On my feet
4.2.2021
We have a trampoline. The enormous bouncing contraption that takes up nearly half our backyard allows us laughter, exercise and fun nearly every day of the year. I make a habit of climbing in there most days and bouncing with the kids. While they fly, twist and double-flip, I wait for my turn.
When I had my pericardium drained in January I had a mid-procedure daydream. I had been working on my front flip for nearly a year. I was close but I couldn’t land it. As I laid on the table in the cath lab (very lightly sedated), I thought, Once this fluid is out, I’ll be able to land my front flip. Maybe it was the sedation but I was certain about it.
The time since passed quickly and has been a burden on my heart. My follow-up echocardiogram showed fluid re-accumulating just five weeks after being drained. Rats! Just when I was feeling good and starting to trust my body again, the rug was pulled out from under me.
Last week things changed rapidly. One evening Paul and I went for a walk. As we went along, Paul marvelled at how I could go so fast. By Saturday I could barely get around the block. I was terribly out of breath.
First thing Monday morning we called the cancer center. Even though we didn’t think it was an emergency, the most efficient way to get all the tests I needed would be at the ER. Paul and the kids dropped me off. Blood work, CT scan, imaging of my heart. It was an emergency afterall. I was admitted and went upstairs for another pericardiocentesis. It would make it safe enough for me to make it through the night.
Overnight, my pericardium filled up again. Tuesday came. We made plans. There was a cancellation in the operating room that made space for me. They whisked me away, sobbing, for surgery. I knew this heart surgery would come eventually but I still didn’t want it. I was scared. I was alone. It was happening anyway. It had to.
The surgery went fine. We cut a “window” (hole) in the bottom of my pericardium. Now, two drains hang out just below my breastbone allowing fluid to flow away. Our hope is that the pericardium will get dry enough to seal up against the heart so there’s no more room for troublesome fluid. I’ve got a lot of living left to do so I hope it fuses perfectly.
It’ll be a while before I get to go home. I am waiting for the fluid to stop. I soak up every good bit of the hospital staff. I laugh as much as I can and cry when I can’t laugh. I’m making good use of my old chemo dancing skills in my hospital room.
Once I’m recovered enough to get back on the trampoline there’ll be no holding me back and no more almost or bottom landings. I’ll keep bouncing. I’ll keep flipping. My heart will heal for good this time. I can't quite get there yet but one of these days I'll land solidly - on my feet.