So, anyone who read the previous few posts saw that my Provincetown trip, though fun, was colored by my feeling just, well, weird. I knew that I had a combination of sleep apnea (my CPAP machine has been busted for a couple of weeks) and reactions to the weight loss drug Wegovy, which made it so I was never exactly sure when I was hungry or when I had to go to the bathroom. But what I didn’t say is that the day before I left, I noticed that I was sometimes breathing heavily and sweating profusely while doing very basic exertion, such as just walking to the subway station dragging my horn-case-on-wheel behind me. That was disconcerting, and that sort of thing happened several times during the Ptown trip. Even when I got off the plane coming back, just standing up, grabbing my bag and walking off the plan had me huffing and puffing.

So after another miserable night’s sleep, I decided to start Tuesday by visiting the urgent care place around the corner, just to see if there was anything to worry about. (Fun fact – their online portal lets you schedule an 8:30 appointment even though they don’t open until 9:00 – not helpful, I had go away and come back.) This urgent care place had been swarmed with patients constantly during COVID time, but was remarkable empty now.

So they took me in, I told them what was going on, they took an EKG and the doctor was like, ‘whoa’. My heart rate was really low, like in the 40s. Normal for a trained athlete, but not for me. He sent me off to the ER. I can walk to Elmhurst, it’s right down the street, but I took an Uber just to be safe. Came into their emergency room, told the front desk was going on, and they brought me into the hospital with no wait whatever. Oh. And Elmhurst also gave me an EKG and went ‘whoa’. The most interesting part was when the team of doctors, while watching my heart rate, had me (while lying in bed) do kicks for 30 seconds like I was swimming. And my heart rate did not move, it was stuck.

So they took a bunch of tests to rule other stuff out (and they did get ruled out – for instance, I didn’t have lyme disease and I hadn’t had a heart attack), but the basic call was that I had a ‘heart block, type 2’. The signal from the top of the heart to the bottom of the heart to coordinate the two chambers wasn’t getting there, so the bottom heart was just doing what it wanted to do, which was to beat very slowly.

So I was admitted and brought up to my very own room in the cardiac unit. (Everyone gets their own room, I thought that was nice.) I had never stayed overnight in a hospital before. They hooked me up to all the monitors and such. I’d been firing off emails to friends, neighbors and relatives, letting them know what was going on, so my neighbor Mariah was able to go into my apartment and get my toiletry kit and some clothes and my Ipad and stuff – and she and my friend Susan came for a visit. (Much like when C passed away, I was delightfully surprised how many friends stepped up to help, although I really didn’t need much.)

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Wednesday was about more tests and finally a plan of action. Basically, I needed a pacemaker, and there really wasn’t an alternative treatment (other than just not treating it). But this seemed to be pretty routine, and with all the other tests they’d done, it seemed that the heart itself is fine – no damage, good shape, only problem being this loss of signal.

I had three visits – Tessa came for a while, then Mariah came (with more stuff from my apartment), then Susan and Renee came in the evening with chocolate goodies, bless them. I’d heard this is true, and it very much was – in the hospital you wait around for forever with nothing going on, then your friends show up at the same time they deliver your dinner and the doctor shows up to give you an enema or whatever. (joke: there were no enemas involved, thank the lord)

I had all my devices and knitting (all the medical staff was tickled by the knitting) to keep me amused, and the TV, but the big annoyance was having to go to the bathroom. They were really reluctant to allow me to get out of bed – especially after the surgery, but even when I could stand, having to maneuver the hospital gown and all those wires out of the way so I could use the plastic urinal was an adventure every time. I was lucky in that I never had to use a bedpan, though, alway managed to be allowed to be unplugged and go to the actual bathroom for #2’s. Had chances to take whore’s baths occasionally, and brush my teeth and so on, and change my socks.

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Thursday was the procedure and I had to have no intake after midnight (including water). I found that mostly very frustrating – I drink water all the time and in general, I was limited by what I could drink – and then they’d come in and draw blood and it would be a big deal to find a vein because I was a dessicated husk. And I’d been vaguely promised that I would be 2nd in line, but I was 3rd and didn’t get taken out of the room until 1:30 pm (so the entire morning was me waiting waiting waiting and shriveling up from lack of sustenance).

Down to the operations room, where the anesthesiologist had me sign a release form. It was going to be like a colonoscopy – no general anesthesia, but a twilight-like thing where I just wouldn’t really be able to remember much. Because my heart rate was so low, they were going to first set up a temporary pacemaker through my groin (!) before installing the real one in my chest. So they got me all set up and actually tied my arms down (good thing, as you’ll see) and shaved my man-garden down below for the groin entry. (picture Eric giggling, it was ticklish)

And then they started the procedure. I was aware sometimes of what was going on, particularly when they were basically creating a pocket in my left chest for the pacemaker. But the funny (in both senses) thing was that because they were making me sleepy and loopy I’d tune out much like falling asleep, and then (just like as if I were falling asleep) I’d try to turn over on my side. And the entire surgical team would shriek “DON’T MOVE” and I was like, ‘Whu? Oh, shit, sorry!”. That happened at least a couple of times.

