Jennifer's Heart Valve Journal

Wishing you all a Happy Valentine’s Day, my warrior friends. Feb. 14 is my 9-month anniversary since having open-heart surgery for mitral valve repair/maze procedure via right thoracotomy. Feel like a million bucks!❤️🌴☀️😎

Eight months since my MV repair/maze procedure. Feeling fine. Hope this beautiful sunset on Anna Maria Island, Fla., warms your wonderful hearts! ❤️☀️🌴

Happy 2019, fellow heart warriors!❤️

Just wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Here’s to good health and happy hearts in 2019! 🎄❤️

Seven months since my mitral valve repair surgery, heart warriors. Your support and encouraging words have kept me going. I’m feeling more and more like myself with each passing day! ❤️🤗🎶

Happy December from Maddie, who’s still wondering how that reindeer got her chewy!🎄🐾

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)

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)

Maddie says ... Check out my mother’s journal for a cardiac rehab post update.❤️🐾

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)

Interesting reading on this snowy Friday ... thoughts?
From The New York Times:
How Emotions Can Affect the Heart
In “Heart: A History,” Dr. Sandeep Jauhar argues that doctors need to devote more attention to how factors like unhappy relationships and work stress influence heart disease.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/30/well/live/how-emotions-can-affect-the-heart.html

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.❤️

Cardiac rehab session #35: Who’s that walking for 20 minutes at 3.0 elevation and 3.0 mph? That would be me.❤️💪🏼

“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)

Good morning! I’m at 5-months post-op today and feeling great. Still in cardiac rehab twice a week, and heading to my Jazzercise class now. Life is grand.❤️💪🏼

By Jennifer John

There’s more than just sweat on the tiny white Detroit Tigers rally towel I used to wipe my sparkling forehead throughout last Thursday’s Jazzercise workout. Maybe some tears, too.

It was my first day back in six months, after stopping to focus on preparation for May 31 heart valve surgery.

I was actually nervous before class. Somehow worried that I’d forgotten how to plié or chasse or, worse yet, participate at all. How silly is that? Not entirely after what we’ve been through. Time flies, but muscle memory fades after 50.

Of course, I stood in my old spot (upper left corner, front row) under the ceiling fan right next to Rebecca, who checked on me during the entire hour whenever she slid to the left, as if I wouldn’t notice. (Thanks, hon.)

Our instructor good-naturedly advised the rest of the class not to watch me. Funny.

The songs were faster and mostly new, as well as the routines. But that didn’t matter. I was patient and took it slow and steady. If the pace was too quick, I downshifted to half-time. Too many twists and turns? I marched in place.

But I did it. One hour low-impact Strike class. Fifty active minutes. Nearly 300 calories burned. That’s 3,000 steps forward. My Fitbit app was pleased.

At the end, everyone welcomed me with open arms. And a bouquet of beautiful flowers, no less. My eyes were sweating, too.

This often painful wellness journey has been long, familiar and worth every Tylenol extra-strength gel cap I’ve swallowed.

It feels so good to be back on this road to recovery, even with a few sore muscles tagging along.

(Copyright 2018)

Today I had my first massage in the 4 months since surgery. No pain near my thoracotomy incision. Progress!❤️

Some good news for a change!
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/23/health/heart-failure-valve-repair-microclip.html

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)

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)

Happy Saturday. For those who are still puzzled as to why I underwent a thoracotomy instead of a sternotomy or less-invasive procedure, here’s a great explanation from my surgeon via his cardiac nurse at the University of Michigan Frankel Cardiovascular Center in Ann Arbor:

“Dr. Bolling went in via a right thoracotomy so that he would not have to cut back in through all the scar tissue that built up between your sternum and the front of your heart from your last surgery (in 2001). If he had gone back in through the front, you would be under anesthesia longer because he has to be extremely meticulous when cutting through the old scar tissue. When going through the right side, Dr. Bolling deflates both lungs and is able to get excellent visualization of the heart and your mitral and tricuspid valves. There is no scar tissue (or very little), and the surgery is much easier and faster.”

