CONSCIOUSNESS

 

 

You know, of course, that I woke up (I am, after all, writing to tell you this story). Despite my expressed request to have my EndoTracheal Tube removed before I opened my eyes, it WAS still in my throat. My first thought was, “Okay, when was I ever listened to”, but, nearly simultaneously, someone must’ve seen my eyes flutter. A flurry of activity began while I, with (thankfully) prior training as a singer, focused on both breathing deep and slow, and concentrating on opening, widening my throat. Realizing there was daylight coming from a source to my left, I smiled as broadly as I could…

…I’d been right about one thing, for sure: Instead of waking up a few hours after surgery, I’d had a turbulent time, recovering from the anesthesia, and so, here I was, clearly the NEXT day, rebirthing into the world.

I heard a voice acknowledge my dimpled grin; moments later, out came the tube. I remember thinking it looked like an opaque, corrugated drinking straw, not nearly as wide and bulky as I’d feared. After it was removed, I was offered a tiny sip of water, then urged to say SOMETHING, to talk, if I possibly could.

I closed my eyes, smiled with, this time, my lips completely but gently together. After what seemed like an uncharacteristic eternity to me, I finally uttered,

“Oh my, I wish I had something more profound to say”.

That moment redefined Consciousness for me. We so take for granted the syllabic flurry we utter, rapid-fire, at times. I wonder if, truly, we all aren’t ACTUALLY TERRIFIED of REALLY BEING HEARD?

I didn’t need to say much more; I wasn’t out of danger yet. My heart was in a state commonly referred to as “A-Fib” aka Atrial Fibrillation, where the heart beats fast and irregularly. With an external, temporary pacemaker attached, I didn’t question I was safe; but I DID have a job to do. I needed to keep as calm as I could, use every self-soothing technique I could access, in order to calm my heart down, so it could heal from IT’S TRAUMA, and both it and I could get used to the Bovine valve now in me…

I called her “Elsie”, after the cow on the label of Borden Milk cartons distributed in public schools when I was a child. Within 24 hours, I believe, I managed to retrieve my IPad from Security, and even post on social media that, perhaps, friends should call me “Elsie” too.

I asked for one other comfort item that, 10 months later, is never far from me still: A red velour blanket, bought for a mere $9.99 at my local grocery store. It felt soft yet light, when nothing else would, and remains so beautiful, I still can’t get enough of it.

Everything became important those days in the hospital. Emotionally not YET awake or aware, sensual stimuli sustained my basic functioning, especially as the AFib continued. Inside me, it simply felt like mania or being hyped up on caffeine, hence I didn’t realize the danger I was in. Finally, a frustrated nurse restricted me to my room, stopping me from wandering the halls, telling me my heart rate was over 220 beats per minute.

THAT logically registered with me, to the point that, when the Cardiothoracic surgeon came to check on me, I begged him to apologize to my nurse. Thankfully, he laughed it off, telling me he’d explained to the staff that I was fighting for my life.

That remark eased my combativeness; I was alive, and my body was surviving even my own curmudgeonliness. This, I thought, was a very good sign; as a result, AFib ended three days after surgery, and I was moved to a StepDown Unit, and allowed visitors.

Born on Valentines’ Day, I actually ABHOR bouquets of flowers; knowing this, I asked online friends to send books and DVDs instead. Local, longtime friend Diane had agreed to fetch packages and other mail from my post office box, but, timing being what it is, found herself facing a personal emotional roller coaster. With my emotions still missing, I didn’t understand why I hadn’t heard from her, quickly after surgery; when I finally felt a pang of anger and frustration, I learned her brother had died of cancer. Despite longtime mentor Vicki bringing me a fancy teapot and cup and Stephanie, a stuffed animal to cuddle, I really didn’t wake up emotionally until Diane finally arrived. In the two or three months prior, she’d gone from having double knee replacement surgery AND her first grandchild, to losing a sibling she treasured. Empathy overwhelmed me, words failed me…

My body couldn’t handle it, and my emotions shut down again. Later, I would discover this flatness was the reason I lost Bonnie, the Buddhist gal who’d taken me to my surgery. A body can handle only so much, and I’ve no doubt the onslaught of a myriad of emotions was too much for mine to handle, in the initial weeks.

As I write this, it’s 10 months later; Bonnie disconnected sometime within the first two weeks of my Post-Operative recovery. Diane has tried to comfort me, telling me I honestly sailed through it all, very well.

There would be other losses to come; I tried, determined ahead of time to regard them as Prunings. I knew much of Life as I knew it before my valve was replaced would not serve a healthy life, going forward.

A cut is a cut, though, and, like injections, they’re meant to do us good, yet hurt. I would like not to cry, grieve them, but I do still at times, and ache, remember them still.