Put a fork in it 2014. We are done!

Well dear beloved readers, the big fat first anniversary is upon us. I've been thinking about penning a quick update and look back as some have kindly inquired how are you feeeeeeling??

Poured myself a nice Willamette Valley red and settled in to type up my answer for you. But behold! What is this?  Lucky! Lucky me! I found a fully composed post from January in my drafts folder. Just waiting patiently. Why didn't I send it back then? I was looking for pics to embed, but I was also concerned I was wandering down Poor Me Avenue.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. (Groan.) So reading it back, I like the post a lot more now and and the content remains super current and strangely, quite factual, regardless of being written six months ago. So read on ...

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I am so over 2014. In the last days of the year, I kept repeating to myself: I just want this year to be over.  Which I thought was strange. Why was this mantra bubbling up? Oh that's right. There was a hideous speed bump that made me smear my lipstick and dump coffee all over my white shirt. In reality, I didn't mind having surgery. With the whole orchestra assembled, I rather liked the symphony we wrote together. But I am done.

How am I? Good. Fine. Well. Happy. No seriously. True story.

I've got a few microscopic issues in the big picture.* I am dealing.** No worries.  It's really my team at work who reminds me most often, ya know Annie you've only just had like, heart surgery. I am not kidding when I state, it has slipped my mind totally. Let's rinse and repeat: it has slipped my mind totally the vast majority of the time.

Weird. I know.

*  LB'S. As in pounds. As in, our community took such good care of us and delivered deserts. Like the Madagascar animated movie sings: You've got to move it, move it! You've got to move it, move it! I feel like I am trying to kick start a vintage car in the winter. Come on baby! I've gotten a lot of kind comments to the effect of A) you look great or B) you don't need to worry/be concerned with that. Two answers A) gained 10lbs since the surgery. Not healthy. B) yes I do. I did not just do all this for not. I literally can't fit into most of my size 10 stuff. I am now trolling my larger 10's or searching in vain for any size 12's we didn't throw out. (Note to Amber: we did to good of a job weeding out the wardrobe. (Aug15 Update > No more trying to fit size 10 and went ahead and purchased new size 12. She quietly weeps. She really does on the inside.)

** Getting my blood checked weekly. Yes, still. the test is checking the thickness of my blood per the meds I am onI take off early Monday's or Thursdays because of the ultra convenient lab hours of Monday (or Thursday) 10-11 or 3-4. The annoying part isn't even the prick. Its the fact that my blood levels we check with said test are not leveling off. Usually folks advance to monthly labs after 6 weeks, then quarterly. I am well beyond this 6 week mark. They tell me its about consistency. As in what I eat and drink. We all know that isn't my strong suit. I am still up/down/left/right/now-go-side-to-side (in your electric side voice).  The folks I talk to to at that drs office are well, not into the concept of customer delight. (Aug2015 Update > Yep. Still testing. This part totally sucks ballz.)

"refuse to sink" get well bracelet
wise words

There are deeper feelings that are too big to process. For example, this statement: Our family has a lot to be grateful for in 2014. Hardy har har. As in, mega understatement. I literally can't process the gift of good health I've rewarded myself with.

When we saw friends over the holidaze, it occurred to me how I must appear. No detectable changes except slightly rounded, sparkling personality intact. You might see my pink scar peak-a-boo you over the lip of a shirt. You likely won't. So you wouldn't know. So if you randomly see me and I'm like, it ain't no thang man. I do honestly feel that way. All I keep coming back to is how cool advanced medicine is. Diamond Dave and the team all told me how routine this was, and they were right. It's just I had so much more at stake going in which heightened the drama vs the average grandpa or grandma late life repair.

my absolute fav bill, evah

But yes. Totally slipped my mind otherwise. Fun things like invoices keep showing up to remind me this topic will be around in 2015.

I had promised at some point a look back at the actual experience. I did want to record it for myself so I did not forget. Memories. But they are already fluttering away to be locked inside and not dealt with. I have some pics to look back on, Tom's posts from the hospital and my before and after blogs.

Circa August 2014. I cobbled this collage from the hospital room together as it paints the picture of my memories for that fateful week. I was stuck in a room for 6-ish days. Not much to see. That TV remote was evvvvverything dah'lings. By the end of the week I was in my own jammies/slippers, sitting in a chair with my feet up. But apparently I was high and taking selfies within two days of being out of surgery. Oh Annie. Enjoy the look back.

point of view as patient from the hospital bed 

Back in the Saddle @okcorral

Returned to the OK Corral in early October. Hence maybe why I went dark on you. 