Makes sense.❤️👍🏻

Today: Three months post-op!❤️💪🏼🎶

One more of Maddie riding shotgun at the Woodward Dream Cruise!😍

Livin’ the Dream!❤️

By Jennifer John

I’m from Detroit. They don’t call us the Motor City just because we build cars. Motown creates dreams that celebrate those cars.

If you’re from Detroit, you know what I’m talking about. If not, let me explain.

It’s been a dream of mine to drive my own classic car in the annual Woodward Dream Cruise. Today, I finally did it.

On this hot and steamy third Saturday in August, 16 miles of Woodward Avenue was the place to be — from Ferndale to Pontiac — as car buffs and classic car owners hit the streets.

Known internationally, for 24 years the Dream Cruise has drawn hundreds of thousands to the world's largest single-day classic car event. Car enthusiasts from as far as Canada, Georgia and California caravan to southeast Michigan to participate in the end-of-summer tradition, a rite of passage for some that attracts 40,000 classic cars and 1.5 million people to the metro-Detroit area.

The first time I had open-heart surgery and attended the Dream Cruise, I barely lasted an hour sitting under a sun-drenched tent watching the cool cars go by. That was in 2001. I probably bought a T-shirt.

This time at Rebecca’s urging, we ventured out, despite the heat and threat of thunderstorms.

Exactly 17 summers later and nearly three months after my May 31 MV repair and maze procedure, I was back at the Cruise, but not just as a spectator.

I was driving my own car, a 1965 Ford Mustang convertible, praying my “Sal” wouldn’t overheat so we could keep on cruising. Mustang Sal did just fine, and the rain held off.

It was a dream come true.

(Copyright 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)

Am I crazy or does this potato chip look like a ... ❤️?

Ten weeks since MV repair surgery. This is what a right thoracotomy scar looks like. (Heart shawl is from the lovely ladies of my writers group!)

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)

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)

More on today’s first cardiac rehab session ... after my nap!❤️💪🏻😴

Morning, all. At last, today is my date with rehab.
Ain’t life strange? Yes, and sometimes cosmically wonderful.
It’s ironic that I’m starting cardiac rehab on July 24, a date which for the past 17 years has marked my first open-heart surgery in 2001. Successful removal of a benign cardiac tumor. Lucky 41-year-old female.
Now I have another annual OHS date to celebrate: May 31, 2018. Successful repair of a leaky mitral valve. Lucky 58-year-old female.
As I begin this new leg of my recuperative journey, I can’t complain. Unlike what Amy Winehouse sang, I’m actually looking forward to rehab.
“They tried to make me go to (cardiac) rehab, I said ... YES, YES, YES!”
More later after this afternoon’s orientation.💪🏼❤️

Best get-well gift ever! “Bless your heart.”❤️

Guess who drove Mustang Sal on this lovely Tuesday afternoon? Me! I think Maddie was more excited than I was. Felt good to get behind the wheel after nearly 7 weeks. It was a little tough getting in and out of the car, but I had a blast cruising.😎

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)

Five weeks and three days post-op: Look who took a pontoon ride today!😎☀️❤️

Miz Maddie wishes everyone a Happy Fourth — and hopes you like her new bandana!🐾🇺🇸

Greetings,
I wanted to update you all on my progress after yesterday's follow-up visit with my doctor at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.

Here’s the sweetest news I could have heard: "I'm done with you."

Dr. Steven Bolling isn't the warmest of dudes, but he certainly gets to the point, doesn’t he?

All of my tests were normal: EKG, chest X-ray, breathing sounds, etc.
They stopped some medications, including Lasix and Coumadin (yea!).
I'll be on a new heart med (Toprol) and a mild diuretic (Aldactizide) until January to help heal the heart. And a daily baby aspirin and fish oil.

