I Start To Pick Up The Threads Again

I Start To Pick Up The Threads Again

The most official thing that affected me since having the operation, was not being able to drive. Apart from the DVLA forbidding people to drive for six weeks after such an operation, I certainly did not feel confident to get behind the wheel until I was certain my breast bone had healed completely - I didn't want any emergency stop situation to have an impact on my sternum! - but two months later, I felt pretty secure in my progress. 

And there was my Nissan Note sitting on the drive way, just waiting for me to take her for a spin, so when Wendy said, "Come on! Let's go round the block!" I was ready to go.

It felt a bit strange, having a) not driven for a while, and b) not been out of the house much, anyway! but as I slid into the driver's seat, it was great to feel the steering wheel under my hands; I adjusted the mirrors, checked everything was fine, inserted the key and switched on the ignition. She started at once and sat there, gently purring, until I put her into gear and nosed out into the road. 

I was so pleased to feel everything was just progressing naturally, and exactly as it had always been. I'm a careful driver anyway,  and make sure my attention is constantly focussed on the road - Wendy, who has professional driver status, says she likes travelling as a passenger with me behind the wheel, so you can't get a much better compliment than that. 

Since then, I've had a longer trip out to Curry's, the electrical showroom, to have a look at double ovens. My current top oven, which also houses the grill, packed up three weeks ago, and it is so old, it's not worth even trying to repair it: It needs mending with a new one. 

One the way home, I followed this up by a very safe, socially-distanced and out-of-doors visit to one of our lovely relatives; it was just great to feel well and strong and full of beans, to be able to do so much in one day, without feeling weary or as though I had overdone things!

Whilst I was still in the hospital recovering from the operation, one of the physiotherapists gave me a little device called an incentive spirometer; this has a tube attached that I had to use as I breathed in as deeply as I possibly could, to see how much air I could get into my lungs. It took me a couple of goes to get the hang of it (I had also tried breathing out into the tube, and wondered why it wasn't working?!) but as that was only 48 hours after the op, and I could hardly expand my chest at all (this is very hard to do, when you have a sternum fastened together by wires, and that has only just started to heal!) I got up to just 500 ml. This is the first number listed at the bottom of the tube, and clearly not very much at all. 

The physiotherapist told me not to worry - things would improve with time! - but to keep persevering. The top number listed on the device was 5000; she said that was probably for men, who have a much larger lung capacity than most women, anyway. 

This practice was also hampered by the pleural effusion, but still I carried on and, in spite of the difficulties, I could get up to about 1500 at the maximum.

Now, after my sojourn with the lovely folk who relieved me of 1.5 litres of fluid via the drain, I regularly reach 2500. My next goal is 3000; I'm getting there!

Singing is still a big daily feature - I never knew I'd be able to sing so much, so consistently, and for so long, after what is still a relatively short time after the operation. I have more energy, and I am having wonderful telephone conversations with friends both in England and abroad, writing letters, firing off e-mails (happy ones, not belligerent complaints!) and writing more poetry. 

There are also further plans afoot for when the virus restrictions ease a little more, although we will never overstep the mark, and continue to be cautious and take care of ourselves. There is no real prospect for travel to Europe at the moment - and probably not until next year, at the earliest, because Wendy cannot risk being in the position of having not only the days of her holiday off from work, but also perhaps a further 10 days of isolation on our return. That would make things impossible for her, but it will be so good if and when we can make gentle trips further afield in England. 

A day trip would be nice! Watch this space!

I Get My Second Pfizer Vaccination

I Get My Second Pfizer Vaccination

With everything that had been going on with a) the operation, b) atrial fibrillation problem, and c) the pleural effusion, I began to worry that my second vaccination would take place outside the recommended timescale, and therefore too late to be effective; I might have to start all over again. 

I'd had the first dose in January, with the second one scheduled for 10 April, but then I received an e-mail saying the date was being brought forward, by a couple of weeks or so. Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to get it all sorted out earlier, but as I was feeling quite unwell, I wrote to ask if it could be postponed until after I had been in hospital and the pleural effusion had been drained? I said I hoped to be back up and running again by 15 April, thus giving me 48 hours' recovery time. I could not fault the swift response I received from the vaccination team; there was a named person sending me the information, and my appointment had been rearranged for 15 April instead. 