Many o comments to ease back into it. Or just delay and keeping lounging. It being work, life, et al. Lest my husband knows me well. He knew when I needed a nudge, push or kick in the pants. One of the reasons I married him. He was - shall we say supportive - that I get back to work sooner than later.

The Intern. At Work. 

So in the ETERNAL words of RuPaul: You gotta wrrrrrrk!!! 

Many a friend asked me how work was being about the whole shindig. In a word, Amazeballs. But I knew that was going to be the case. When I went on maternity leave with Nelson, the impression on return was a great big hug. And the return was : Big Hug, The Sequel.

I am quite aware most workplaces don't feel this way. And quite frankly,  ever day ain't like that. It's called work for a reason, right? But when u step back and say 30% of a day is at work; and the most important ingredient is WHO you work with, when there. Do we fight for what we believe in like cats and dogs from staffing to comma placement and line breaks to image choices? You bet. Passionate and creative. Do we fight over stoopid Shit too? You bet. That's like family. That's why the hugs feel so good.

First two weeks back were just lots of big love. Just mellow chit chat, catch up. Energy level high. Chest nerve pain present but manageable and then subsided. I was so happy. Next few weeks, folks realize you are back. Start to ask questions like you have answers.  Oh hardy har har. Getting tired easily. Running off of stored up reserves of rest. And then by Halloween week even Tsunami Tommy admitted I had officially over did it. Oops. At least he was paying attention. 

The Intern. At Rest.

Then the reality sets in. You stepped off your super highway and now you are merely an observer on the shoulder watching it pass by. How did you do that before? Do you want to step back on the conveyer belt? The Ah-Ha from a couple posts previous stays as-is. As in, same A Train, same values. But keep our lifestyle choices the same? Not so sure.  Example: getting out the door "on time" in the morning or dashing to get your kids for pick up = stress. Then I heard this quote which clicked it together: it's not work life balance. It's life balance. Good one, eh? 

And then I realized I am being a bit hard on myself. I actually thought of you, my beloved, devoted readers. You'd seriously remind me I had heart surgery four months ago. The concept of getting my blood tested weekly and tweaking meds and my diet weekly is having a small eroding effect so I can't fully move forward. I thought I was supposed to be recovered by month three. Oops again.  

 

Girl Talk. Boys Beware!

Boys beware of this post. Read on at your on risk. Spoiler Alert ---> Topic: Scarification.

Oh yes, I am going there.

There is a pretty rad and long scar down the center of my cleavage. Let's get real. I know my breast cancer warriors out there are feeling me. I am pumping my fist like I am at a rave in the 90s with heavy bass right now. Let's go. Let's talk about it. The Ta-Ta's. The Grrrrls. The Cleave. Tits. Breastages.

My absolute favorite pre-op comment came the day before the surgery from Brit sass Laura who reacted to my very intentional pre photo stating simply: cracking tit shot! I agree thank you. I am a woman who is (was?) blessed in this area. And we're here to talk about today if this is past statement or a present day statement. Am I still blessed on top?

I can imagine the breast cancer survivor and other surgical veteran friends and family have dealt - and dealing with - far far more difficult infractions on their bodies, minds and souls. So on my best days, I look at this new friend on me as a rad momento, compared to the journeys of others. And on the other days this is how my mind unfolds...

Post-op, my husband has told me it really isn't too bad. Some agreement. I have heard a lot this (scar) will fade to white. Fine. Fine. Fine. Right now, turning a little bit more pink/red than what was in this post op pic. Lots o remedies on topical ointments and creams to start slathering to get it to fade faster. Ok. Ok. Ok.  In the mean time, Scar-ie and I are looking at each other day by day. This bitch goes from peaking out the top of my shirts to the bottom of my cleave. So it is far from a full "zipper." (Full Zipper = Neck to belly button.)  No staples. Just was glued together. (When Julie Robert's said in the latest September InStyle she holds her life together with a little spit and glue, I can now relate.) The cherry on top, is the chest tube scar no one bothered to mention to me, is one inch below where the cleave scar ends.

I have not changed my wardrobe to cover it up. I've seen folks looking between the open buttons of my blouses to little kids fully staring. Mainly adult's eyes flutter down and this look up reassuring or bashfully because they realize they are being watched just as much as they are watching me. It is completely natural to be distracted by something that does not appear to be correct in your habitat. I have no blame or shame or shade for any lookers, glancers or starers. It used to be tho, they stared b/c my tits and/or cleavage were magical magnets of sudection. Yes they were.

