Jennifer John - Heart Valve Journal

Trip Ticks: Crash and Learn

Journal posted on March 3, 2019

(Editor’s note: For ❤️ warriors facing surgery, recuperating at home or kickin’ it at cardiac rehab, be gentle with yourself. This final installment from our Florida trip may give you something to ponder.)
February 22, 2019
By Jennifer John
We left Anna Maria Island at 7 a.m. sharp and crossed the Georgia state line in five hours — a Guinness record when traveling by motorhome, aka, “The Beast.”
More than 12 hours since we had left Florida — in what should have been about 500 miles in eight hours, including pit stops — we checked into the Hyatt Place hotel just north of Atlanta.
Seems you never know what’s around the corner. Or before the next exit.
Here’s what happened:
After spending over an hour in a massive traffic jam at a dead stop in Unadilla, Ga., just south of Macon, the Beast’s warning display messages lit up like the Las Vegas strip with more acronyms than a teenager’s texts: ABS, ESP and BAS/ASR with a tiny tire icon -- all of which have to do with steering stability, the braking system and (horrors!) cruise control, which really ticked off Rebecca since backup support for each was now deactivated.
A rather troubling suggestion, “Drive on with care,” appeared in the vehicle handbook, along with keen advice to “Visit workshop,” which apparently means “get your lazy American ass to a certified Mercedes-Benz service dealer ASAP” in German.
For a minute, we thought we could ride it out. Sort of like the body surfing we did the day before in the Gulf of Mexico. (We did not do either.) But then on top of the parking lot on I-75, it started raining. Really, really hard. Suddenly, I recalled some specifics on the myriad system failures: “impairs braking distance, and increases risk of skidding and accidents.” Christ on a bike!
Just then, the Beast started heaving and belching uncontrollably, so we pulled over when we could in Perry, Ga. Nice folks at a Jeep dealer helped us find a Mercedes-Benz dealer that repairs Sprinter vans. Yes! We were on our way.
But it wasn't in Perry or nearby Macon. It was in a north Atlanta suburb called Sandy Springs, which sounds like a sanitarium. I may check for availability. Anyway, we have an 8 a.m. appointment Saturday to get it looked at and (we hope) repaired.
If not, we'll stay another night or two or three. Right now, we're drinking small airplane bottles of various kinds of booze from a blue Jazzercise pouch we stashed in the Beast last year, and splitting a chicken sandwich with bacon, Brie and chips. Oh, and there were two beers in our cooler.
Livin' the dream, as they say.
That’s something 51-year-old Lisa Gibson can’t say today, tomorrow or ever again. Today she died of injuries from a tragic car crash.
According to the Georgia State Patrol, there were four separate chain-reaction crashes along a northbound stretch of I-75 from Exits 136 to 134. Lisa Gibson and her husband, David, of Missouri were in the third accident.
Police said the first crash happened at 8:48 a.m. just before Exit 136 north when a tractor-trailer ran off the road. The second crash was less than a quarter-mile behind the first, the third was a quarter-mile behind the second, and the fourth crash was about a mile behind the third, according to The (Macon) Telegraph newspaper.
Driving a Jeep Wrangler, the Gibsons were in the third crash. Apparently, traffic was backed up from the earlier accidents, and a tractor-trailer was stopped in the middle lane. Their Jeep came up behind the tractor-trailer and couldn’t stop in time, reports said.
David Gibson was driving the Jeep and steered left to try to avoid hitting the tractor-trailer. The Jeep’s passenger side door struck the rear of the tractor-trailer and then veered off the roadway. Lisa Gibson was the passenger.
We were in that same backup for more than an hour.
We got irritated, impatient and some fortunate warning lights.
How lucky can you get?
(Copyright 2019)

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Trip Ticks: Bait & Switch

Journal posted on March 2, 2019

(Editor’s note: For those of you facing an operation, recuperating at home or just plain bored with winter, here’s another installment from our Florida trip. Proof that there’s life — and travel! — after heart valve surgery.)
January 24, 2019
By Jennifer John
The faded yellow sign on the door of the old fishing shack was deceiving.
“Do not enter water,” it said.
I read it twice before I understood. Thanks for the warning.
Last night we had dinner with some friends at Annie’s Bait and Tackle in Cortez, Fla., just before the bridge to Anna Maria Island.
It’s an old Florida treasure, complete with nightly regulars at the bar dispensing sage advice to anyone who will listen.
On this Wednesday, two locals compared notes on ex-wives and determined they’d had five failed marriages between them.
“My best advice?” the one guy said with confidence. “Always get a mediator.”
“Better yet, just don’t get married,” the other guy added.
They roared as if it was the first time they’d said it and ordered another round.
Annie’s was a feast for the eyes, if you dared look too close.
In a decorating twist, black-and-white target practice posters with fake bandits shot up like Swiss cheese covered the ceiling. They’d been dead a long time.
The table closest to the door had a power drill (still in the box) as a centerpiece. Early Black & Decker?
The place smelled like bait, beer and cigarettes — not necessarily in that order — with no hand sanitizer in sight.
To ensure my gastrointestinal safety, I placed a napkin under my plate to form a “safe zone” between my food and the unlikely but frankly not impossible transmission of the Ebola virus.
Our waitress Kelly was a sweetheart. Turns out, her family owns the place. There’s no one named Annie around any longer, though.
Kelly’s mom was in the kitchen tonight; her dad sat on the first bar stool chain-smoking Marlboros. Who’s gonna tell him no?
Ordering drinks was a no-brainer. No Jack Daniel’s, no Tito’s, no premium brews. How about a beer? Sure.
We were the only patrons in the joint, which was more than a little unsettling at the dinner hour during tourist season in southwest Florida.
But our grouper sandwiches were heavenly. Fresh, lightly breaded and seasoned to perfection.
We’ll be back — and maybe sooner than we think.
On the way out, I noticed a sign hanging in the back: “Free beer tomorrow.”