Unfortunately, as I've written in an earlier post, the procedure far more stressful than I had ever expected, so back I went to the vaccination team to tell them how I was, and it was heart-warming to get a very sympathetic, personal response. Again, it was from a named member of the team; he said he was so sorry to hear I was still not well, and if I could let him have some dates when I could return for dose Number 2, he would fit in with me!

I was really impressed by this attitude. After discussing good dates with Wendy, and when she would be able to drive me up to the hospital, I wrote again with the list and, within 24 hours, I had a reply booking me in at a very convenient time on 1 May. I was also assured I was still well within the time limit for the second dose, so it was all systems go!

After this, everything went beautifully. I began to feel very much better, and by 1 May, was more than ready for an outing to London.

The traffic was reasonably light, we got brilliant parking in the underground car park at the hospital; I was hale and hearty climbing up the stairs to ground level, and then walking "round the houses" to the large marquee where they were using the Pfizer vaccine. It really was that simple; I walked in, the nurse on the desk had my details and said, "Please go to booth 4," and two minutes later I was sitting down, taking off my jacket! 

Wendy and I are both quite needle-phobic, and I had slathered on plenty of Emla cream before leaving home; I removed the plastic cover from the cream on my arm, and a minute or so later, I was all done and protected, not having felt a thing. 

We still had to sit in the waiting area by the exit for 15 minutes, to make sure I had no adverse reactions; chatting to Wendy meant 20 minutes passed in a flash! and then it was back to the car and we drove home. Even allowing time to find a ladies' loo to spend a penny before we set off, we took less than an hour for the whole thing - and on our way back to the car park, we also took the opportunity to look at a couple of dresses in one of the shops in the hospital concourse. There was hardly anyone else about, and we were fully masked and, as Wendy said, it was the first time we had looked at a dress shop in over a year!

Back home, I suffered very little reaction; my arm was a bit sore, and I didn't do any arm-flinging exercises for 48 hours - but what a relief to have joined the ranks of the fully vaccinated. 

Roll on the booster, later in the year!

 

A Post-Procedure Stress Attack!

A Post-Procedure Stress Attack!

Getting home after what had, after all, been a successful - if stressful - day, I thought it would be all plain sailing from then on; I hadn't realised how much the worry, fear and actual pain and discomfort would affect me.

We had a great run home; I was happy, with the words of "Steel Rails" echoing in my head, and the good wishes of everyone at the hospital still ringing in my ears. Once in, I went and checked my e-mails, looked at the post, and generally felt I was back, safe and sound. I certainly felt tired, but after a while I was up for tea and something light to eat; I remembered I'd had only half an omelette at lunchtime and, whilst that had been very nice, it was a very long time ago, and the situation I had found myself in at that time was seriously uncomfortable.

It came as a bit of a shock when later in the evening, I started to feel awfully sick and tearful, and very shaky. 

Ginger is supposed to be a pretty good remedy against feeling sick, so I had a mug of tea and a couple of ginger biscuits, and got out medicine my GP had prescribed for me a few days earlier, as a precautionary measure against nausea. I read the leaflet first, to check the precautions and contra indications, and to my dismay, I realised it was probably not a good idea to take it when I was also being prescribed Bisoprolol. 

Maybe it was the thought that I had no recourse to a medicine to stop me feeling sick, or maybe just a build-up of what I'd been through, but I felt really awful: tearful, in pain - and helpless! 

Then I thought, "Just do something. Ring the late-night pharmacist and ask for advice." 

And that was, at last, the best thing I could have done. The pharmacist listened to my sorry tale of woe - all about the insertion of the drain, followed by enduring nearly 5 hours of discomfort, and now - although the drain was out, and I was back home, I still felt so sick and distressed, and I didn't know if I could even take the medicine my GP had prescribed for me to stop the nausea... It was a rather long cry for help and advice! but the pharmacist was patience personified and started off by reassuring me.

He said, if I really needed to take a dose of the anti-nausea medicine, I could. He was just so sympathetic, and so practical, and whilst I was turning this way and that, feeling rotten, he was offering me a way out of all that: simple rest, and give my body a chance to heal and recover. More importantly, he felt it would not take long. He felt I was tired, exhausted and upset, and had been through such a lot today, I was suffering from an overload of stress, so the best thing would be a complete rest and I would probably feel very much better in the morning.