I can resume all normal activities when I'm ready, including driving and bungee jumping. Oh, and I can ditch the !@#$% support socks! (We're going to have a bonfire ceremony when the weather cools off. haha)

Also, cardiac rehab is in my near future, about twice a week for six weeks to keep me moving and getting stronger.

Anyway, it's hard to believe this Thursday will be five weeks since my May 31 surgery. They say pain from the thoracotomy incision on my right side and chest will diminish each week and feel almost normal after two months. I’ll take it.

I'm amazed and thankful at what was done to fix my ailing heart. Keeping the faith and trusting the science worked.

And I'm forever grateful to all of you on this website for your support and prayers. I know it made such a positive impact on how I handled this scary but necessary chapter in my life.

Stay well — and God bless!❤️🎶
Jennifer

Happy last Saturday in June, my ❤️ warriors. With each passing day, we improve. Here’s a pic of my awesome 4-legged nurse, Maddie. She rarely leaves my side, hoping that today’s the day we can play ball again!🐾🎾🤗

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)

My favorite cup these last few days.💪🏼❤️🤗

Been meaning to post this for awhile. My big sister gave it to me before my May 31 surgery. When you push the button, it says 4 different inspirational sayings. My fav: “Feed fear a suck-it sandwich.”

Has anyone else experienced this?
I’m 3 weeks post-op from a mitral valve repair and Maze procedure. The last couple of days my blood pressure and pulse have been running high. I don’t feel anything weird.
My doc cut down the lasix and potassium dosage (each 1 per day, not 2) and added metoprolol, a beta-blocker used to lower BP and heart rate, twice daily. Also, he suggested I drink more water to prevent dehydration.
Good news: My resting heart rate has decreased considerably in the last two hours.👍🏻

By Jennifer John

Happy Friday. I believe this is where we left off:

L is for ... lasix, also known as furosemide, a diuretic medication used to reduce excess fluid in the body: It’s likely your doctor will put you on a diuretic such as lasix, which can make you pee like a racehorse within minutes of taking it. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you take it in the morning, so by the time you’re ready for bed, most of it will be out of your system. My advice until you’re weaned off this stuff? Never pass up the opportunity to use a bathroom. Reminds me of a joke: Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom? Because the “p” is silent. Urine my thoughts.

M is for ... Macy’s, as in feeling like a freakin’ Thanksgiving Day Parade float after gaining nearly 20 pounds of fluid during my three-hour surgery: Apparently, additional fluid is necessary in serious operations to protect expanding organs. Indeed. I’m not fat; I’m just fluid.

N is for ... numb, as in with a thoracotomy incision, zillions of temporarily deadened nerves eventually start to wake up: My wonderful University of Michigan Hospital cardiac nurse, Marguerite, explained it as feeling as if you have a “third boob.” At the time, I had no clue what she meant. But I do now. Best I can say is it’s a sharp, shooting pain in my right side and corresponding breast, akin to stepping on a pile of fire ants. Except it’s in your chest. According to WebMD, your surgical cut will go through three phases: swelling, rebuilding and remodeling. Over time, the feeling should become less intense and happen less often. I’m awaiting that final stage — at about six months post-op — when I’m in the home stretch. Meantime, Tylenol and over-the-counter lidocaine pain patches provide some relief as you’re getting sensations back in your nerves. But they’re not quite as effective as having a fresh cup of hot coffee knocked into your lap requiring treatment for third-degree burns to recently shaved privates. (You know who you are, dear heart. I still love you, but you owe me big time.)

O is for ... oy, as in I don’t remember it being this hard the last time I had open-heart surgery in 2001: OK, so I was 17 years younger (age 41) and underwent a textbook sternotomy, which was no walk in the park. But I don’t remember being this sore or crabby.

P is for ... well, pee, of course: I have nothing to add, other than I have to pee.

Q is for ... quiet, as in something I crave 24/7: Seems the noise around me has increased tenfold since my May 31 surgery. Everything is louder. Conversations, TV (and not just the ads), lawn mowers, barking dogs. I find myself actually “shushing” offenders. WTH? I hear it’s common after heart surgery. Part of the adjustment once you’re in the road to recovery. If you’re a caregiver for a recuperating heart patient, you may want to keep this in mind. Turn down the volume. Quiet, please. Be patient. Wear your headphones.

