Into and Out of the Woods
Fourteen years ago—four months before Zach and I were married—my dad underwent quadruple-bypass surgery. If you haven't been through open-heart surgery, either as patient or next of kin, you may not fully appreciate what an awful and amazing thing it is, a simultaneous assault and rescue operation.
Everything about it is grueling: the cracking of the chest, the hours in the O.R., the constant post-op ministering and monitoring, the time spent on a ventilator, the abject exhaustion, and the long, slow recovery that begins in the ICU and ends months later, when the simple act of eating a meal or taking a shower no longer requires a compensatory nap, when the 8-inch incision has become a scar, when dancing at your daughter's wedding is no longer a goal but reality.
If you've been through the trauma of open-heart surgery—if you've had great violence done to the core of your physical being and come out the other side—you imagine that life will give you some kind of bye after that. You believe that there is some measure of justice in the cosmos and that double jeopardy doesn't exist.
You don't expect that 14 years later you will have to go through the whole thing again because, although those four bypasses are still going strong, two leaky valves have suddenly compromised your entire cardiac plumbing system.
Last Friday, my dad went once more unto the breach and under the knife. After 10 long hours in surgery, he has two brand-new valves to go with those four bypasses. And after four long days on a ventilator—the machine that sustained and tormented him for an interminable week last time around—he was liberated early this morning.
He is still in intensive care, and the path to recovery will be a protracted one, but my mother and sister and I have all exhaled.
And so, finally, has he.
Everything about it is grueling: the cracking of the chest, the hours in the O.R., the constant post-op ministering and monitoring, the time spent on a ventilator, the abject exhaustion, and the long, slow recovery that begins in the ICU and ends months later, when the simple act of eating a meal or taking a shower no longer requires a compensatory nap, when the 8-inch incision has become a scar, when dancing at your daughter's wedding is no longer a goal but reality.
If you've been through the trauma of open-heart surgery—if you've had great violence done to the core of your physical being and come out the other side—you imagine that life will give you some kind of bye after that. You believe that there is some measure of justice in the cosmos and that double jeopardy doesn't exist.
You don't expect that 14 years later you will have to go through the whole thing again because, although those four bypasses are still going strong, two leaky valves have suddenly compromised your entire cardiac plumbing system.
Last Friday, my dad went once more unto the breach and under the knife. After 10 long hours in surgery, he has two brand-new valves to go with those four bypasses. And after four long days on a ventilator—the machine that sustained and tormented him for an interminable week last time around—he was liberated early this morning.
He is still in intensive care, and the path to recovery will be a protracted one, but my mother and sister and I have all exhaled.
And so, finally, has he.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 9:31 PM
4 Comments:
I haven't shed a tear through all of our vigil until five minutes ago when I read your wonderful words....thank you from the bottom of my heart. Mom
Jody,
I just e-mailed you privately, but in case you see this first, I wanted to let you and your family know that I am thinking of you and praying for your dad.
I've been living in a bizarre parallel universe as my mother had a triple bypass last Friday! She, thankfully, is doing very well and came home last night.
So I can sympathize! All the best to your dad for a speedy recovery. And please make sure you take care of yourself!
Jody, Just wanted to let you know that you and your family are in my thoughts, sending you lots of love, Kathy.
Dear Jody,
Thank you for sharing your inspirational words and thoughts. As an honorary Rosen all my life, Herbie is always in my thoughts and prayers - but especially now. Yet, I have total confidence in him and trust that his recovery will be complete and quicker than it should be!
My love to all of you for a New Year blessed with health, joy, laughter, friendship and peace.
Hugs and kisses, Ellen
Post a Comment
<< Home