Just hearing common sense advice like that put me back on an even keel. In the end, I didn't risk the anti-nausea medicine; I splashed my face and brushed my teeth, and went to bed. I had no idea how much sleep I would get, but the wonderful thing was, without all that fluid to keep me awake during the night, I slept well. 

And the pharmacist was right; come the morning, I felt much better, although it took a few more days to really get back to normal. I also had to cancel the second vaccination dose I had been booked in for on 15 April - I still felt too unwell to travel into London for that! - and I was also on a course of antibiotics, and had to finish that first. 

I e-mailed my Consultant to tell him I'd had 1.5 litres of fluid drained off, and I received an almost immediate reply, to say that that was great! and that I would begin to feel very much better; and he was right. 

Having been deprived of a decent night's sleep for some time, it was wonderful to sleep well, and then wake up, feeling refreshed. 

Draining Of Fluid Under Ultrasound

Draining Of Pleural Fluid Under Ultrasound 

It won't come as a surprise to anyone reading this blog, that after all I'd been through with the open-heart surgery - especially as my chest had to be opened for a second time just 6 hours after the first operation, and I ended up being anaesthetised for 24 hours, and having a transfusion of 6 units of blood; followed by another 5 days in a different hospital - taken there by ambulance as an emergency, with sirens and the blue lights flashing! - to get the atrial fibrillation settled, the thought of yet another complication did not thrill me one bit. And yet ... and yet ... in a funny sort of way, feeling so ill and not being able to breathe properly, and suffering from a severe lack of sleep, it was also a relief to know the fluid was going to be drained. 

I was really nervous about the whole thing. Everyone assured me it wasn't much worse than having a cannula fitted in a vein in my arm (even though it would be a bit bigger!), and once it was in, the  pressure would cause the fluid to start draining, and I'd soon begin to feel better. I didn't know how long it would take, either, because I didn't know how much fluid was in there in the first place.

Just when I could have done with a few half-decent nights' sleep to prepare me, and give me strength for the procedure, the preceding Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights were hard to get through. The troublesome cough carried on being troublesome, but I held on to the fact that having the fluid drained was very necessary, and I would soon be back home. 

I'd been told a nurse would be with me all the time, and that I'd be well taken care of; and to that extent, I did actually relax a bit and went in to the hospital at 9.00 a.m., feeling positive - and my favourite word since all this began in February, "RESILIENCE"!! ringing loud in my ears.

From the first moment when I arrived at the hospital, I was really impressed by the way everyone bothered with me. From all the porters - there was one who took me up to my room; another escorted me to the theatre for the procedure and, later that afternoon, when I was able to go home, another chap took me downstairs - everyone was unfailingly kind and friendly. I met another man who completed the forms for my admission; he was very thorough, but still had time to chat and take my mind of things. He was followed by the phlebotomist who fitted a cannula, and yet another very sweet lady persuaded me to think about considering something to eat at lunchtime. She suggested an omelette, but I was very dubious; I like omelettes to be very well done, all the way through - no runny interiors for me! She said, "We will make it exactly as you would like it," so I put my name down for that.

Then there was my lovely personal nurse, who held my hand throughout. When I went to the theatre to have the drain inserted, I met the Consultant and his assistant, and they put me at my ease. He took so much time and care to explain everything he was going to do; he admitted he could not guarantee it would be pain free, but would do his best to make it as easy as possible for me. He also waited whilst his assistant smothered my back in Emla cream, the topical anaesthetic I'd taken in with me, so I wouldn't feel the local anaesthetic he had to inject; finally, after about 20 minutes, when the Emla cream had taken effect, we got started.

It was certainly not pleasant, but with everyone's help, I got through it; my nurse kept hold of my hand and talked to me, and it was reassuring to be kept informed how things were going! 

Then I thought, if I sang, it would take my mind off what was happening, so I burst into Falling In Love Again - first in German, then in English - but oh, yes, the fitting of the drain was painful. First, a needle goes in; I coped with that, but that is followed by a wire, and then the tube follows that. I certainly felt the wire - and it was weird, because I hardly ever swear! but I let out an involuntary "Bloody hell!"  That's the worst I come out with, but then followed the tube, and I really felt that in spades - eliciting another "Bloody hell!" from me.

