boss of me.

This made me happy.

The right side of my chest still stings a little bit. The nerves in my right chest just haven’t recovered as quickly as the nerves in my left. My cardiologist and his team echo this by saying that it’s just how nerves are. Some heal quicker while others take a little time to do so.

I know it sounds like everything is fine and dandy right now — which it is — but there was a time during my recovery when the only choice I had was to sleep while sitting up, as I cried myself to sleep every night because I was in so much pain.

Lying on my back just placed too much strain on my chest when I had to sit back up. Every upper-body movement I made was unbearable. My recovery made me understand how vital it was for every part of our body to be in its best shape. When one part isn’t, you begin to feel aches in other parts of your body that weren’t even there in the first place.

I had to take very strong pain relievers twice — even three times a day — because I was always in pain. Taking strong medication made me sleep a lot. But sleep happened in short spurts because I would get awakened by such searing pain. And when you only get short spurts of sleep, you get quite irritable.

I tried to write about my experience then, but even holding a pen hurt. Again, everything is connected. When you write, you put much pressure on your writing hand (whichever one it is), and obviously, the hands are connected to the chest.

Because I couldn’t write, I had nothing else to do but watch TV. Holding a book even with both arms was painful. Holding a joystick was painful. And watching too much TV with so many thoughts in your head without the means of expressing it, can drive one bonkers.

This was when I began feeling depressed.

Booking that date for my open heart surgery made things official but I always felt there was still a way out. But when I got the confirmation call and the letter from the Mazankowksi Heart Institute, it still came as a surprise to us.

I guess a part of me was still in denial about my upcoming situation and was hoping for word from my cardiac team to reschedule.

But the date was final.

On June 7th of last year, my fiance (he wasn’t my fiance back then as we only just moved in together then) and I headed to the Mazankowski Heart Institute where they had me dressed in a hospital gown and prepared me for surgery.

I remember when Stephen (my fiance) and I were told to wait by the surgical room’s waiting area. The surgical nurse finally came out to get me then said, “This is it hon”, as she rolled my hospital bed towards the surgical room, I asked her to stop. Then asked Stephen to give me a hug.

Stephen was surprised and said, “Oh babe, you’ll be back in a little bit. They’ll probably just do some more tests or something.”

I looked at him perplexed and said, “No babe, this is the part where you don’t see me for four to five hours because they’re gonna slice me open now.”

“Oh really? I thought that wasn’t for the next few hours miss?” as he looked at the nurse.

The nurse then said that my cardiac surgeon, Dr. Alkalabi, finished his previous surgery early so he had time to move this surgery to an earlier time.

As the nurse explained further, Stephen gave me a hug and watched me being rolled away towards the closed metal doors of the surgical room.

I knew we were finally inside because I heard the beeping of different machines and could sense the excitement of medical professionals waiting for me.

They quickly pulled down the metal bars of my medical bed and swiftly slid my body by holding the bedsheets underneath, towards the operating table.

In my mind all I could think of was, “Whoa, they do work as a team. This is exactly how it happens on TV and in the movies”.

When they got me on the operating table, I began to shiver. I then felt cold fingers on my arms and my legs, as they were quickly trying to find my veins. They were all talking to each other at the same time and only one person was assigned to talk to me.

“Hi Jo Anne, how are you doing?” I answered I was fine. “Well, you are such a lucky girl as Dr. Alkalabi is one of the world’s top cardiac surgeons and he’s going to be doing your surgery soon. Dr. Alkalabi also mentioned that we’re gonna need to put you to sleep soon. Have you picked a dream yet?” I said yes. The guy speaking to me sounded surprised but then continued. “Oh? And what’s your dream gonna be about?” I said. “Shoes! Of course.”

I heard a couple of laughs, including the guy who was assigned to chat with me. He then replied, “Oh cool!” I didn’t really expect a guy to have a smart retort about shoes.

By this time, I guess the team already did what they needed to do, because I didn’t feel a thing. Not a poke nor the slightest pinch. All I felt at that point was my eyelids, as they slowly fluttered heavily. I tried fighting the drowsiness away, pointlessly. My last thought before going to la-la land was — damn they’re good.

The last thing I heard from the team was, “Hi doc. We like her. She’s ballsy.”