(Copyright 2019)

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Trip Ticks: Bedrock Budget

Journal posted on March 1, 2019

(Editor’s note: For those of you facing an operation, recuperating at home or just plain bored with winter, here’s another installment from our Florida trip. Proof positive that there’s life — and travel! — after heart valve surgery.)
January 19, 2019
By Jennifer John
Stop me if you’ve heard this story. Or better yet, just hit delete.
So after six uneventful hours on the road from Tifton, Ga., we’re five miles from Bradenton’s Budget rental car. Then, all traffic stops — for 45 minutes.
Welcome to Florida. Now leave.
It’s already noon, and we’re scheduled to pick up the car at 1 p.m.
But we can’t find the $&!? Budget store even though we have “reached our destination,” according to my Australian Siri voice. (Note to self: Change that.)
We ask some people washing their car where it is, and they say, “Oh, it’s in the mall, but we’re closed.”
Then they say, “Oh, are you Jennifer John? We’ve been trying to reach you, but there was no phone number with your online reservation.”
Yes. There was. I typed it.
Turns out, they were all Budget workers heading home from work. God bless, America!
So this really nice woman named Hendra gets out of her car, meets me inside the mall and pulls up the store’s metal security shade. She even gave us an upgrade.
I rent the car, which is so compact it resembles something Fred and Wilma Flintstone might drive in Bedrock. My first thought is we’ll need more pedicures to keep up.
Within 15 minutes, we’re on our way, me in the Shriner’s car following Reb in the Beast RV, heading to our rented condo.
We unload the RV, and no one from the condo board says a word about it being an illegal vehicle just because it says “Winnebago” on it, or we would have to hurt them. Seriously.
Tomorrow we’re sleeping in and not leaving the condo — except maybe for pedicures.

(Copyright 2019)

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Trip Ticks: School of Hard NOx

Journal posted on February 28, 2019

(Editor’s note: For those of you recuperating at home or just plain bored with winter, here’s an installment from our trip to Florida last month.)
January 17, 2019
By Jennifer John
We left the house today at 6:30 a.m.
It is nearly 10 p.m., and we are just now settled into a palatial Quality Inn near Dry Ridge, Ky.
Let me explain.
About two hours into our trip, the dreaded “Check Engine” light glowed on our dashboard like neon, along with this message: “Your vehicle’s DEF” — shorthand for diesel exhaust fluid — is too freakin’ low.”
Luckily, the Beast had already experienced diminishing DEF on our 2017 leaf-peeping trip out East, and we knew what to do and how to fix it.
“Good thing we brought that big jug of DEF,” Rebecca said with confidence.
“That’s windshield-washer fluid,” I said, my left eye involuntarily twitching.
After a quick stop at Speedway, $20 and as many frigid minutes pouring it into the DEF reservoir, we were on our way.
Once refilled, the menacing orange light is supposed to go out, but it didn’t, so we looked it up in the owner’s manual. There are about 327 reasons for a Check Engine light to shine, none of which is good.
So we called our friends at the Mercedes-Benz dealer in St. Clair Shores. Michigan, that is.
Did I mention we were on South I-75 in Lima, Ohio?
Our helpful pal Joanne gave us an M-B dealer in a place called Tiffin near Findlay. Jim the nice service guy assured us the Sprinter van was likely in need of a simple factory reset, adding that we were just 30 miles from Tiffin.
South, that is. Thirty miles past Tiffin.
“When can we expect you?” Jim asked.
“Never,” I replied.
Oddly enough, there was a Mercedes-Benz dealer in West Chester, just outside Madeira, where we planned to have lunch at our friend Gayle’s. (A very late lunch.) A quick phone call got us a nice service guy named Michael and an appointment with the hope that they could fix the Beast and send us on our way.
We drove south for another 100 miles and arrived around 12:30 pm.
So there we were, the three of stranded in a Mercedes-Benz waiting room near Cincinnati sipping foamy lattes and munching granola bars.
The struggle is real.
We met John, a Bronx, NY, native of Puerto Rican descent on his way back to Las Vegas from Harrisburg, Pa., with a new pre-owned Sprinter van for a 19-year-old gamer who earns $50,000 a month running a top video site.
Maddie liked John, mostly because he smelled like bacon.
It was going on 3:30 p.m. when Michael emerged from his cubicle to pet Maddie and tell us the Beast was fixed. He said it was the NOx (rhymes with “Pox”) sensor.
“NOx stands for nitrogen oxide. A NOx sensor measures the amount of this compound distributed by your vehicle’s exhaust. Nitrous oxide is an environmental pollutant and is a factor in the creation of acid rain and smog. NOx sensors help protect the environment from damage and monitor your engine’s efficiency to ensure it is operating properly. Those pesky regulations,” he said.
What’d he say?
“NOx sensors are commonly found in diesel engines, and many Sprinter vans like yours contain Mercedes-Benz diesel engines,” he added.
Yes, we do have one.
According to Michael, one of the most common possible causes of a failed NOx sensor in a Sprinter van is the appearance of a “start countdown” timer. Say you happen to notice your dashboard light up with a “16 starts remaining” notification. It would be a good idea to contact your mechanic immediately so as not to be stranded during an important trip.
No kidding.
Which could be why at about this morning’s 200-mile mark, Rebecca wondered aloud what would happen if you used up all 16 starts.
“No idea, hon,” I mumbled between bites of my tasty egg McMuffin.
The most important part of this equation is that a NOx sensor repair is covered by a federal emissions warranty.
We only paid for new wiper blades.

(Copyright 2019)

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Phase III and me

Journal posted on November 30, 2018

By Jennifer John

When my new cardiac rehab friend Jan started Troy Beaumont’s Phase III program, George W. Bush was U.S. president — in his first term.

That was in 2004 — 14 years ago! — and aside from a few minor health issues, Jan hasn’t stopped exercising since. The Clarkston, Mich., resident says cardiac rehab keeps her mind and body strong and healthy, plus moving around beats sitting around at home.

At the Troy, Mich., facility, Phase III cardiac rehabilitation includes a group-based, medically supervised exercise program, up to five days per week for one hour. Patients pay a nominal monthly fee not typically covered by insurance.

Additional Phase III activities include balance and flexibility sessions, chair yoga, weekly educational lectures, and stress reduction and weight management.

You’re usually ready to start Phase III cardiac rehab when your vital signs, such as heart rate and blood pressure, remain stable as you increase your workout activity. I recently resumed twice weekly low-impact Jazzercise classes.

I’m ready for more.

On Nov. 28, I started Phase III, after completing Phase II’s maximum 36 visits at Troy Beaumont Hospital. Some of the same exercise physiologists also work at Phase III, so it felt like old home week.

At each session, you weigh yourself and check your resting heart rate and pulse oxygen percentage. They monitor your blood pressure weekly. In addition, your EKG is monitored monthly.

As with Phase II, I’m probably the youngest person at Phase III. But being called “kid” never gets old when you’re pushing 60.

After more than two weeks off and feeling the remnants of Thanksgiving gluttony, I began my first Phase III session on the Biodex machine, where I had left off: level 12 difficulty for 20 minutes.

Man, could I feel the resistance.

Then I walked on the treadmill at the same elevation and speed as graduation day: level 3.0 grade at 3.1 mph. Boy, that pace seemed fast! About 15 minutes into it, sweating buckets, I decreased to 2.9 mph for another five minutes.

Stick a fork in her. She’s done.

I’m pleased to report that a spot in the 9:30 a.m. session opened up just in time for me to fill it today. I’ll be back with bells on this Monday.