R is for ... Rebecca, as in my shining angel of a caregiver and partner: I’d be lost without you. And now we both know it for sure.❤️

S is for ... stool softener, as in take it if you’re having bowel movement issues: You won’t regret it. Your gut will thank you.

T is for ... tush, as in well, your butt, and individual flushable wipes for those, um, hard-to-reach areas: Whether you’ve had open-heart surgery via sternotomy, thoracotomy or some other less-invasive approach, you’re gonna find it hard to wipe in those first few weeks of healing. These individual wipes are gentle, effective and they don’t rip off your skin. I tried the PureTouch brand, which were a bit too soapy. Perhaps I’ll switch to Cottonelle, which consistently receive four stars, maybe because they’re alcohol-free and have better TV commercials. “Don’t just wipe … wash with Cottonelle ... for a truly superior clean.” OK, I’ll stop.

U is for ... urine, as in I’ll never look at liter of Pepsi the same way again: Apparently, since my surgery, I have eliminated more fluid ounces of water weight than pop served at a John Family reunion. They say your body can retain anywhere from 15 pounds to 40 pounds of fluid during a major operation, such as heart valve repair surgery. No shit, Sherlock. My second day in ICU they weighed me, and the springs shot out of the scale like a Road Runner cartoon. I gasped and asked the aide if that number was in kilos. “Um, no, it’s just a lotta pounds,” she said. Holy crap! One of my doc’s overzealous physician’s assistants actually chastised me for gaining too much weight during surgery. Excuse me? That’s like smacking a bullied kid for wetting the bed. I relayed the story to my night nurse, adding that I wanted to tell the PA, “Bite me, Dough Boy, you don’t look like you’ve missed a meal.” She laughed, and that PA was nicer to me the next time I saw him. Granted, my pre-surgery fighting weight was nothing to brag about, but it was well below that of a small car. Google math alert: 1 liter of fluid equals 2.2 pounds of water. So, figure about 9 liters of Pepsi — those really big bottles — equals just under 20 pounds of water. Line ‘em up at your next BBQ. Brag to your grandchildren.

V is for ... vows, as in marriage: I’ve always thought it was way too easy to get married. Which may be why America’s divorce rate is anywhere from 40 percent to 50 percent. For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. As in, if I am unable to perform three of the five activities of daily living, will you not only wipe my tears, but also my tush when I cannot reach it? I do. Just remember: front to back.

W is for ... water, as in drink plenty of it: Hydration is key to your recovery. Drink lotsa water. Coffee, tea, soft drinks, booze? Not so much. Watch the sugar intake from fruit juices, too. Natural doesn’t mean diet. You’ve come this far. Don’t ruin it. Stick to the heart-healthy plan they suggest.

X is for ... X-ray, as in getting one while I was still in the hospital: One day, two women in blue picked me up from step-down care to get a complimentary chest X-ray. Their navy hospital scrubs were embroidered with “SWAT” on the breast pocket. What’s that stand for, I asked? “Smart Women Against Testosterone,” one of them replied. “Yeah, sometimes we have to kick down doors,” the other chimed in. Now that’s how you have fun working three, 12-hour shifts. Told them they’d be forever known to me as “Cagney & Lacey,” after the 1980s female-led cop show.

Y is for ... yuck, as in unwanted chin hairs and “unibrows”: Women of a certain age will appreciate this one. You know you’re on the mend when seeing your own unibrow doesn’t make you think of legendary artist Frida Kahlo, but instead of “Sesame Street’s” Bert. (In some cultures, the single eyebrow is a sign of virility for men. Figures.) Or, you’re getting better if the sight of spindly hairs forming a goatee on your chin horrifies you enough that you actually give a pluck. Or, when the hair on your underarms and legs grows to lengths suitable for braiding, and you think, “ick.” As the product of an Italian mother and Syrian father, I am, truth be told, a rather hairy girl. So here’s a smart gift idea for your favorite heart patient: Instead of flowers, how about a wet/dry electric razor so they avoid cutting themselves while shaving? (Thanks, Rebecca.) Remember, taking blood thinners such as Warfarin/Coumadin can make you vulnerable to bleeding, even from small cuts. Let the grooming begin!

