A year ago I had chest surgery for a condition called pectus excavatum. Pectus Excavatum (PE) is a condition where your breastbone is sunken into the chest, pulling your ribs down and in, and bringing your shoulders forward. The condition places pressure on the lungs and heart, making it difficult for the heart and lungs to function.
I vacillated for 5 years before deciding to have the surgery. It's painful. The surgeons have to open the chest and remove all the cartilage connecting the ribs to the breastbone. Then they break the breastbone and place it in the correct position. After stabilizing the breastbone with thin titanium straps, a plastic surgeon "remodels" the pectoral muscles, ensuring that all areas without cartilage are at least protected by muscle. My thoracic surgeon told me it's the most painful surgery he does.
I remember waking from surgery feeling pain ripping through my chest. Relief was nowhere to be found; after all, you can't rest your chest. You have to use it every second--to breath...to cough...to sneeze...to vomit.
The first few days I was on heavy medication and unable to stay awake. I drifted in an out, feeling pain and just wanting to get away from it. The third day, however, was quite different! They not only removed the heavy drugs, but they expected me to get up and take a walk. I wondered how could they possibly expect me to do that? I was so fragile.
Well, I did take the walk. They helped me through it. Each day I took more walks, setting a new goal for distance. I was progressing as expected.
But I didn't feel like I was progressing. By the fourth or fifth day, I was sitting around feeling sorry for myself--
really sorry for myself. I didn't want to walk, I didn't want to eat. Couldn't I just lie there in peace?
Late one evening when all was quiet, my favorite nurse, Joseph, entered my room and announced it was time for a walk. I loved Joseph because he was strong and I knew he'd protect me if anything happened. I felt secure. This time our goal was to set a new distance record--the end of the hall.
Slowly, slowly we walked. Me with my walker, Joseph holding me steady. An amble of sorts. As we approached the end of the hallway, I heard a whirring sound--like Darth Vader breathing.
We stopped. Joseph said, "Do you hear that?" I nodded. "The person in that room has an artificial heart."
I stood immobilized for a moment as his words sank in. I understood, and he knew I understood. We walked silently back to my room.
The night before I was discharged, Joseph was on duty and came to say goodbye. I told him how much I appreciated his help and support. He said that sometimes you
just know what a patient needs to get them over a hump...
And he did.