The heart surgery I’ve been anticipating is no longer an abstract “someday.” It’s now got a date and a name. A place, a surgeon. A schedule.
I could have done it as early as next week but I’ve got a lot of things to take care of. Taxes to file, bills to schedule, maybe a few stories to write. I need to settle my brain because I’m not in a good place. Much too scared to think straight.
I’m not so much afraid of dying, though that is certainly a possibility. There’s nothing minor about this set of procedures. Septal myectomy and mitral valve repair, with a cardiac catheterization before the surgeries, just for fun. I really do know how to have a good time.
Starting March 5th, I’ll be in at Beth Israel in Brooklline. First in the ICCU, then the regular cardiac ward for a week or two. Then back home for at least 10 to 12 weeks. No cardiac rehab because I can’t afford it. There’s a $50 per day deductible and essentially, no one I know can afford it. The hospitals and surgeons are well aware of this and don’t require rehab. So I’ll go home.
Assuming the surgery goes well and there are no complications, I should be able to write fairly soon after I’m home. It won’t mean I’m recovered, only that writing is the one thing I can (usually) do even when I’m not exactly up to snuff.
There’s a little more than a month and I hope it’s a good month. I hope all goes well and this surgery that scares the bejeezus out of me will ultimately improve my life. I live — simultaneously — in hope and fear.
Life is like that.