And it all worked and I got back up to the room about 4:00. Slept for a while, I guess, and then just stared blankly into space for the rest of the evening. I think I got dinner, but probably didn’t eat much of it, but did have one of the chocolate croissants that Susan and Renee had brought.

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That night was the worst night for sleeping. They had supplied me with a CPAP device, but it was giant and industrial and was like having your face eaten off by a plastic cobra and the mask was way too tight (I still have a divot on my nose) and if you adjusted the mask in any way, the machine would start beeping like there was a leak at a nuclear plant. From about 11 pm to 2 am, it was Eric vs. the machine, with fun intervals of trying to pee in the plastic urinal without even sitting up. (A skill I acquired by necessity.)

But somehow things settled down and I got a solid 3 hours of sleep.

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5 am, nurses started bustling in and taking blood and temperature and giving me pills, and I had them take the hated mask off and that was the end of that problem. Then it was mostly waiting around, with various people saying, ‘we need the doctors’ signoff, but you should go home today’. (and everyone looking at my heart rate and smiling. One of the doctors had said that, at some point overnight before the procedure, heart rate went down to 30!!!) I was stomach-queasy from the anesthetic the day before – I remember trying both the scrambled eggs and the waffle with compote at breakfast and just going ‘bleah’ and putting them down, although I did later eat the other croissant.

The big event which would happen is there would be a doctor’s rounds which would include me and then I’d get some sort of definitive response. But first they wanted to send me for some sort of imaging test, so wheeled me out. You know what’s disconcerting? When you’re flat on your back on a gurney and get wheeled on an elevator, which then goes down with a lurch. Think about it – normally you’re not horizontal in an elevator. It was really weird.

Then it was a two-hour nightmare of just waiting around in an overcrowded room of other people in gurneys waiting for their imaging – some of whom were moaning and some were going off loudly about ‘no, they said this would happen first and I’m diabetic and…’ which seemed simultaneously deranged and kind of important. I had absolutely nothing to do, wasn’t even sure why I was there. Finally they took me for my own imaging thing, which took all of 30 seconds. And then back up to the room. Of course by then I’d missed doctor’s rounds.

They served lunch, which was another case of ‘ugh, no thanks’. And I waited and waited. I wasn’t in pain or anything – the chest site smarts a bit, but no big deal. Finally a doctor came in and said I was good to go and we’d be starting the checkout procedure, and he gave me some basic follow-up instructions. I texted Susan and Mariah, who were coming to pick me up, and then it was just a matter of waiting for the nurse who would come unplug me from every damn thing and go over my discharge papers.

Susan and Mariah arrive, and then the nurse – cute little hot bear, but clearly straight, ah well. Went over the papers with me – they are advising a ‘heart-healthy diet’, and I have to keep the site bandage dry until it falls off on its own (about two weeks), but all stitches, etc. will take care of themselves. I have a followup with the cardiologist in mid-November. There aren’t really any lifestyle changes, except maybe when I go through security at the airport?

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I’d also called my own GP.

Me, to a receptionist: Hi, could I just get a quick phone call with Dr. D today? Because I’m in the hospital and I just want to tell him what’s going on.

Recep: uh… I don’t think he has room for a tele-visit..

Me: No, I don’t need a tele-visit, just a quick phone call.

(later) Phone rings.

Different recep: Hi, Eric, your lab work was fine.

Me: that’s great, but I still need to talk to the doctor. I’m in the hospital and had a pacemaker installed yesterday. I just want to tell him what’s going on.

Recep: OH! OK.

(and then I got a call from him that night, and gave him the whole story. “Sorry, I didn’t call you before, but things moved very quickly.” We’re also stopping the Wegovy for now, because we don’t need that extra variable.)

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So finally I got unplugged and got dressed in real clothes and we packed everything up and headed out, and Susan got a parking space right in front of the building.

They were both clearly ready to dive in and start helping me any way they could, but by this point it was late in the afternoon and I just wanted to do nothing. We agreed that Mariah would help me with laundry the next day (and she did) and Susan might help me with food shopping (undetermined). And I shooed them out the door and ate a bit of leftover pizza and watched Addams Family Values.

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So now the thing is to figure out where I am. Theoretically, the pacemaker fixed the problem, and I could just pick up my life again. I feel pretty good. But I think I am going to pull out of some stuff I’ve committed to and take some time to retrench. This really came out of nowhere, and makes me want to move much more quickly on the life-settling stuff I was working on anyway.

So we’ll see! I’m grateful that we figured out the problem so quickly, and that my friends and family are so terrific. But it still scares me that I no longer have a partner who will take care of me when I need it. And I’m just going to have to figure that out.