A Crazy Mighty Heart

6:30 am:

Only one member in the prep area allowed with Dad. I hope my mom knows where to find me. They ushered all of us additional family members out of the small check in area and sent us to a larger waiting atrium, filled with sunlight, and even trees. I watch everyone grab seats, setting up camp for what will be a long day for many of us, I think. I hope my mom knows where to find me. We're nowhere near the small check-in area where her and dad left me. I hope I get to see my dad and say, "love ya, see ya later!!" before he goes in....

I'm nervous. Jesus. If I'm nervous, I wonder how my dad feels....

6:55 am:

Got to see Dad. My mom put up a stink and didn't want to leave Dad's side- and sent a disgruntled OR prep nurse out to come and get me. Apparently, my mom was supposed to leave so I could go in and see...but mom was not budging.

He looked so scared. They had taken his full set of dentures out in preparation for the surgery, and he looks soooo vulnerable. They put in an IV, and were working on an art-line when I came in. I met the OR nurse who will be with him the entire time, as well as the anesthesiologist. Everyone seems to be in great spirits, and this seems like a walk in the park for the entire surgical staff. It better be. Dad's blood pressure was 180/90. Poor guy is soooo scared. But he's putting on a crazy brave face. So am I.

Mom and I kiss him and say, "love you".....I refuse to say "good-bye". I choose "see ya later, have a nice nap."

10:00 am:

First update....dad doing good...although he's not on bypass yet.

12:00 pm:

Second update....everything proceeding as planned. No curve balls. He's been on-pump now for about an hour.

2:00 pm:

The families here wait for news....whenever a surgeon, doctor, nurse, or anyone in a set of scrubs walks into the atrium, you can look up and see that everyone is staring at them, hoping that they'd come their way with any info regarding how surgery went. The person in scrubs looks back at the crowd, searching for a familiar face...this happens about every two hours or so. Dad's been in surgery for what I think has been six hours already..and at ten of two, I couldn't take it anymore, and went straight to the receptionist so she could call the OR directly, and let me know what's going on.

Finally..Dad is off-pump. That's great news...that means they got the heart pumping on its own again. Way to go DAD!!!! Jeez, he sure wants to dance, doesn't he? Dad is off-pump. I remember working in the PICU, and getting post-op heart kids, and the hardest part was getting them off pump. Kinda like the heart just forgets what it needs to do for a little bit, and gets lazy. Well, not my dad. He's ready to go dancing.

OK. Just spoke with the Nurse practitioner. Everything is going smoothly, they're closing him up. He's "oozy" a little, so they're going to watch him closely for bleeding. He'll probably get a few more transfusions tonight. He did well, except for the fact that they had to graft more of the aorta then they had previously thought, from the aortic valve, to past the arteries to the brain. Originally they were only going to graft right up to the arteries to the brain. She mentioned that had he waited any longer without seeing a doctor, he would've been in pretty bad shape- say in three months.

He's going to be fine. I know it. I'm just preparing myself to see him in the ICU. He'll have leads coming out of his chest so they can quickly do whatever they need to do should his heart decide it wants to be lazy again. He'll be on a couple of pressors, like dobutamine and metoprolol. And he'll have a central line, a PIV, and an art line. And, of course, he'll still be intubated. Hopefully the next time I see him (after today), he'll be extubated. I don't want him to try to talk to me....I know he'll try. He'll point, he'll try to talk like nothing is in his airway. I know my Dad. And it will be hard for me to tell him to stop. And it will be hard for me to look at my Dad's eyes, because they're sooo expressive. And I certainly don't want to be around when they suction him. Small potatoes for what he's going through, but when they suction and he gags and chokes and sputters, I'll be in the hallway, thank you.

I can't wait till this month is over. Til Dad is back home, and playing with Ryder....til he's telling me and my freakishly tall husband about his night out dancing. Til he looks at me again without the looming fear of surgery..can't wait can't wait can't wait.....

4:00 pm:

The cardiothoracic surgeon who plays tennis with my father-in-law came by and gave us the latest....he's done!!! He's headed up to the ICU, and we should be able to see him in about an hour. "This isn't the kind of surgery anyone wants to have, but he did great. We did as much as we could do, without doing too much, because sometimes too much is just that. Too much." Eh? Ok. I'm just happy that he's doing ok right now. One little baby step at a time. He talked about cooling down Dad's body, and how they kept his brain perfused, and how his aorta was very sclerosed, with fatty particles hanging off of it, flapping in the wind like butter. Sweet baby Jesus, Dad, you're lucky.