Previously, I kept them covered the vast majority of the time. This new ditty is just popping out. I asked the hubs (husband) what he thought. In classic form, without missing a beat, he shot back that I need to say: what are you lookin' at? Eyes up! (In a semi-DeNiro inflection of tone or semi-Pacino Midnight Cowboy tone a la, hey I'm walking' here! ) He is right. Granted I am guilty participant of this new oversharing culture. This blog is evidence numero uno. But this is slightly differebt as its eyes on, face to face, right. So, no show here, keep walking.

My lingering hanging Chad comes from easing back into wearing undergarments, Over the shoulder bolder holders, brazier (sp?), aka Bras. The rib cage in front, directly under the left tit, feels like we have some nerve damage or nerve pinch or muscle tear. Of course this is exactly where the bra hugs the girlfriends. 40+ = you do not go without proper support because your two kids already sucked the life out of said tissue masses. I imagine you can easily look like a National geographic feature quickly if you shrug at proper support at this stage of life. Cami's "shelf bra" has never been suficent support but I've certainly tried it lately. Doesn't do much or even Comanodo to relieve the issue.

So, what's this crunchy gal gonna do? Started with an acupuncturist as Dr's just shrug and say they don't know what it is or how to help. Just part of the healing process. On one hand i say, my ass; that is a non answer. On the other, i take this as there had to be some type of jab at me consciously, to remind me I had open heart surgery 7 weeks ago. Lest I get too comfortable. Return to normality too quick.  No no no. Don't do that, damnit.

Alrighty then. I think I've exhausted this topic. Ta Ta for now!

 

A Ha. Not the band.

There are no huge a-ha moments of this experience, e.g. I need to exercise more, I need to spend more time with the kids, this is my wake up call, life is too precious, you only live once, focus on the happy, blah blah blah. I am proud there are no a-ha moments. Instead of a single epiphany, this journey is serving as confirmation that fuels me with confidence. Confirmation that my path is good, and all that informs it is good, as-is.

Like wow. I love that and this feeling. No major shake ups needed. Continue to follow my instincts. If anything they have crystalized my goals. It was the push to say, yep, that voice inside is right and push away doubt, push away noise.

Side note. Being 40+ rocks. I finally found peace after years of intense insecurity. The last few years I've been looking at how I was subconsciously unhappy. Pretty stunning stuff to navel gaze about, when time permits.

And for those who are like oh no, now she will really be impossible; now she is more emboldened than ever. I say this to you: Eat it. Or: Suck it. Your preference.

This concludes your Oprah moment today. That is all.

All Pozzie Baby

Annie is looking around the doctor's exam room, "Is there a clock in here?"  "Ah, no." Dr. Kim response with a laugh,"That's your heart!" Patient shrugs shoulders and sighs out loud. 

And that was the extent of negativity at my six week follow up visit yesterday. It was all pozzie, baby! (Pozzie is Libby's newest word; slang for positive. This is the same woman who also gave you poopalacha; slang for negative. But I digress.)

The headline is that I won't be going back till next year. ONE YEAR. As in scram kid, don't wanna hear from ya. Fine, fine, fine with me. Some of my favorite quotes/moments from the appointment:

"Isn't that beautiful?" Surgeon reference to my EKG. 

"You look so great." 

"Oh, that's so nice. I showered today. And brushed my hair."

But by the 5th to 10th mention of "you look so great," I just am beaming proudly at their gushing. 

"You'll be graduating to the normal echo lab now. You are no longer a congenital patient."

Meaning the defect I was born with, is now gone baby gone.

"Its so quiet in there now. Wow." Cardiologist reference to my heart beat through a stethoscope. "It used to be SO loud. All the blood through that tiny hole." 

My own experience in the echo lab shook me. I was laying quietly on my side and the stereo speakers of the ultrasound machine blasted my heartbeat against the walls. My new heartbeat. Listening to it the first time. Made me wanna cry. No. Don't cry. Getting teary eyed all over again now. It's just so beautiful. It's no longer LUB DUB SWISH. LUB DUB SWISH. (Swish was the regurgitation of blood flowing backwards through the valve b/c the flaps didn't close properly aka leaky valve.) It's simply, LUB DUB. LUB DUB. LUB DUB. It's so clean. It's so quiet. It was one of the best moments of my life. 

