Reflections On My Recent Open-Heart Surgery
By CPMAstudio In InsightI began experiencing chest pains about four months ago; they were unlike anything I had ever felt before, and I knew right away that I was in trouble. However, nothing can prepare you for the reality of having to surrender your life to illness. It was emotionally devastating to learn that I needed open-heart surgery; it felt like everything that I had worked to achieve and become was about to be destroyed. Then, something remarkable took place. Let me explain…
Here are two sides to having open-heart surgery.
One side: you get wheeled down to Pre-Op, feeling extraordinarily alone and vulnerable. A very nice Physician’s Assistant injects you with something, and you disappear completely. A small eternity later you hear your wife calling to you from another dimension and the world reassembles itself. You leave the void and are once again back in your body. It is not the same. The ICU Nurse, an Afghan War Veteran built like a wrestler, pulls a tube out of your mouth, stands you up and walks you around the room. You do what he tells you – you don’t like it. Then he makes you cough – you like this even less. The next four days are spent learning how to breathe again; your lungs have to re-inflate since you stopped using them for a while. You can hear your heartbeat nearly all the time, and you can feel your pulse ricochet outward from your chest into every limb. Your thoracic surgeon is very pleased to tell you that the surgery went well, you have “strong flow,” seven new bypasses (because you just have to be different), and that you are going to feel as weak as a kitten for the next two or three months. The nurses work on you like a NASCAR pit crew.
The second side: your wife looks directly into your eyes when you can’t get enough air and helps you break through the fear to take your first full breath since the operation. Your entire family calls you to tell you that they love you. Your 81-year-old father and his wife visit for four days and make you soup after you leave the hospital. Your rabbi and her husband cook you dinner, bring it to your house, and celebrate Shabbat with you and your family. Your congregation delivers reclining chairs to your home and set them up. Your brother drops everything and drives to Maine. Every friend you have ever had calls, writes, or messages you on Facebook to wish you well. Your sister-in-law organizes a Meal Train that delivers delicious food to your house for the next month. People all over the country pray for you. A young woman who was your student twenty-five years ago has become a doctor and is there when you wake up in the ICU. Your daughter takes the whole thing in stride. You know she’s going to be OK, so you know you are going to be OK. The teaching team at your martial arts studio runs the school for two months without a hitch. Seventy-five children make you get well cards and cheer when you come back into the studio for the first time. Their parents, nearly all of whom you didn’t know two years ago, show you and your family a warmth and kindness you have never felt in public in your life.
So, there’s that.
It has been difficult to accept the physical reality of the surgery, and somewhat more difficult to make peace with my newfound awareness of mortality and fragility. But it has also shown me how much there is to be grateful for, and how powerful love really is. The well wishes, prayers, and support were physically tangible, and really made all the difference for my family and myself. If there is one overriding lesson, it is that you can find meaning in anything when a loving community of people is there to help you. I am grateful to be going through life surrounded by such incredible, caring people. I look forward to being there for all of you, should you ever need my help.
— Andy Mishkin