Eleven months after my vision loss my husband went into congestive heart failure, the cause of which was an attack on his heart by an unknown virus. I suppose that quantifying terror is similar to pregnancy – you either are or you aren’t – but our terror was exacerbated by the reeling we were still doing from me no longer being able to see properly. There were discussions about the need for a heart transplant. Yup, a transplant. He ended up not needing one; the combination of medication, diet and exercise has left him healthy with no restrictions. We are infinitely grateful every single day.
Though a new heart was not required an internal defibrillator was. For seven months Mister Rain fought the idea, instead wearing a Zoll Cardiac Life Vest 24/7, taking it off only to shower. Looking similar to a flak jacket a police officer would wear, it is a device worn by individuals at risk of sudden cardiac death. It continuously monitors the heart, if it stops beating the device will first sound an alarm and vibrate, then deliver a shock to restore a normal rhythm. The shock is delivered through electrodes embedded in the vest. Sometimes at night the alarm would go off when he rolled over but he was always able to turn it off quickly. Had he not, a voice would instruct me to “STAND BACK!” so that I as not also impacted by the impact.
Finally coming to terms with surgically implanting a Biotronik ICD (Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator) into his chest, it was implanted in May of 2014. At the time of the procedure softball season had just begun and my husband wanted to get back with his team as soon as possible. Given that he throws with his left arm, his cardiologist said they could put the defibrillator on the right side as opposed to the usual left. Because he does not have issues with his heart rhythm, the pacemaker functionality of the device is turned off. The unit is there for one reason and one reason only. To save his life.
As with all of the devices we carry with us externally these days, its 10 year battery life had run down after 11 years. We knew this was coming, the device is monitored nightly via a transponder on his nightstand as well as at his annual ICD checks. And now it was time.
Our friend, Wayne, took us to the hospital on a Tuesday morning where we headed to the surgical waiting area. Once Mister Rain was checked in, we were sent to cardiac catheterization. Even though they would not be replacing the wires that run from the defibrillator to his heart and, therefore, he would not require cardiac catheterization, this is where they do this type of surgery. Things moved quickly, he was taken back to be prepped, Dr. W came out to talk to me and before I knew it I was able to sit with the patient until he was taken to the OR. I am the physical wreck in our marriage, with multiple orthopedic issues and prior surgeries, so it is a rare instance to be the one NOT in the hospital bed. I don’t like it. I would much rather be the one lying in the gown with an IV in my arm.
It wasn’t long before the doctor came in with two nurses. “It’s time,” the physician said. “Give him a kiss.” With the railing up on my husband’s bed plus the pole holding the bag of antibiotics being administered to him standing near his head, I instead offered my fisted right hand to him. Mister Rain immediately curled his left hand into the same position, bumping my fist with his. “Wonder Twin Powers, Activate!,” we both said at the same time, something we have been doing for 30 years when we want something good to happen. (This is a catchphrase from the DC Comics superhero team, the Wonder Twins, which my husband taught me when we were dating.) Knowing of my visual impairment the cardiologist very kindly walked me through the hospital maze that is the hallways to a large empty waiting room. “I’ll come get you when we’re done. It should be about an hour, an hour and 15 minutes.”
I posted the day’s story on Sister Rain as well as on Instagram, working for an hour, very proud of how calm and not nervous I was. Now that 60 minutes had passed, I closed up my iPad, waiting for the doctor to return “any minute.” Another 15 passed, then another quarter of an hour, my bravery and strength lessening with every new number that appeared on my phone’s home screen clock. Ninety minutes. Could I find my way back to cardiac cath on my own? I would figure it out. I couldn’t sit here any longer.
Taking a drink from my water bottle then stowing it in my messenger bag, I heard the door. It was Dr W. “Everything okay,?” I asked. “Yes, everything is good. I had a little trouble getting the new unit into the existing pocket but he’s good.” “Phew,” I said, more to myself than to him. Grabbing my bag, we left the waiting room, retracing our steps through the labyrinth to my husband’s curtained “room.” He looked like himself and was fully awake. At his pre-op appointment my husband had chosen to just have a local anesthetic and no other. When he was discharged an hour later, I texted Wayne to ask him to come get us, he messaged me when he arrived and a nurse wheeled Mister Rain to the main entrance of the hospital.
As I stepped outside the air conditioned building I couldn’t help but think about all the people who leave here in tears when an outcome is very different than ours was this day. I am not referring to the same procedure my husband had but rather any of the number of dire things that can happen to our human bodies. In those instances the continuing heat wave, the still shining sun and the singing birds are taunting. How can life go on after a loss? Today, however, these things welcomed Mister Rain and me back to the world outside. We were going home, fully intact. At dinner that night I broke down a little, viscerally thankful that we were eating together, at our normal time, in our home.
We had asked Dr. W if we could keep my husband’s old defibrillator. I am sure a lot of people, maybe even you, will find this odd. But for us, it is a reminder to be appreciative of every day, of every medical device created to protect us. While its battery’s life was over, it had stood at the ready for over a decade to ensure that Mister Rain’s was not. This old defribrillator was more than a critical piece of equipment. It is was a crucial peace of mind.
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