THIS IS THE THING

So my husband did a thing. A rather BIG thing. A thing where a surgeon opened up his chest, reached INSIDE with his surgeon hand and stopped his heart. A thing where two arteries and one vein were grafted to the “still” heart. It was not a fun thing, but a necessary thing and an amazing thing.

Thank god for the thing.

The thing began with the pronouncement of some chest pain. My husband said, “let’s wait a bit”. I said, “we are going NOWWWWWWW!!“ So off to the ER and one EKG, one blood test, one CT scan, one angiogram later and he was off and running, well wheeling, to the operating room for the three-way.

Luckily the hospital allowed visitors, which was a little disconcerting due to THE PANDEMIC, but I wasn’t about to nitpick. On the other hand, I did manage to stir things up with some finger pointing.

Before I regale you with my bad-mouthing tale of a singular RN, I must declare my utmost respect, appreciation and absolute vote of confidence to the amazing nurses who cared for my husband. They were extraordinary.

Nevertheless, my snitching on one of their own was, as far as I was concerned, vitally important.

If you’ve ever been privy to the paraphernalia that one is hooked up to in the ICU, then you are acquainted with all of the components inserted, plugged in and turned on. It is a head-scratching and motley entanglement of tubing that carefully needs to be maneuvered… or more likely outmaneuvered …in order to get from bed to chair and then from chair to bed. And unlike the choreographic brilliance of a ‘Florence Nightingale’, this one inept birdbrained ‘Flo Loon’ in particular was all fingers and thumbs and two left feet.

With much unease we watched as she tripped over and got entwined in the chaos. As a bonus, while fiddling around with the high flow oxygen nose thingy, and turning it this way and that, she asked my husband how to insert the thing. She hit up her patient for proper placement intelligence. And when I realized, due to her blunders, that the oxygen flow was not a-flowing – you better believe I went all ‘Terms of Endearment’. No two ways about it, that clumsy-careless-good-for-nothing caregiver needed to take a hike. You do not mess with my guy.

After some days in ICU (with nimble Nightingales) and a few more on 11 East (with even more remarkable RN’s)… my at-home nursing skills were put to the test. And by nursing skills I mean robing and disrobing, pillow fluffing, masseuse-ing, three square meals, replenishing of liquids, administering pharmaceuticals, taking of blood pressure, towel pat downs post shower …  and my favorite, and newly acquired skill– COMPRESSION SOCKS.

If you’ve never experienced the act of tugging on these shrunken knee-high stockings, trust me when I say that the physical force needed to pull these suckers up ones legs is a real struggle. The first time, while I unsuccessfully tried pinching and grasping at the unyielding material, my daughter finally shooed me away and with great concentration and a lot of sweat managed to get ‘em on and up his legs. It was intense.

The next morning I was on my own, waging the tug of war, when halfway through the skirmish I removed my top. This was not titillating topless entertainment for my husband, but rather the result of my blood, sweat and tears. Mostly sweat. Okay – and a few tears.

When the home health (the real deal) nurse arrived to draw blood, I captivated her with my tales of the socks. I must say I was damn proud of my stick-to-itivness and resulting handiwork. However, while giving them the once-over, she informed us that they were incorrectly slipped on, which was a very dicey thing, as the areas where the material had gathered during the day had literally created little TOURNIQUETS(a bad, bad thing). So I lodged a complaint against myself for self-indulgent boasting and cruel stocking-stuffer-suffering.

Disregarding my momentary slip of the sock, I must admit I was quite proud of my patting down efforts after showering. In anticipation of, and with great concern for my hubby’s chilly departure from the hose-down, I tossed two towels in the dryer. Preheated, they make for a toasty pat down and, one can assume, eligible for some sort of best wife award. Or at the very least… a round of applause.

And as the resident go getter I may have created a situation … and the need to rein it in. If I was to be the designated “get me such and such” person I had to lay down one simple rule – no more than two requests at a time. I am happy to say he successfully yielded to my wishes. And I performed my duties with a jubilant, blissful, peppy, mostly pleasant, good enough demeanor. I was tiiiiiiiired.

We are just past three months since the thing happened. And our daughters have been loving, supportive and our rocks from both near and far. And that is a H U G E thing.

The operation was a majorly big thing.

IT WAS A LIFESAVING THING.

It was a scary thing.

It’s a thing he is thankfully recovering beautifully from thanks to the super-duper surgeon.

WHAT A THING HE DID!

And one final thing...

While helping my husband slip on and off his clothes… and the above mentioned rub down… I was eye-to-penis (that thing) more than I can remember. And I am sure my husband appreciates me telling you this thing.

You are doing great honey.

AND THAT’S THE BIGGEST, BESTEST, MOST EXCELLENT, NUMBER 1, GRADE A, INVALUABLE, KICKASS, MAJORLY MAGNIFICENT PART OF THE WHOLE THING!!!!!

 … and I am beyond grateful.