I waited till I was in the elevator, finally on the bottom floor of the parking lot, by myself and just cried. The tears were quiet too. There have been surprising very little tears on the whole journey since we boarded this train. There were plenty of fearful tears on the platform, back in Feb/March but come September, this was joy.  

Obviously the whole experience made an impression. And to top it off? The echo tech Karen I just met reminded me of my Mom. She shows herself in the most unusual and unexpected places and spaces. Petite 100lb 5' 3" short gray pixie cut with glasses. Had leukemia and successful bone marrow transplant six years ago. Alas Karen was merely missing yelping in Polish, shaking her finger in my face and massive gap in-between the middle teeth. 

Perelman Center for Advance Medicine

This monstrosity of glass, of offices of advanced medicine, that I take pride my dollars must have helped fund, will not see me till these leaves fall and regrow and turn color again. That hospital across the street that has seen me four times in seven years, may never see me again. I bid farewell to my surgeon, "Don't take offence, but I hope we don't meet ever again. But thanks for the jewelry." I bid goodbye to my cardiologist, "Don't take this the wrong way, but see ya next year." To Diamond Dave, nurse practitioner par excellence, liaison of all things medical, tightrope walker of doctor egos and deft, witty deliveries, "I only hope to bump into you at Trader Joe's again."

There are things over the coming months & years to keep an eye on. My heart has had been masking this the defect by tweaking its architecture and flow over the last decades. Blood pressure is elevated again and we'll just redirect w/ new meds. The enlarged aorta mention to my husband and dad right after the surgery is not large.  Normal progression of extra pressure. Its within normal limits of size and not expect to maintain growing abnormally. "I would have fixed it while I was in there (if it needed it; but it didn't. Chillax)." The thickening of the ventricle walls is expected to subside in time - renormalize - but that will take a year or two. 

Done and done. But this blog is not. Stay tuned for more gory details! 

Update from the Dog Days of Recovery

The A Train All Start Team is all those folks who were our caregivers over the last month and change. Last week, the last one departed. We are now back to the Saylor Fam unit. This means so many things.

Each person who left said I was better than when they first arrived. Luckily, each person was able to step down their care a notch based on what the previous person did and progress I was making to participate.

Dog Days of Recovery Mascot
Name: Take a Load Off Annie

Alas, Tom has lost the live in nanny service. He goes back to being chief dishwasher, bather, grocery shopper and launder mat.

I started driving short distances. That freedom is nice. (In case you see me on the mean streets of Wallingford, note I am ginger on turning the wheel hard so steer clear of this Rouge in tight quarters.)

Having the quiet and time on my hands to chill alone is nice. Restorative to my health in another needed way. I hadn't been on my own since the first week I took off from work back in August. Filling my time? Not a problem!

1. Neighborhood walks - up to 45mins, 4x/week. Thy legs work well. Feels tremendous to be out in this weather and trail walks are even more fun than the 'burb walks. Use It. Or Lose It. 
2. Television - watching indie movies, Jimmy Fallon day left overs and two PBS series: Roosevelts and African Amer history by Skip Gates. Might binge on Blacklist, Downton, Girls or Sherlock but likely not enough tiiiime.
3. Adding in mommy chores. Waking @ 7a, making lunches & serving dinner for the fam. (Bless the folks who are delivering our dinners, such a god send not to prep or have that kitchen mess daily to deal with.)  This weekend we added a little minor grocery shopping & dishwasher loading. Next week I hope to add laundry. My theory is that I'll be finishing ramping up and ship shaping the home front when I go back into active work duty (vs trying to add back the old routine, as a whole) 
4. Blood tests 2x/week. The lab in my doc's office is conveniently open daily 10-11:15a and  3-4:15p. On average, I've waited 20 mins to be called up, after check in. Quest type lab isn't worth the drive; Trust. I've done the logistics analysis. 

The Prophet TSS noted if I could just get sleep, I'd turn the corner. The Prophet TSS delivery is down right hard to stomach sometimes with out sugar coating or syrup. I have a sweet tooth hankering to be catered to. (Calling my husband a "Prophet" points out that he is right. A lot. And me no like that. Especially his long term assessments/discussion points can be very correct. Damn. Him.) So when I buck and say, oh no no no, there is so much more to it than simply starting to sleep normal. You don't know how this feels, dude, yada yada. Wouldn't you know it? When I do start only waking up 3 times instead of 11 per night, mama bear turns the corner.