Z is for ... ZZZs, as in catching some: It’s nap time. Have a great weekend!

(Copyright 2018)

WATCH DOG? Here’s my baby sitter for today — Nurse Maddie! She’s the best. Must be thinking, “Boy, you sure have to go potty a lot, Mom.” ❤️🐾🤗

By Jennifer John

Today marks two weeks at home and nearly three weeks since my surgery.
I’m feeling stronger every day, thanks to daily walks, physical therapy exercises for patients with a thoracotomy incision, and the unwavering love and support from my family and friends.
So much to tell, and nothing but time on my hands. My active mind moves way faster than my healing body, which must conserve energy.

With apologies to the late Sue Grafton, an American author of detective novels best known for her "alphabet series" (“A” is for Alibi, etc.), I’ve compiled a list of post-op ABCs. We’ll start with A through K, because I’m too tired to do all 26 letters right now.

A is for ... a.m., as in my morning routine for the next few weeks: Wake up, pee, get weighed, take temperature, check blood pressure, swallow seven pills, pee again, eat breakfast, poop (if you’re so lucky), shower and nap. Lather, rinse, repeat. Your afternoon awaits.

B is for ... Bolling, as in my heart surgeon: For his final sobering June 5 hospital bedside visit, Dr. Steven Bolling summed up what lay ahead in my immediate future: “We fixed your mitral valve. Now your heart muscle must get stronger. That’s up to you. Walk till it’s more than uncomfortable. And remember: No one has to be nice to you.” I want my mom.

C is for ... coffee, as in I now may prefer it black: That’s crazy talk! If it’s true that spending hours under general anesthesia affects your taste buds, then perhaps this java jolt is only temporary. Or maybe not, and I’ll save money on cream.

D is for ... Drew, my ICU nurse, who took care of me during the critical hours after surgery: According to unnamed sources, RN Drew firmly but gently woke me from my deep sleep after the three-hour operation. “Jen, Jen, open your eyes,” he ordered. Apparently, I complied, but each eye went in opposite directions. My middle sis, Sandy, found this completely “fascinating.” They say RN Drew also removed my breathing tube after just 48 minutes in recovery, some kind of Olympic ICU record. Bet he says that to all the girls. I remember none of this. Just as well. I am alive.

E is for ... Erik, another wonderful ICU nurse, who literally had my back during our daily hallway strolls, covering up my exposed tush with a smart hospital gown tied under my chin: “Is my butt showing?” I’d ask him on every walk, still hooked up to IV drips and monitors, astonished at how much baby steps hurt. “No worries,” RN Erik assured me. “You’re wearing your superhero cape, Jen.” Yes, I am.

F is for ... that first post-op sneeze. It was a Monday, June 11, nearly 9, during the “CBS This Morning” show. You never forget your first sneeze after open-heart surgery. It’s embedded in your soul. (Like when you were 6 and your juvenile delinquent cousin, wearing a monstrous Halloween mask, hid in your tiny bedroom closet, waiting for just the right moment to emerge and scare the living crap out of you.) Back to the sneeze. The slight nose tickle filtered through my nostrils into my sinuses, intensified and then stabbed the right side of my chest. Piercing background music from a Hitchcock movie played in my head. “Oh, sweet Jesus, no,” was all I could think before the inevitable, unstoppable “ACHOO!” burst out. My knees buckled, and I was sitting. Anybody got a Kleenex?