My nurse kept hold of my hand and carried on talking to me - I'd stopped singing by then! - and then came the great news that the drain was in the right place and the fluid was flowing. I remember thinking, Thank goodness! 

The Consultant said it was really looking good; the drain would stay in for four and a half hours. He instructed my nurse to remove it at 4.00 p.m. after which I would have an x-ray, and if everything was alright, I could go home. 

Back in my room, I stayed in bed for a while, but it was impossible to get comfy. Every movement hurt, and I felt every breath I took in was painful; I tried distraction with a bit of t.v., but nothing really worked. 

One nurse suggested a good cup of tea might help, and I did enjoy that, with a biscuit! and so the hours passed; my lovely nurse was in and out, seeing how I was, and reassuring me. Another nurse suggested I might feel better sitting in the chair, and I was happy to try anything that might ease things a bit! The nurses piled pillows around me, which meant I could wriggle around more freely to get a comfier position; and it did help.

Then the lady who earlier had taken the order for my lunch popped in to see me, to encourage me to have something to eat; with all her enthusiasm, I felt it would have been impolite to refuse! and of course she was right. I might not have felt much like eating, but when my lunch arrived, cooked to perfection - well done all the way through and golden brown both sides - exactly how I would have made it at home, I tucked in to it, and managed to eat half of a very large omelette!  

The last couple of hours with the drain in place were the hardest. Even though I could see it was all working well, and I could check how much fluid was draining out - at one point, after a litre had been collected, the container was emptied, to make room for the rest, after which another half-litre came through - there were times when I became quite distressed. Phone calls home helped; Wendy was at work, but she kept ringing me when she was on a tea break and at lunch, and Al kept up a regular "check in" system and gave me telephonic pep talks, but I was never so pleased when at last my nurse came in and said she would be removing the drain in a few minutes!

The removal - eagerly anticipated as it was - was something else I had been dreading, but she did it so professionally, it didn’t hurt. She just said, "Take a deep breath in!" and as I did that, so the drain was out! For several minutes, she held a pad firmly but gently in place over the area, and then covered and protected the wound with a dressing; it went like clockwork. She reminded to keep the area dry for 24 hours or so, and warned me I'd have a bruise for a few days, but I was expecting that.

Then it was off to the X-ray department, where the fresh image requested by the Consultant was taken,  then it was back to my room for a little while, until he had viewed it, and confirmed all was well for me to go home. 

Of course I immediately rang Bob, to tell him the good news - but, to my delight, Hospital staff had already told him I'd be free to go, and he was already well on his way to the Hospital to collect me. Everything dovetailed beautifully. I got dressed in my own clothes and taken in a wheelchair down to the foyer. 

The porter doing the honours of getting me downstairs said he knew I sang, and told me how much the young lady on the reception desk loved Country and Western music; he asked if I'd be willing to sing  something for her before I left the hospital?

I said I would love to do that! and once we reached the reception area, I saw Bob had also arrived and was waiting for me. The young lady on duty confirmed her favourite music was Country and Western, and she was genuinely keen to hear one of our songs, so Bob joined me in a quick burst of "Steel Rails." It all went down so well, and with music ringing in my ears, I was soon back in the car and on the way home.

 

Out of all the people I met during this stressful day, it would be really difficult to pick just one person for a special mention, because everyone I came into contact with, or who looked after me, was unfailingly kind and friendly. A week or so later, when I was recovered and feeling very much better, I wrote to the Director of the Hospital, saying how impressed I had been with the treatment I'd received. I hope I don't have to have a repeat procedure but, if I do, with everyone's help, I know I'll get through it.

 

Wendy Celebrates Her Birthday

Wendy Celebrates Her Birthday

With all the arrangements having been made leading up my appointment to have the pleural fluid drained on 13 April, Wendy also took me to the hospital for blood tests and swabs to be taken. This last test was on 10 April - also Wendy's special day! and I wanted to make her birthday as good as she had made mine. 

