Day: July 26, 2014

When the doctors and nurses tell you that recovery is not a straight line, but many twists and turns, and that every day is different, believe them, I am learning it is the truth. I had some clear and earnest ideas about today, we slept late, drove to Williamstown to eat lunch at a Thai restaurant, walk around and visit the Williams College Museum, where there was a fiber exhibit Maria wanted to see.

Just after breakfast, I got upset and then I fell into the darkest hole yet in my month-long recovery from open heart surgery. I just plunged into darkness, I was exhausted, barely able to speak, depressed and discouraged, mono-syllabic and angry at the world. We went to Williamstown, I insisted, I really need to get out today and so did Maria and I just sank further and farther into this pit.

I got through lunch, but felt awful, fatigues, sweating, uncomfortable, I wasn’t sure if it was the diabetes, rocketing up and down since the surgery, or the surgery itself, and all my attendant medications. They tell you often that there will be bad days, but you never quite know why unless you head for the hospital, and I did not feel badly enough for that. My heart was not hurting or feeling pressure, this was something else, something related but mysterious, something that happens. We walked a bit – it was hot, the sun is strong, I felt weaker and bleaker by the minute and then drove home after walking through the museum.

I think this was the worst day so far for me, the worst that I have felt, the least energy, the bleakest and most confusing emotionally. I felt as I had fallen off the edge of the earth. They said there would be days like this, there are. Here I am again, at the end of it, feeling strong and clear, writing this all down. Life is quite mysterious and wonderful.

Maria kept asking me if I wanted to go home, she was worried about the way I look. I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to finish what we started. I nearly passed out in the car, I slept all of the way home, too worn to speak, then lay down when we got home and slept for several hours. When I got up, I felt my head beginning to clear, some energy was returning. We went out to get some wine for Maria, and we decided to walk in the cemetery, I walked there for a mile or so, I began to return to myself, I saw some light in the hole.

I wanted to just cry today, to throw up my hands in despair and lament falling into this dark space. I wanted to call someone, but there is no one to call, really. Like fear, the black hole is just another space to cross, there is light on the other side. I felt badly for Maria, having to spend a whole day with such a slug, mired in tar and mud.

It is frightening to fall into such a deep and alien space, to be so weak and helpless, you don’t really know if you will ever come out of it. Some people, I am told, don’t. There is a great instinct to rest, a great instinct to get up and move. I do both. I ended up walking a few miles tonight and feeling much stronger and clearer. Tonight, we may watch a movie, I will finish a novel “Lobster Kings.” I have learned yet another lesson in the great instructional that is a near-death experience – heart disease.

My heart is beginning to make itself clear, even when the doctors are not.  Be patient, every day is different, this one was the worst, tomorrow will be a different.

Why, heart, I asked, are you doing this to me today? Listen, she said, you must let go of the idea that you control me and the world. Love, learn and let go. Accept today, embrace tomorrow. One day at a time, one step at a time.  Healing is a miracle and a mystery, it is beyond you, really. Go where it takes you. Each day, I will have a new lesson for you, pay attention and have faith, we are getting there together.

I often walk in the town cemetery these days, it is quiet and beautiful with paths and slopes and hills and turns, Red, who has almost never been on a leash in his life, walks alongside, close and vigilant, he never is out of sight, never pays attention to other dogs or wanders off. Today, he veered off sharply and vanished behind some headstones, I was surprised. I walked up a bit, rounded the corner and saw the reason. Common Sense Farms, a religious community bordering the cemetery has sheep – Red and I were summoned to help round them up when they escaped a few weeks ago, but I didn’t know they were being kept right next to the cemetery.

Red did know, he smelled or heard or sensed them a long way off, and with a lot of cemetery in between. There was an understandable border collie diversion. The sheep and Red got into a staredown – they learned the last time to do what Red tells them – and Red was a bit surprised and disappointed to get called off. Hey, I said, this is my walk, my time. Be a therapy dog. He was.

I have never had an easy relationship with my body, I have always lived a life of the mind, in part, I think, because I never thought my body worked for me. I was a disaster in gym class, I was always the slowest runner on any team, my feet were flat and any kind of exercise seemed boring and pointless to me. I always liked walking, but not much else that involved movement.

Surgery is a fascinating thing, it has its drawbacks but also it’s gifts and surprises. Since my Open Heart surgery, I am finding that I am having something of a new relationship with my body. I am coming to admire and respect it, it is a much better body than I thought.

My doctors said I broke the all-time record for early release after open heart surgery from the hospital – sent home from intensive care after three days. I broke the record for most laps around the ward after surgery – 20, and these things amazed and astonished me, I have never broken any kind of athletic record for anything, I saw my body as ugly, ungainly and sluggish. One nurse told me I had a wonderful body, I was so fortunate to have it. I was stunned.

Since coming home from the hospital on July 4, I have walked nearly 100 miles, according to my fitbitflex, and I have enjoyed just about every single step. I love the way my body gathers itself and breezes right up a steep hail, as if we were on a big sailboat with a good breeze behind us. Almost all of my scars from the surgery have healed, and I can even sleep on my side sometimes. I gave up painkillers the day I came home and am handling my many medications well.

So what has happened? I ask myself this every single day. I always thought my body had failed me, but the doctors tell me I have an excellent body, it is healing beautifully and helping me heal rapidly and steadily. I appreciate my body, sometimes I even love it. This is a miracle to anyone who knows me. I look forward to many years of walking and biking and writing and running around, I am, despite the surgery, feeling better than I have felt in a long time, I am just beginning to grasp how long my heart has been struggling.

Why did my body give me so much trouble? Was I simply reacting to my athlete father, who thought of me as a weak-kneed sissy? Or was I just obtuse about my body as I was about my heart? I don’t know.

But the same body that failed my heart is now joined with it, and I cannot really do much but thank it and appreciate it. I can’t say yet that I love my body all of the time, but you know what? I think I will pretty soon, we are off on a great adventure together. This morning, I told my body it was good to meet it after all these years, I am sorry I thought so poorly of it. Perhaps it was just waiting for me to have my heart stopped to get the message it has been trying to send me my whole life: I am a good body, i will work for you.

I took Red out in the pasture and we dug the sheep out of the pole barn, lambs and all, and moved them to the side pasture, where Red did some of his zippy come byes and aways. I love doing this with him, but I almost got knocked over and realized I’m really not ready for it yet, between holding the camera and moving around in the sun – it just wore me out. I had to sit down for awhile and close my eyes.

I’ll wait a few weeks before trying it again. I’m learning every day what I can and can’t do. Yesterday I walked five miles easily and comfortably, but that doesn’t mean I can do the same thing today. My heart is different every single day, there are no two days the same, recovery does not happen on a straight trajectory. This Thursday I go back and see my surgeon in Albany, I hope she lets me drive again. Maria and I are thinking of driving to Williamstown, Mass. for some Thai food and maybe a visit to one of the museums there. I think I’m up for it, Connie Brooks from Battenkill Books made some dinner for us and is dropping it off at the house.

We much appreciate that, those small gestures make a big difference, we are both sometimes overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and love of people. I find I am very emotion these past couple of days, small things get to me, lots of strong feelings bubbling up inside of me. Maria is exhausted, we are focused very much on resting this weekend. I feel like I’ve been resting for a month but my fitbit tells me I have walked nearly a hundred miles since July 4, the day I came home from the hospital. Interesting.