Mornings are much better than going to work out at 2:30 in the afternoon, since I’ve been known to take a detour and end up at Trader Joe’s.

Have a great weekend!❤️

(Copyright 2018)

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Full Circle

Journal posted on November 15, 2018

By Jennifer John

“It's the circle of life 
And it moves us all 
Through despair and hope
 Through faith and love
Till we find our place 
On the path unwinding 
In the circle … 
The circle of life”
— “Circle of Life,” from Disney’s animated film, “The Lion King”

What a difference a year makes.

This time last November, I was lying on an ER gurney, my heart revved up to a resting rate of 135 beats per minute, fluttering in and out of something called atrial fibrillation.

“A-Fib,” as it’s commonly known, is an irregular and often rapid heart rate that can increase your risk of stroke, heart failure and other heart-related complications.

Sometimes you can feel it. Other times you don’t. I didn’t.

That morning, my beloved internist had noticed the sky-high heart rate during a routine annual physical. Turns out I had severe mitral valve regurgitation. And to think I was worried about getting a darn flu shot.

Today – exactly 365 days from the infamous A-Fib episode and the official start of my heart patient journey – I am feeling better than ever and healing nicely, thank you very much.

Today – exactly six months since my mitral valve repair surgery/maze procedure on May 31 at the University of Michigan Frankel Cardiovascular Center in Ann Arbor – I am the proud owner of a mitral valve that seals shut like a bank vault along with a fierce yet steady heart that will literally stop A-fib in its tracks, if it dares to come back.

Honestly, it’s been a helluva long road.

Heart monitors, blood thinners, pre-op tests – including X-rays, ultrasounds, CT scans, MRIs, transesophageal echocardiograms – anxiously awaiting a surgery date, having the date postponed two days, the surprising level of incision pain, post-op visits with more tests and an eight-week summer recuperation, which often meant walking room to room indoors because it was too hot to go outside.

Twelve weeks of cardiac rehabilitation ended last week. It’s over. They say I’m a rock star. Can’t argue with that.

With all of that, the hardest part was waiting several months for my surgery. It seemed like an eternity. Square breathing calms you down. Writing distracts you. The support of family and friends keeps you sane.

Elton John and Tim Rice wrote a hit song, “Circle of Life,” for “The Lion King,” Disney’s 1994 animated film detailing the adventures of a young lion, Simba, the heir to his father, Mufasa. (Spoiler alert, if you’ve never seen it.) Unfortunately, Simba’s wicked uncle conspires to usurp Mufasa’s throne by luring father and son into a stampede of wildebeests. Simba escapes, and his father is killed. But Simba returns as an adult to reclaim his homeland with the help of his friends.

The circle of life. Despair and hope. Faith and love. Till we find our place.

At this stage of my life, I understand now more than ever how nature has a way of taking and giving back. How the supremely divine universe can sometimes challenge us and be downright unfair. And how the death of one thing gives new life to another.

Talk about full circle.

Since February, I’ve written a collection of essays about everything from the power of faith and trusting science to dispelling your fears and going braless. I have tried to capture the highs and the lows of surviving heart valve surgery with a touch of humor.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
• Sometimes things have to get bad before they get better.
• Setting reasonable goals makes sense when you can’t put on your own pants.
• Elimination can be a good thing, especially if involves excess fluid or IVs.
• Bravery does not preclude you from sometimes being pitiful and whiny.
• Asking for help is more difficult than you may imagine.
• Walking is the best thing you can do for your heart.
• Faith is powerful even when it’s blind.
• Love is definitely the answer.

Tonight Rebecca and I will raise a glass, count our blessings and toast to life – the Circle of Life.

(Copyright 2018)

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Update posted on...

November 9, 2018

Graduation Day
Nov. 13, 2018
(This is an update to a shorter piece and includes more details to help cardiac rehab patients.)

By Jennifer John

Cue up “Pomp and Circumstance.” Today was my last day of cardiac rehab. I even received a nifty certificate of recognition for completing the program.

Three months. Twelve weeks. Thirty-six visits. A necessary physical and emotional adventure filled with lots of sweat, some tears of joy and a lasting sense of accomplishment.

Looking out the window from my usual M-W-F spot on the treadmill, I saw hundreds of trees in full bloom when I started this rehabilitative journey in August. Birds swooping under bright blue skies held my attention more than daytime TV or a playlist titled, “Rehab.”

My initial pace of 1.7 mph with 0.5 (barely) elevation was painfully slow. I know that now because I tried it again today, my last day. Yet on my first day, walking in place at a turtle’s pace proved to be more than moderately difficult. Plus, I was tentative and afraid of falling. How silly all of that seems now.

On this final Friday, those same trees are bare, stripped of the leaves that absorbed blazing summer sun, turning from all shades green to red, yellow and orange hues, and then falling to earth one by one from their strong branches. Unlike the dried-up dead leaves, I am alive, having successfully returned to my better self, regaining strength and movement I once took for granted. Surpassing my rehab goals, I can have a conversation while walking briskly on the treadmill at 3.1 mph with 3.0 elevation – a 95 percent improvement from Day One.

Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without the Troy (Mich.) Beaumont Hospital Cardiac Rehabilitation staff. Their encouragement, support and occasional gentle “nudge” to do better got me through the early days when I was tired, weak and just plain over it. They were young professionals well-versed in treating ailing people with kindness.

Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where you can’t help but develop a bond with perfect strangers. This was one of those times. I’m speaking of my fellow cardiac rehab pals, most of them 10, 20 and 30 years my senior. The majority of them have already “graduated.” I hope they’re serious about staying in touch. I know I am.

Somehow it seems fitting that I’m ending my recuperation from open-heart surgery as we begin November, the month of Thanksgiving, a time of gratitude, appreciation and faith. That will never be lost on me.

Meantime, here’s a tip: If your doctor suggests cardiac rehab, go. Don’t hesitate for a second. You won’t regret it. You’ll feel better. And you might even make some new friends.