I got up very early on the Saturday morning, so that I could start to decorate her birthday cake and take my time over it - I was so pleased it all went well! I used writing icing for the message and I drew a pussy cat and stars on the top; finally, I added some multi-coloured and "Happy Birthday" candles arranged all round the edge. 

When it came to the time to bring in the cake with the candles aflame, we sang Happy Birthday, and then we also lit a firework candle (Wendy had got a pack of three of these, and I'd already had one on my birthday) which fizzed beautifully. Wendy was also very chuffed with the cat!

The group photo taken on Wendy's special day also shows what a difference the time between my birthday on 28 March, and Wendy's birthday on 10 April, has made - in spite of the problems I still had with the pleural effusion, I think I'm looking a great deal better 13 days on! 

Yes, I know the Christmas tree is still up! There has been a lot going on over the past three months, and in a funny sort of way, it's rather nice to have its cheerful presence still decorating the room. Just in case anyone is in any doubt that we are actually celebrating Wendy's birthday, Wendy draped a Happy Birthday serviette over one of the branches. 

I Get An Appointment

 I Get An Appointment 

Two days after my unsuccessful trip to A&E, on 28 March I celebrated my birthday - three quarters of a century! 75! Who would have thought the years could fly so fast! I've already published a short piece about the lovely birthday I had, and how so many people got in touch either by phone, or by mail and e-mail; Wendy decorated a beautiful cake for me, and my birthday celebrations went on for 48 hours. 

For a short while, the "troublesome cough" gave me a little respite, which was also a blessing; but over the next week, the problem got progressively worse, with the cough waking me up 3 or more times a night. Each time it woke me up, I had to get up and sing and try to clear it enough so that I could settle down again for a little more sleep, but some nights I managed only 3 hours' shuteye. Obviously the fluid needed to be drained as fast as possible, so I made enquiries about which hospital could do it most quickly for me.  

The timing was complicated by the Easter holidays, but I found that our brilliant local private hospital, where I have been many times before, does indeed perform drainage of pleural effusion under ultrasound, and they were able to make an appointment for me on 13 April, when the procedure would take place. All the arrangements went like clockwork; I would go in as a day case, but before that, I had an appointment on 9 April for blood tests, and another on 10 April, for swabs to be taken, to make sure I was free of the virus. 

I knew the effusion problem was getting worse all the time, and I was in for a rocky and uncomfortable few days until 13 April. I was also very nervous about the procedure, but it had to be done, and I was very relieved to have a date when it could be sorted out.  

Pleural Effusion Starts To Be Troublesome

Pleural Effusion Starts To Be Troublesome

I suppose I was hoping that after the problems I'd had after the first operation, which needed my chest to be opened again to stem the bleeding from the right mammary artery, followed by the bout of Atrial Fibrillation, I might by now be on the home straight! but it was not to be, and I had another - not uncommon problem after open-heart surgery - complication to deal with.  

I started coughing on a regular basis - but it was not like a usual cough, where you could feel something in your lungs, that would come on up (although - horror! - I cannot actually bring anything up when I've suffered from a cough) after a bout of coughing. This sort of stayed put, still making me feel awful and as though I must try and dislodge whatever was irritating me; a dry, hacking, but "non-productive" cough. 

It would abate for a while, and then start up at any time - it seemed anything could start me off. I could be sitting on the sofa, and clearly my chest was not happy in this position, and I would be really gasping. The only thing that seemed to help would be to start singing - any really good, lower register songs were best, because after a while it felt as though I could "get underneath" whatever was down there, and shift it around a bit, and then I could breathe better.

I decided to request another x-ray to see how things were going, and so on 24 March, I got an appointment with a private GP who arranged for me to have an x-ray that same day, along with a set of blood tests. Two days later, on Friday, 26 March, I rang up to get the results; I spoke to the GP, hoping for good news.

The first thing I was told was that my blood test results were fine, and my haemoglobin had gone up to 12, which was now back in the normal range; I thought, "Hurrah! I'm making good progress!" But then I asked about the x-ray results, and that was when I came back down to earth with a bang.

The report on the pleural effusion was not good; there was a lot of fluid, especially on my right lung, and it was really serious; the GP felt I should probably go to A&E.