G is for ... give it up, as in losing control: One of the hardest things for me through my recuperation has been to relinquish control and let others help with my activities of daily living. The first week home from the hospital these included but were not limited to: going to the bathroom, showering and dressing. It’s not as demoralizing as it sounds. But needing help — and asking for it — is necessary. Pride be damned. Don’t make things harder than they already are. Because one day very soon you will find great joy in being able to pull up your pants. My advice? Add a little Marvin Gaye to your get-well playlist, sister. “Keep on dancin’ ... Got to give it up.”

H is for ... home, as in there’s no place like it: I arrived home Wednesday, June 6, at 11:25 a.m. It truly is where my heart is.

I is for ... INR, as in the international normalized ratio, a system for reporting results of blood coagulation tests: Huh? If you take a blood thinner (Warfarin/Coumadin) after your heart surgery, it's especially important to have your INR checked regularly. A visiting nurse comes to my home twice a week to see how I’m progressing, takes my vitals and tests my INR with a simple finger prick. My INR is inching up toward where they want it to be so my blood is not too thin and not too thick.

J is for ... Jennifer, as in me, a lapsed Catholic who was offered Holy Communion in the hospital by a kind woman whom I had the nerve to ask this question: “Do you think God could possibly help with bowel movements?” As in, you’re not being discharged from this hospital until you poop, Ms. John. So, together this nice lady and I recited the “Lord’s Prayer,” and then added a post script to stir up my tardy innards. “Prayers for Poop,” we decided to call it. With a wink and a nod, she whispered, “The body of Christ” and handed me a nickel-sized host wafer. I must confess our combined spiritual efforts worked rather swiftly. Amen, sister.

K is for ... Vitamin K, as in an important nutrient found in green leafy vegetables such as kale, collard greens and spinach: All of these must be consumed in small doses when you’re taking Warfarin/Coumadin, because Vitamin K reverses the therapeutic effects of the blood thinning drug. Hold those kale smoothies, Rebecca.

More to come later.

(Copyright 2018)

By Jennifer John

This just in: After sleeping in a recliner since I was released from the hospital June 6, last night I opted for the big-girl bed in our guest room. It was a painful yet necessary step in my recuperation after an MVR/Maze procedure by Dr. Steven Bolling at the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor on May 31.

The agony of lying in a supine position after open-heart surgery is hard to describe to those who have never had open-heart surgery. In my case, I had OHS via sternotomy in 2001, and a thoracotomy this time. The initial pain from either method falls somewhere between stepping on hot, rusty nails to swallowing broken glass.

Honestly, after settling in, I don’t think I moved a muscle all night. I woke up at 6:30 this morning having to pee, of course. I delayed the inevitable task of getting out of bed for what seemed like an eternity. Rebecca let our dog Maddie out, made a pot of coffee and got the Sunday newspapers.

Upon her return, I suggested she come back tomorrow.

My UofM PT Molly had walked me through this getting-out-of-bed dance twice during my hospital stay. The first time it hurt so much I wanted to throttle her into next week. The second time I was kinder, gentler “Oxy Jen” and insisted she sign my blue UofM heart patient pillow. “Are you sure about that?” she asked.

Anyway, here’s the drill: Lean on your good side (my left), swing your legs off the bed and push your body up with your left arm. Easy peasy. One, two, three ... ready, set ... No. Go. Dammit.

“Can you please put the bed up?” I asked Rebecca.

“Um, we don’t have that kind of bed,” she said.

“Well, we should,” I countered.

Then, mustering all of my 58-year-old super powers, I grabbed my heart pillow, leaned, dangled and pushed my bad-ass self up like a champ.

Tears of joy flowed, and I knew this was just one more step toward wellness.

“Jesus, who do you have to sleep with to get a cup of coffee around here?” I said.

Have a wonderful Father’s Day, my friends.

(Copyright 2018)

Week 1 at home: Remarkable what the body can handle. And how often it can pee. Here I am walking down our driveway on Monday. Rebecca said it was my turn to get the mail.🤔 Slow and steady. You got this, my friends.❤️💪🏼

Week 1 at home in the books: Nurse Maddie and me. So happy.❤️🐾