(Copyright 2018)

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Wave of kindness

Journal posted on November 7, 2018

Unlike my other Journal posts, this one has nothing to do with heart valve surgery. But I thought I’d share it anyway, since it comes from my heart and may warm yours:

Something happened on Election Day that has restored my faith in humanity.
It had nothing to do with a wave — red, blue, purple or otherwise.
It had everything to do with honesty, character and kindness.
You see, yesterday I inadvertently lost my red leather wallet. OK, I was in a hurry to get somewhere, but first I had to let the dog out, so I set the red leather wallet down and then likely drove off with it ... on the hood of my car.
I know that now because a nice woman driving by saw it lying just beyond our driveway in the middle of the street, picked it up and brought it to my front door. But I wasn’t home.
Luckily, our high-tech “Ring” doorbell captured her on video — with my red leather wallet in hand! — and sent an alert to my cell phone. But I didn’t see it because I had turned it off.
I watched the video three times but didn’t recognize the pretty, dark-haired woman in green medical scrubs. So I posted it on the Ring site to see if anyone knew her. Then I posted it on Nextdoor, a private social network for neighborhoods, hoping it would be seen by members of my subdivision.
Within minutes, a good neighbor replied, saying they recognized the woman and provided her full name and street. I found her address in the latest homeowners association directory. Turns out, she and her husband lived around the corner.
As I pulled into their driveway, a car drove up behind me.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. I’m not here about the election,” I joked.
He looked relieved.
“This is going to sound weird, but I think your wife has my wallet.”
He looked puzzled but invited me in.
As he called her at work, their teen-age son at the kitchen table looked up and away as if this kind of thing was a daily occurrence. Their large dog was happy to see me.
Turns out, his wife worked for a dentist about a mile away.
“Thanks,” I said.
I was damn near giddy walking into that dentist’s office. The receptionist was beaming. My new best friend appeared like an angel, clutching my prized red leather wallet. I bear-hugged this perfect stranger and thanked her at least 27 times.
Despite my insistence, she refused a reward of any kind, adding that what she did was just the right thing to do. “Pay it forward,” she said.
If you cannot find faith in humanity, be the faith in humanity.
And put your phone number in your wallet.❤️

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‘Braless wonder’

Journal posted on October 20, 2018

“Oh, great, it’s the braless wonder. Who does she think she’s kidding? Look at her; she’s totally out of control.” – Elaine in the 1996 “Seinfeld” episode where she runs into her high school friend-turned-nemesis, Sue Ellen Mischke.

By Jennifer John
It’s time to end the cover-up. Call TMZ for a full exposé.

In this age of alternative facts, I’m compelled to come clean: I’ve gone braless for months. That’s right. A regular bra hurts my scar; even a running bra is uncomfortable enough to make me gag.

Not surprisingly, in French a bra is called a soutien-gorge (literally, “throat-supporter”). Early versions resembled a camisole stiffened with boning. Sign me up.

(Gentlemen, you may stop reading here. But you’ll likely regret it.)

I’m not wearing a bra while typing this at my kitchen table. No one cares. Not even the dog. Don’t judge me. We all have our secrets. Some are more uplifting.

Truth is, since my May 31 mitral valve repair surgery, I like having the “girls” roam free. It’s liberating, exhilarating and really, really … comfortable. Depending on the occasion, I wear a cotton tank top under a T-shirt or a sleeveless camisole under a button-down shirt or blazer.

This fashion naturally makes me think of “Nonna,” my Italian grandmother, who was always cold, even in the summer, and wore what she called “flanellas” under her simple housedresses and little pink sweater. I am my Nonna.

In case you’re new to this planet, here’s the reason bras rub me the wrong way:
To fix a leaky mitral valve, my surgeon performed a thoracotomy. It was his Plan C, given that he couldn’t do (a) the sternotomy (because I had one in 2001) or (b) the less-invasive side incision (see previous reason plus, too much scar tissue).

So, I’m not only a Zipper Club member, but I’m also on Team Thoracotomy, sporting a half-moon sideways “C” on my back about the length of a medium turkey sub under my right shoulder blade. It ends directly east of my right breast, punctuated by two round smudges that once housed drainage tubes.

You won’t find any backless gowns with plunging necklines in my closet. Shoes and a few skeletons, maybe. But I digress.

While researching the subject of going braless, I found that ditching them actually has some scientifically-backed benefits. In fact, a 15-year study in 2013 by a sports science expert from the University of Besançon, France, found that wearing a bra does more harm than good. It won’t reduce back pain and weakens the breast muscles, resulting in greater sagging. That’s right. Your breasts will actually sag less if you don't wear a bra because not wearing one exercises muscles on both sides of your chest. Who knew?

Along with more lift and comfort, the study concluded you’ll have better posture, not to mention more money in your pocket since you don’t have to buy bras.

Historically, as crowd-pleasers and all-around nice gals, women have bowed to pressures of societal expectations. Wear this harness, and you’ll look perky. Can you imagine if men were forced to wear tighty-whities instead of boxers? No, you cannot. Because they wouldn’t.

These days YouTube has an entire section of videos called, “Why I Don’t Wear a Bra,” where bold, busty millennials mock those repressive over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders with tweets under #freetheboobs on Twitter. One video had nearly 6 million views!

With that, I’m confident at my age, I will make no apologies for going braless. This is not a third-world problem.

But I do feel a little sorry for German scientist Otto Titzling, who originally invented the bra, until Frenchman Philippe de Brassiere stole Otto’s idea in 1912. Even Bette Midler sang about it.

“The result of this swindle is pointedly clear: Do you buy a titsling, or do you buy a brassiere?”

The Divine Miss M would not lie.

Of course, this historical snippet would all be very interesting if any of it were true. Had you going, didn’t I?

(Copyright 2018)

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Rob Sparling Jennifer, I cant think of anything better to read while sitting in Munn Ice Arena waiting for the Michigan/Michigan State football game — which has been suspended ... Read more

Jennifer John Me, too. But at home on the couch. Since my surgery was at UofM, I’ve got to root for Green AND Blue!💚💙🏈❤️

Dan Baltazor Haha 👍 -Stephanie

Rita Savelis You go girl! I admit to being happy about being flat-chested throughout the OHS experience. No surgical bra for me. I think the experience is harder for women. ... Read more

Jennifer John “Keep hanging.” Rita, you’re killing me.😜

Janice West Love this! I’ve been obsessed over what kind of bra I will need post surgery and I believe you just, quite humorously, gave me the answer I needed. Thank you!

Cathy Garziano That's great! I am one of the unfortunate ones who got grandma's giant "girls" and going braless would actually HURT my healing. I'll be in a boulder-holder for 2.5 months 24/7. *sigh*

MARIE PICUN So Happ for you. You are doing what you love, and you did it. Bravo

Rob Sparling Well done, Jennifer! Super happy for you and pleased to read another JJ original! 👍 🎉🎊

Diane Maher Another great piece of writing Jennifer. Hope I can return the laugh when I tell you that all my surgery drama led to our ownership of a cell phone. Our kids ... Read more

Rita Savelis Great news. Took me a year to be able to dance again....and it was wonderful. Take care Jennifer.