I guess I had expected as much, but it was a setback, and something else to get my head around. 

Until I developed pleural effusion, I had never heard of it, but of course now I know it is fluid lying around the lungs - not actually inside them - so you cannot ever get rid of it by coughing. I was on a reasonably high dose of diuretics, to try and eliminate it that way, but it clearly the medication wasn't working, or certainly not fast enough to alleviate the problem, and I was now coughing and spluttering enough - and worried enough - to follow the GP's advice. I rang 111 - I didn't call 999, because obviously it wasn't as dramatic as the evening when I developed the AF -  but I certainly felt I needed help.

I got through to a controller, who took the details, and said a GP would call me back. I got a call very quickly, from a really sympathetic and helpful doctor, who said I really should not wait, but go to A&E, and he would send an ambulance for me. 

I was reassured so far, and got myself prepared, so that I would be ready to go as soon as the ambulance arrived, but a short while later, another man rang me from another control area, to say the A&E Department would be expecting me, but did I really need transporting by ambulance to the Hospital? Well, it really wasn't necessary, as Wendy could take me in the car, so that was decided upon. As I was expecting a long haul in the hospital, and probably being kept in, Wendy made me some marmalade sandwiches and I took toothpaste, toothbrush and tissues and water as well, so I was well prepared. 

To begin with, everything went well. Wendy took me to the Hospital, and Bob came in with me. In the foyer of the Hospital, there was a booth with a nurse in it, where I had to check in; my name was on the list and I was given a yellow card (no, this isn't a football match penalty!) and told to go through to A&E. I felt it was a case of so far, so good, and that I was certainly on the way to seeing someone who could help me.

Then, alas, the wait started. To begin with, we ended up in a small waiting room, filled with hopeful patients - social distancing was very difficult, if not impossible to maintain, and then one poor elderly chap came in, who could not stop coughing; not knowing what he might have wrong with him, made for a very unnerving situation for everyone else. Eventually, after 3 hours, I was seen by a nurse who did an ECG and fitted a cannula - I know he did his best, but he finally got it in to a vein above the bone leading from my left thumb, and every time I moved a bit, I could jolly well feel it. I know other nurses haven't had a problem finding a vein on my left arm, but this was extremely uncomfortable; anyway, I went along with it,  and tried not to move too much.

Then we sat and waited; and waited. I was told I had to wait at Majors B (I think!) to see a Doctor. After another hour, I simply could not bear sitting in the waiting room for a moment longer so, along with lots of other patients, we moved in to the corridor, where we sat, strung out like a long row of sausages, along its length.  There were people constantly walking up and down: staff, other patients, all sorts of people, and in view of the risks of the virus, it was really worrying.

After we'd been there for 5 hours, and there was still no indication when I might see a doctor, I rang Wendy to told her what was happening. By now, it was 10.00 p.m. and I was very weary. I was coughing, my back was giving me gyp, and I was longing to just lie down.

Wendy had the brilliant idea to e-mail my consultant, and let him know where I was and what was happening. To our amazement - and being very impressed - he e-mailed Wendy straight back, asking her for  my mobile phone number; as soon as he had it, he then rang me in the hospital. 

His instructions were very clear and very direct. He was not happy with me staying where I was, and said I should go home, and we'd make arrangements for me to have to the plural effusion drained elsewhere. He said he could do it himself, if necessary, but to avoid further risks with the virus, it was agreed I'd now go home, and we would sort out treatment at a better venue.

Then I had to find someone to discharge me - and remove the cannula! I was lucky enough to find the nurse who had fitted it for me, and he took us "round the back" to see the Sister in Charge; she was really kind and helpful, and I didn't have to wait long before the cannula was out, and she assured us we were good to go. 

Wendy came straight back to the hospital to collect us; we had one moment of hilarity, because during the brief phone call to say I was being discharged and could go home, and please could she come and collect us, we told her my consultant had said he would drain the fluid for me if necessary, and she thought we meant right now, this evening! So, as we went out of the hospital, Wendy turned left, ready to drive to the hospital where I had had the operation! 

It was but a moment to put Wendy right, and round she went at the next roundabout, and then to home. I have never been so glad to get back - even with the troublesome cough, being able to settle into my own bed, in safety, was such a blessing.