So that leads us to this Thursday's 6 week post op appointment. Its a biggie. Follow up w/ surgeon, echo test (ultrasound) and cardiologist. I was last seen in the office 2 weeks post op and my home nurse twice a week. Some nerves but overall def feel we are well down the right road and won't be redirected or get a new brief. I want my brief updated to remove the "Sternum restrictions" … this is where I still cannot push, pull, or carry more than 10lbs aka no more than a gallon of milk.

I still feel "it" when I do certain movements or move a bit more gingerly in some scenarios. It = sitting down or getting up from a deep chair, moving clothes in the closet to the side. So not too bad. On the other end of the spectrum, sneezing is beyond the simple word "painful" but it is something only momentarily stabbing (and normal). So we shall see.

And last note … this time warp continuum I am stuck in. Feels like I have been home f o r e v e r. Surgery feels so long ago. Like wow long. But it wasn't. At all. Literally a blink of the eye, if we were in our normal routine.

Joules Wired for WiFi

Sung to the tune of How much is that doggie in the window…. How much is that carbon in the window? Woof! Woof! Woof!

Meaning, how much does my new mechanical carbon valve cost? We've been watching the insurance claims come in and scanning for how much the actual new jewelry cost. Let alone physicians fee v hospital fees or every single itemization. IE Itemization down to the every IV, shot, black comb or post-op bra - both hospital issued, of course. (Oh that's right. Post-op hospital issued bra. Of course it is exactly as you imagine sitting there with your scrunched up face. The most scratchy uncomfortable thing you could think to place on your skin.)

Point being, everything is itemized like the Pentagon. I remember a Phil Donohue episode (!) where they itemized items for the military made by/for the Pentagon. A hammer was crazy over the cost of buying it in the store. Of course I accept the fact this is how medicine in this country is billed, because otherwise I'd be crazy right now. Like in need of serious sedation.

Jewlery. That reference came from my quick witted brother. He has nicked named me Joules and I love it. Meaning my new carbon valve is my new jewelry.

And another little know fact is that I am now wired for wifi on the inside. No need to carry a silly wireless card with you anymore, as long as I am around. They wire your sternum shut and it doesn't dissolve. It stays. They look like twist ties. Will not be setting off any airport sensors etc. I've seen the X-ray. The valve looks like a ring. Ya'll know I've slowly incorporated more rings into my accessorizing, so this just fits.

Mind you, I haven't looked closely at the X-ray … I dare only gaze across the room b/c it kinda freaks me out. I do think its worth a pic and sharing eventually because it is a gross cool. At least thats what I am telling my self about that type of stuff which is the category my scar falls into too. Or the stitches on the incision that are internal, but coming out externally and supposedly falling off. It sincerely looks like an alien thing is coming out of me. But it's just thread. This last one is more gross than cool.

Another jewelry related item will be the medical bracelet I will now need to where to hereby declare I am a bionic woman on blood thinners. Yes a bit over the top to where a bracelet i.e. maybe not really needed -- per my logic, maybe 1 in a 1MM I'd ever need this where I couldn't speak for myself. But with two young kids, they deserve it; to have this treated seriously. Besides, I found some cute stuff online and engraved it with some funny business. It will be here in another few weeks.

And finally the click clack. Oh, we can hear it. You can too, if you get close enough to me. Its the open/close, open/close of the valve flaps. The second day I was home, out of the hum of the hospital, I called Tom over and was like, can you hear this? He leans down, listens for a nano second and pops up. "Whoa dude." So it sounds like a ticking of a watch. And most bizarre … like the sound of my mom's timex watch. Yes, my dead mother's watch. Insert Twilight Zone musak.  I still have this watch as one of a few keepsakes. I don't wear it, I just look at it sometimes. "Bizarre" is obviously an understatement. The docs warned us you could hear the click clack afterwords. Hence part of the reason I named this site address tick tock click clack. We joked around I'd be coming down the hall at work and without seeing me, hey hey, here comes Annie! But its real. And I hear it. Nelson can also hear it and says mommy has a clock inside. (FYI, I have already grown tired of the Alligator in Peter Pan references aka it's not cute.)  I hope it doesn't drive me batty.

Someone told me my subconscious will absorb it eventually and I will cease to hear it. And you know me … always to be one looking ahead … this can be one of the coolest party tricks of ALL time.

Yep. That's it. No shit.