LINDA ROBERTS You have such a great sense of humor and a wonderful knack for writing. I miss jazzercise but have a couple or more months to go before I start that. I did ... Read more

Jennifer John Thanks. A cell phone, Diane?! That’s great, Linda. You too, Rita. Funny how doing the dance routines spot on doesn’t matter as much now. 1, 2, 3 ... whoops!😆🎶

Mood swings

Journal posted on September 20, 2018

By Jennifer John

Today marks four months post-op. Might be a good time to talk about something most of us would rather ignore: cardiac depression.

In summer 2001, I had open-heart surgery to remove a tumor the size of a tennis ball from both atriums. After seven weeks, I returned to work. Life was good, except it really wasn’t.

At 41, my body overcame the physical challenges of heart surgery. Yet I felt sad, irritable, anxious and overwhelmed. I just wasn’t myself.

Perhaps, I reasoned, this lingering dark cloud was from the horrors of 9/11, an unthinkable tragedy occurring the week before my medical leave ended. The world had gone mad, and terrorists were flying planes into tall buildings killing innocents in the name of ... what?

I was an emotional wreck and buried myself in work. That wasn’t hard to do amid constant deadlines and endless projects as a senior writer for one of the country’s largest industrial unions. I trudged on, barely getting through each week.

By Christmas, my mood worsened, and it was time to address it with a professional. I went to see my internist, the same physician who discovered the benign tumor (known as a “hemangioma”) during a routine exam. Sitting in her office, nervous as a cat, I’ll never forget what I said: “Something’s wrong with me, doc. I’m just not myself. Everything bothers me. I can’t sleep. I’m not hungry. I’m completely overwhelmed.”

She paused, then gently responded. “Well, Jennifer, it’s not like you haven’t been through something.”

My symptoms, she said, were associated with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), something I’d never even considered. Although PTSD is usually associated with extreme trauma, heart surgery and heart attack survivors can experience similar symptoms — including sleep disorders, panic attacks, irritability or anger, depression and difficulty concentrating.

According to the University of Michigan’s cardiology website, heart health is linked to emotional well-being and vice versa. Addressing both elements is crucial after a cardiac event. Studies also show that one in eight heart attack survivors experiences a PTSD reaction.

I was relieved. There was a reason for the gloom and doom. My doctor put me on the anti-depressant Zoloft, which took several weeks to kick in and worked well with minimal side effects. Oddly enough, cardiac rehab was not recommended.

Nearly two decades later, that same doctor witnessed a lone episode of atrial fibrillation during my annual physical last fall. The diagnosis: severe mitral valve regurgitation. My MV repair/maze procedure was a success. At 58, I’m happily partnered, retired and life is good.

Doctors say by the end of this year, I should feel like a million bucks – perhaps better than ever.

Truth be told, a couple of months after my May 31 surgery, I didn’t feel like myself. And I don’t mean physically. Anxiety, sadness, dread. It was happening again. But this time I knew why and what to do about it. Two months of cardiac rehab have made a remarkable difference in healing my mind and body this time around.

In his book, The Patient’s Guide to Heart Valve Surgery, our website founder Adam Pick describes his battle with post-operative cardiac depression in Chapter 16:

“I was noticing an emotional shift in my behavior and attitude toward my health. Since I began reducing my pain medication, I found myself crying more frequently. The smallest negative thought or negative feeling could set me off into a downward spiral that typically generated a rhetorical question that teased and taunted me. That question was, ‘What is wrong with me?’”

Indeed, a healthy mind and body are crucial to your recuperation from heart surgery. Thankfully, the mind-body connection is no longer up for debate. Although the stigma of mental health issues has decreased, there’s still a long way to go.

My advice? Don’t be afraid to acknowledge what you’re feeling. Talk to your doctor. Go to cardiac rehab. Make a point of talking with your fellow rehab warriors. Or join a support group.

The worst thing you can do is nothing.

(Copyright 2018)

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Meet and greet

Journal posted on August 30, 2018

By Jennifer John

If it’s Thursday, it must be time for ... Education Monday.

But first, I’d like you to meet some of my cardiac rehab pals.

Most of the heart warriors in my 11 a.m. Monday-Wednesday-Friday group are north of age 70. I am, at 58, known as the “Kid.” Not complaining.

The cast of characters (and I mean that):

There’s my good buddy, Sir Charles, a soft-spoken retired GM welder who underwent a quadruple bypass earlier this year. At 81, he’s a devoted baseball fan who has aptly dubbed the Detroit Tigers 2018 team “those bums.”

There’s Hilarious Harvey, 73, a triple bypass and stroke patient who uses a foldable vinyl walker on wheels to get round. His beloved “bride” drives him and picks him up for every session. She never gets out of the car to help him stow the walker. Must be a reason. Tough love, perhaps? Harvey may be physically slow, but his mind is quick and a little bit dirty. “Golf is the most fun you can have with your clothes on,” Harvey has said on more than one occasion as we discussed the improbable comeback of Tiger Woods.

And there’s Talker Tom, 72, previously introduced, who may have met his verbal match with (Not) Silent Sandra, 73, a diabetic with a frozen shoulder, bad knee, weak heart and all-around allergy to exercise. She could talk the feathers off a chicken, as my friend Kelly says.

Then there’s Quiet Ted, nearing 80, who gives his younger compadres a run for their money. One day he heard Talker Tom boasting that a pacemaker makes his heart run 87 percent of the time. “What happens with the other 13 percent?” Quiet Ted deadpanned.

There’s a new member in our group, whom I just met this week. His name is Brian, and he’s 59. (Yea!)

Outwardly, he looks like the picture of health: tall, thin, barely any gray hair. The fact is, he’s a diabetic who had a heart attack in his 40s and has lost 50 pounds in the past year by giving up sugar, processed meats and dairy. (Not necessarily in that order.) Brian now has five (count ‘em, five!) stents in one previously very clogged left anterior descending artery, a.k.a., the “widow maker.” His wife and kids are grateful, and so is he.

Oddly enough, this week’s Education Monday was about stents, those tiny wire mesh tubes that prop open a clogged coronary artery and are left there permanently.

According to our handouts, coronary arteries feed the heart muscle. When a coronary artery is narrowed by a buildup of fatty deposits called plaque, it can reduce blood flow to the heart. Chest pain can result. If a clot forms and completely blocks blood flow to part of the heart muscle, a heart attack results.

What causes plaque to build up against the inner wall of the coronary arteries? High blood pressure, high cholesterol and smoking are among the most common causes. Damage to that inner wall causes inflammation, which can block blood flow to the heart.

If you’re bored during recovery and want to watch something fascinating, go to YouTube and type in “angiogram.” This is a test where a contrast dye is injected into the coronary arteries to locate any blockages. You can see an X-ray map of the heart’s coronary arteries.

Until next time, I’m gonna grab some lunch. Hold the cheese-stuffed French toast and bacon ...

(Copyright 2018)

Like | John Wyatt, Lisa McLaughlin, Jennifer John and like this

Anna Jones Very interesting, Jennifer. I wasn't given that talk because I don't have plaque and I don't have a stent. It is part of my education to not educate me if ... Read more

Phyllis Petersen Most of the people in my rehab group were older men too. A couple had valve repair. But there were two younger people: a man with two young daughters and a ... Read more

Jennifer John Anna & Phyllis, too bad we don’t all live closer. We’d have fun!🏃🏻‍♀️🏋🏻‍♀️

Robert Bach I start my cardiac rehab a week from tomorrow (Sept. 7). Ironically the sessions are held at my regular health club. When I joined the club, little did I dream ... Read more

Phyllis Petersen It would be great Jennifer!
Robert, I really wanted to get the most out of it, although I probably didn't look that way when I arrived in the morning. By the ... Read more

Jane Cunningham Thank you for your kind words of encouragement about UofM. Dr Pagani :)

Friday’s education Monday

Journal posted on August 17, 2018

By Jennifer John

Did you know that just one hour of walking can increase your life expectancy by two hours? Now they tell me.

If it’s Friday, then it must be time for education Monday. This week’s topic at cardiac rehab was Exercise Principles.

Not surprisingly, smoking is the No. 1 preventable risk factor for heart disease. Nearly every heart patient in my cardiac rehab class is a former long-term smoker. They all regret it.

If you’ve quit smoking, bravo! Just one year after stopping, you have cut your risk for heart disease in half. And after being smoke-free for 15 years, your risk is similar to those who have never smoked before. Yes, you read that right.

As recovering heart patients, it’s important for us to understand that the heart is a muscle, and the only way to strengthen it is through aerobic exercise. But it’s crucial to be consistent in your activity. As a lapsed Jazzerciser who has never won a prize for stellar attendance, I wasn’t surprised to learn that deconditioning sets in after two weeks. If you don’t use it, you lose it!

Our rehab exercise physiologist touched on various topics, including how much activity you should have (30 minutes a day, 5 days a week; or 60 minutes a day, 3 days a week). The latter is my current cardiac rehab schedule. If it works better for you at home, breaking up your time into 10-minute increments is OK, too.

To give you an idea of how many calories you may be expending while performing a range of daily activities for 30 minutes, here’s a breakdown (for someone weighing 150 pounds):

Bicycling 188
Dancing 150
Gardening 135
Housework 135
Ironing 75
Jogging 278
Mowing 202
Scrubbing the floor 210
Stair climbing 210
Vacuuming 112
Washing the car 112
Waxing 150
Weeding 150

Let’s see. Given the choice of gardening or housework, I’d much rather be outside. And since vacuuming and washing the car are equal, you’d find me in the driveway, hose in hand. Climbing the stairs to scrub the floor is a two-fer. Waxing or weeding? Tossup.

But ironing hardly seems worth the trouble, doesn’t it?

Have a great weekend!❤️☀️

(Copyright 2018)

Like | Diane Maher, Steve Farthing, Mark Wilbur and like this

Susan Lynn Wow, Jennifer! There's a huge difference between a thoracotomy and a mini- thoracotomy! That is quite an incision. You have been having a great recovery ... Read more

Anna Jones That's really not a bad scar at all. I had a full sternotomy and it goes down my front. It looks like it is healing very nicely. Thank you for showing us the picture.

Peggy Whitecotton It has been my understanding that a thoracotomy is very painful because of cutting through muscles and nerves. I had a full sternotomy and I will say that I ... Read more

Debbie Chatzky Thanks for sharing! Continued healing!

Judy Shaw Looks likes it's healing nicely.

Connie Rizzotti Wow fading nicely looking good

De-stress

Journal posted on August 9, 2018

By Jennifer John

So, a guy walks into his psychiatrist’s office and says, “Doc, I’m so upset. I don’t know if I’m a wigwam or a teepee.” The shrink says, "Relax, you're too tense."
Bada-bing, bada-boom!
Whether it’s stress from being multiple tents or just plain tense, our busy lives contain way too much of it. And I’ll bet since you're reading a heart valve surgery website, you already knew that. But did you know there’s good and bad stress?
Welcome to education Mondays at my cardio rehab. It cuts into your actual workout time, so most of us like it. Except for Michael, 78, who insists it should include a Medicare-covered lunch.
Last week’s topic was Stress Management. (This Monday we discussed Risk Factors for Cardiovascular Disease. As if. I won’t preach to the choir on that subject.)
According to Christine, our group's really smart exercise physiologist, “good” stress is short term, motivational, and enhances learning and brain function. Examples include deadlines, tests or giving a speech. Not sure if contemplating open-heart surgery falls into this category.
“Bad” stress is ongoing, never allows the body relief and can even cause weakened immune systems. Some examples: just about anything.
The hard truth is that managing stress also depends a lot on your personality type. Type A personalities are nearly twice as likely to get heart disease as Type B. Here are some ways to decrease stress in your life:

* Deep breathing. (It definitely works.)
* Chair yoga. (It's really a thing.)
* Acupuncture. (No needles, thanks.)
* Aromatherapy. (Now you’re talking.)

As a heavily medicated co-worker used to say, “Stressed is just desserts spelled backward.” (And flog is golf spelled backward, you fool.)
Like hot fudge sundaes, stress is OK in small amounts. But as it becomes chronic, you put your health at risk.
After living on this earth nearly six considerably stress-filled decades — just ask my healing heart — I’ve decided the best advice is to take time for yourself. After all, there’s only one of you.
Now where’s my lavender oil?

(Copyright 2018)

Like | Judy Shaw, Nancy Surprenant Takahashi, Jennifer John and like this

LINDA ROBERTS Really enjoyed reading your post full of a great sense of humor. It put a smile on my lips . Now where’s my lavender?

Jennifer John Order it, Linda!

Susan Lynn Love your posts!!!!

Mary Woods Thank you for making me laugh today - I needed to! Xx

Anna Jones This is a great post. Now I won't have to sign up for the Educational Every-Other-Thursday lesson on stress. I wish our educational classes interrupted our ... Read more

Diane Maher Couldn’t agree more about your advice to ‘take care of yourself’. My pre-op nurse called this week and one of her questions was did I have help doing ... Read more

Validation

Journal posted on July 28, 2018

By Jennifer John

Yesterday I arrived exactly 15 minutes early to prepare for my first cardiac rehabilitation workout at Troy Beaumont Hospital. This alone is a minor miracle in July, where Michigan motorists routinely dodge orange barrels amid road construction at virtually every turn. This is also known as summer.

On top of that, there were no regular spaces in the hospital’s west entrance lot, and the parking garage was full. So I opted for valet. (Don’t judge me. Next time, I’ll ride my bike. Probably.)

After checking in and attaching three sticky electrodes to my chest, I placed the EKG telemetry monitor in its handy white pouch around my neck and awaited my baseline blood pressure reading.

Cardiac rehab is a medically supervised program that helps improve the health and well-being of people who have heart problems. Rehab programs include exercise training, education on heart-healthy living, and counseling to reduce stress and help you return to an active life.

But here’s what surprised me: According to the New England Journal of Medicine, only 10 percent to 20 percent of those eligible for cardiac rehab actually participate in such a program. I’m pleased to say I took my surgeon’s advice (“You will go to rehab, Jennifer”) to get with the program and attend.

Troy Beaumont’s cardiac rehab facility is run like a suburban boot camp. It’s not the marines, but clearly, these folks don’t mess around. Some rules:

* No coffee two hours 2 before your workout because it increases your blood pressure — and they’ll know no matter how much you fib that it was decaf.
* And while you’re at it, don’t eat a huge meal beforehand either.
* A minimum of 12 visits is required, but you can attend up to 36, if you have good insurance.
* There’s an attendance policy, and if you miss more than a week due to work, vacation or just plain inertia, you’re out.
* You must arrive 15 minutes before your scheduled workout time, and if you’re late more than three times ... Bye, Felicia.
* If your outfit doesn’t match, you will be mocked. (OK, I made that one up.)

So, even if cardiac rehab isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I decided to begin my journey with the same iconic mantra those handsome high-school footballers used on “Friday Night Lights”: clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.
And besides, maybe it will provide a few laughs and new material for my heart journal. It didn’t take long. Meet my first rehab buddy, Talker Tom.

“Well, here we are, all of us in the same boat, recovering from this or that, hoping whatever the surgeons did to us actually works. In my case, I’ve had it all, and nothing worked. But I’m here. Whatever. So, what are you in for?” Tom asked as we sat waiting for our initial blood pressure readings. Five bucks says he’s on the high end.

“Um, well, I’m great,” I replied. “I had a successful mitral valve repair and maze procedure eight weeks ago. Grateful to be here.”

Before he could continue, our exercise physiologist appeared and took my BP. It was 118/70. “That’s really good,” said Taylor, a 20-something tech with boundless energy and a pink Fitbit watch that likely needs constant recharging. “I used to work in food service,” she added, for no apparent reason.

Then, I made my way to the treadmills. I picked the center one between a smiling middle-aged, red-haired woman and a sweaty, wiry middle-aged man. I realized the latter was Talker Tom, now sporting a headband. Crap.

Taylor hooked me up to the safety thingy. Here we go. Twenty minutes on the treadmill, first a 5-minute warmup at 1.5 mph, then 15 minutes at — wait for it! — 2.0 mph! I was anxious but ready.

After the first 10 minutes, Taylor interrupted my inevitable runner’s high to take another BP reading.

“Just keep walking,” she said. “You’re doing fine.” I don’t recall the numbers she shouted to lead tech Jenna seated behind Mission Control. I was sweating, and it wasn’t a hot flash.

Newsflash: There’s a difference between walking around the block cradling your maize and blue University of Michigan heart pillow and keeping pace on a treadmill. Honestly, I felt moderate difficulty, so I sat down to collect myself and drink some water. “What’s next?” I asked Taylor between gulps.

It was a Nustep recumbent cross training machine, combining a comfortable sitting position with a smooth stepping motion, while simultaneously providing upper and lower body motion to work all of the major muscle groups. Kind of like a natural walking motion but with no stress on your joints. Again, Taylor checked my BP during the workout. I did the required 15 minutes with light difficulty.

Pleased, I hopped on my final machine, the arm bike, which provides a cardiovascular workout without using your legs. The 10 minutes of repeated forward and then backward motion felt pretty good, especially on my right shoulder, chest and back muscles, which hadn’t moved this much since raising a fork at my last meal before surgery.

Overall, my first day at rehab was a positive experience. The professionals monitoring each patient’s progress were knowledgeable and kind yet tough. Here are some random comments overheard during my hour workout:
* “Tricia, your heart sure doesn’t like that last 5 minutes on the machine, does it?”
* “Linda, we can’t believe it’s your last day, and will miss your smiling face.”
* “Pedro, you’ve got 58 seconds left on that treadmill.”

As Joanne, my smart nurse friend and Detroit Tigers baseball aficionado, says: “Rehab, it’s the best part of surgery.”

Looking forward to Monday’s session — right after I get my valet ticket validated.

(Copyright 2018)

Like | Rosemary Bobicz Creutz, Jennifer John, Judy Shaw and like this

Anna Jones Hi Jennifer John, I start cardiac rehab on 8/3 so I am very much looking forward to your report. Sending prayers and best wishes for a positive time at rehab, ... Read more

Valerie Altman Hope it was a great day today on your new adventure and that everything was smooth sailing 🎖️

Debbie Chatzky I started cardiac rehab last week. It is nice to have a goal 3 times a week. I have met some interesting people. Starts with getting a blood pressure check ... Read more

Jim Harvey I think I'm the only one in my rehab group that knows who Amy Winehouse is...

Diane Maher Jim ...love the quip😂

Kelly Stoll Mine starts like Debbie's but is all treadmill with a warm up and cool down, then light weights. No other education. 4 more until done.

Diane Maher Thanks so much for posting this Jennifer. Wow! I have not read anything about this procedure, and wasn’t too sure about what you had gone through other ... Read more

Jennifer John Check that: It’s been 7 weeks for me. Bad math must be a side effect of the drugs. Haha My incision is 6-8” long, hidden just under my right “wing.” Keep the faith, and trust the science.❤️🙏🏼

Susan Lynn Jennifer - That is quite a procedure. It's great to hear you're recovering so well! Keep up the great work and that incredible sense of humor! ❤

Jennifer John Thanks. Not quite ready to post a pic of my actual scar yet. Maybe next week.🌺

Kelly Stoll Thanks for the explanation. Been wondering about this procedure since I have seen it mentioned several times.

What’s up, doc?

Journal posted on July 12, 2018

By Jennifer John

The calendar alert on my phone startled me: “SIX WEEKS!”
Wow. Time flies when you’re healing.
So yes, today marks 42 days since my open-heart surgery and five weeks since I was discharged from the hospital.
On that sunny June 6 as Rebecca pushed me in the Wolverine maize and blue wheelchair outside to the car, I gazed up at the clear blue sky and cried tears of joy.
Lisa, the attendant who assists departing patients, gently put her arm on mine. She actually remembered us from five days earlier when we had checked in at the University of Michigan Frankel Cardiovascular Center in Ann Arbor.
“You good, baby?” she asked with the sincerity of a close friend.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, mustering a smile between happy sniffles.
So good. I’m alive, and I’m going home.
God bless America.
I didn’t do much that first week at home. Thank goodness for my wonderful partner, sisters and friends. One particularly ambitious day, I set the table for dinner. Well, that was exhausting!
It was a pretty rough couple of weeks, and I was exhausted most of the time. I slept a lot in a recliner. Most of my activities of daily living required help. Eating breakfast, showering and then getting dressed qualified as a high-impact Jazzercise workout.
On a scale of 1-5, my pain was a 4. Extra Strength Rapid-Release Tylenol was, and continues to be, my friend. The ticking clock was not.
“Is it time yet? Can I take two more Tylenol, please?” I’d beg Nurse Ratchet, knowing it was too soon. So I’d wait. Maybe I’ll pee a few more times and forget about it.

***

Fast-forward to July 2 and my follow-up visit with the surgeon in Ann Arbor. No tears this time. Just some unexpected nerves and lots of smiles all around.
The checklist was all good: EKG in sweet sinus rhythm, normal chest X-ray, good breath sounds and a nicely healed incision. No more lasix, potassium or coumadin. And the doc’s blessing to ditch those @&$#! support stockings! Amen to that.
“I’m done with you,” said Dr. Steven Bolling, the renowned heart surgeon who repaired my severely regurgitating mitral valve.
Glad I brought you a box of Sanders dark chocolate salted caramels, you charmer. Did I mention they’re for your nurse, Marguerite?
To date, Bolling has performed about 7,500 cardiac surgeries, of which 5,000 involved heart valve procedures. Make that 5,001.
Then, before narrowly escaping my grateful bear cub hug of thanks, he couldn’t help himself.
“Why are you sitting like that?” he asked, scrunching his right shoulder exceedingly lower than his left like Quasimodo.
“No, no, no. Don’t sit like that. You’ve got to move. I know it hurts, but you’ve got to move. Are you moving? Are you walking?” he added.
Yes and yes.
Two Michigan medical students with barely formed heads stood stone faced in the corner of the exam room observing their brilliant mentor.
“Are you getting all of this?” I asked the Doogie Howser bookends.
And with those marching orders, I was released — for time served, no doubt.

***

Yesterday was my follow-up visit with my cardiologist. Actually it was with her physician’s assistant, another kind soul named Lisa. (Aside: They often call PAs “physician’s extenders.” Reminds me of bra extenders. Look it up.)
Anyway, Lisa was quite impressed with my recuperation so far and that I’ve managed my pain with Tylenol.
“Thoracotomy procedures are among the most painful surgeries because they cut through muscle, fat and tissue,” she consoled. “It’s pretty brutal when those nerves start to wake up. Just give it time, and keep up the good work.”
Better get another box of chocolates.

Next up: Cardiac rehab begins July 24!

(Copyright 2018)

Like | Lisa McLaughlin, Maureen Baudhuin, Kelly Stoll and like this

Words to live by

Journal posted on June 28, 2018

By Jennifer John

Today marks four weeks post-op. Seems like yesterday. Honestly, sometimes it seems more like a dream that has happened to somebody else.

Then I wake up knowing full well the 6-inch thoracotomy incision dividing the major latissimus dorsi muscle of my chest wall is all mine. The cut starts on my back under the right shoulder blade, heads southeast like a half moon and curls toward my chest, stopping just short of my armpit where the bottom of my bra sits.

Thoracotomies are thought to be one of the most difficult surgical incisions to deal with post-operatively. They say the pain is universal and intense. They are correct.

There was a good reason my surgeon used this approach and not some mini-version of this or that. Too much scar tissue to plow through from a previous heart surgery via sternotomy. Anyway, it worked, and I am grateful.

Everything’s healing nicely, at least on the outside. Inside, the sensory nerves in my chest wall are slowly waking up. Oddly enough, the pain level in these nerves between my ribs changes like the weather. Sometimes it’s dull and constant. Other days it’s sharp and aching, like a gnawing in my rib cage and upper gut.

Not sure I’ve ever experienced nerve pain, per se, but I can say for sure that I don’t much like it.

Enough about that. This too shall pass. Could be worse.

With that, I have adopted a new motto — words to live by — after experiencing a second open-heart surgery in my not-quite six decades on this planet. Indeed, I am positively thrilled to be sitting upright typing these words before sunrise. Heck, I might even get a tattoo to celebrate my new attitude. I said might.

So, here it is: “Must be present to win.”*

“Present,” as in the synonym for a gift. Defined, as in all of those life-coach cliches you’ve no doubt heard, probably said and likely dismissed, such as:

-Savor every moment.
-Live like you’re dying.
-Stop and smell the roses.
-Life is short. Smile while you still have teeth. (That one’s for my great-nephew, Andrew, nearly 9, who lost his front teeth and still loves to tell jokes.)

“Must be present to win.”

As in, put away your damn cell phone. Seriously. And I was a big — Rebecca would argue the world’s biggest — offender. Honestly, can’t that urgent emoji-filled text wait? Will the world stop spinning if you don’t respond within nanoseconds? That’s crazy talk, I know.

And another thing. Stop with the multi-tasking. We know you’re smart and can walk and chew gum and prepare an Excel spreadsheet at the same time. Good for you. We don’t care.

Quit Googling every stupid trivia question you can’t answer off the top of your pretty little head. Who gives a rat’s fandango if you don’t know everything? Right. This. Second.

Doesn’t matter. It truly doesn’t.

What did we do before the internet and Google when we didn’t know something? (Please do not look that up.) I’ll tell you what we did. We discussed things like civilized humans with lively conversation, banter and just plain shooting the breeze. Or, frankly, we just didn’t know. Period. End of story. And we survived.

Not knowing what year the hapless Detroit Lions last won a Super Bowl didn’t cause sleepless nights. (OK, perhaps that’s not the best example. Being a Lions fan may cause insomnia because they have never won a Super Bowl or ever played in one. Never ever. Rest easy, devoted fans.)

Here’s more unsolicited advice exactly one month post-op into the most important what-I-did-on-my-summer-vacation open-heart gig since the last time I did this on July 24, 2001? You don’t forget the date because it’s solely yours forever.

“Must be present to win.”

Pay more attention to your partner, spouse and kids during meals. Look your friends in the eye. Listen. Stop talking incessantly about yourself. Ask questions. You might learn something, and then you won’t have to Google it.

Say it one more time with feeling: “Must be present to win.”

Because if you’re living in the moment, my friends, then we all win. What a gift.

P.S. *Not available in New Jersey. (You know I couldn’t let that go, right?)

(Copyright 2018)

Like | Jennifer John, Kelly Stoll, Diane Maher and like this

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