Once my husband was found to have heart disease, there was this thirst on my part to know more about coronary bypass surgery, especially when it was a necessity for my husband to have it.
We didn’t pay much attention when my husband’s casual friend was diagnosed with heart problem. Though my husband went to see him before and after his operation, my husband didn’t know much except that it was his friend’s heart that needed surgery urgently. We were shocked that my husband’s seemingly healthy friend was walking around with a weak heart, so to speak.
Even when my husband was told to have a coronary bypass surgery, he didn’t bother to find out the details about it. He didn’t want to know about the procedures of this kind of surgery. Maybe he took comfort in the belief that ignorance is bliss. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Hence, he appeared to be very calm right until the day of the operation. At least, he didn’t worry himself silly.
I, on the other hand, took trouble to check out some facts in the medical books.
Of course, I was reading the abridged versions just to get a rough idea. When I met the wife of my husband’s friend, I asked her about the surgery that her husband underwent.
It was a good thing that I asked. It turned out her husband had heart valve disorders. His valvular disease existed for some years without causing symptoms. When he had breathlessness, fatigue and dizzy spells, he went to seek treatment was told that he had to replace his damaged valve. I read in the medical book that when a synthetic valve is implanted, the patient must take anti-coagulant drugs to prevent blood clogs.
Many months later, it came as a surprise when we heard of his sudden demise. He collapsed after climbing up a flight of stairs. The few times I saw him, he seemed so normal. Even after his operation and during his recuperation he didn’t lose that much of weight.
Clearly, my husband lost weight and his gaunt face was a good indication of how much weight he’d lost. When he went back to work he was a slimmer version of his old self. I wouldn’t believe that I’d have preferred the medium-built man he once was.
But slowly and steadily my husband regained his strength and weight. In those days, I had trouble getting him to stick to a low-fat diet that is high in fiber. I was his food policewoman. When we dined out, he was annoyed when I stopped him from eating too much oily food. He said I stopped his fun of eating. Yeah, the kind of fun that led him to a coronary bypass surgery. It’s so true that people tend to have a short memory. Nowadays, he does have his straying moments from eating healthily.
Heart Problems from a Wife's Point of View
posted by Colourful Jade at 4:36 AM
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
A question of mortality
When my husband checked out from the hospital, he was wheeled out. He was put in a wheelchair at the airport. We traveled first class, first to embark and disembark. It was also the beginning of a long recuperation.
My husband must be very stoical in his suffering. The surgeon had to saw open his ribs before he could reach his heart. Yet, there wasn’t a moan or a groan from him. Of course, he was in pain and in how much pain, he only knew.
When his mother was dying, she had this very bad case of foot ulcer. Gangrene set in and the big toe started to rot. She was advised to have her leg amputated. She would rather die than to be the one-legged survivor. My husband used to marvel at her stoicism in the face of such excruciating pain. Probably my husband had this notion that he would emulate his mother.
When bad things happen to people around you, it is normal for you to feel some empathy and sympathy but when it happens to your spouse or child it brings a sense of desperation, helplessness and despair. So when it happened to my husband I couldn’t help thinking it would be me one day. When my time comes, I’ll try to be cheerful about it. I know it is next to impossible especially when I truly believe that I have a low threshold of pains.
Imagine I’m dying and the disease is killing me, no matter how fast or slow it is still dying and if I have my own way, I’d rather have my family with me and nobody else. Until now I still have full admiration for my late friend who managed to appear cheerful when chemotherapy robbed her of her hair, her vitality, her weight, her looks as her eyes grew larger day by day and they sunk deeper and the fact remained that her days were numbered. Yet she was more cheerful than her well-wishers.
While my husband was recuperating I’d have had these morbid thoughts. Just cough from one of my kids, my initial reaction would start me thinking of the worst scenario. I had stopped taking things for granted.
During his convalescence, my husband’s immunity was pretty low and even a common cold would give him pain. Coughing and sneezing would make him feel strained around his chest area where his ribs were on the mend. In our Asian society, we are too polite to tell the well-wishers to stay away during the period of convalescence. It’s a cultural norm to visit the sick. So my husband had to receive visitors regardless his state of mind. In his good days he would enjoy some good company.
He had to adapt his taste buds to bland food. At this time I had to reduce salt, sugar and oil in the cooking. It had to be a feat to fry fish in 2 teaspoons of oil. When I shopped for my groceries I had to buy cholesterol-free stuff. I cooked more vegetable dishes.
Then I had this brainwave, I thought it would benefit the whole family to eat the same healthy stuff. My children were still young enough to change their mindset.
My husband must be very stoical in his suffering. The surgeon had to saw open his ribs before he could reach his heart. Yet, there wasn’t a moan or a groan from him. Of course, he was in pain and in how much pain, he only knew.
When his mother was dying, she had this very bad case of foot ulcer. Gangrene set in and the big toe started to rot. She was advised to have her leg amputated. She would rather die than to be the one-legged survivor. My husband used to marvel at her stoicism in the face of such excruciating pain. Probably my husband had this notion that he would emulate his mother.
When bad things happen to people around you, it is normal for you to feel some empathy and sympathy but when it happens to your spouse or child it brings a sense of desperation, helplessness and despair. So when it happened to my husband I couldn’t help thinking it would be me one day. When my time comes, I’ll try to be cheerful about it. I know it is next to impossible especially when I truly believe that I have a low threshold of pains.
Imagine I’m dying and the disease is killing me, no matter how fast or slow it is still dying and if I have my own way, I’d rather have my family with me and nobody else. Until now I still have full admiration for my late friend who managed to appear cheerful when chemotherapy robbed her of her hair, her vitality, her weight, her looks as her eyes grew larger day by day and they sunk deeper and the fact remained that her days were numbered. Yet she was more cheerful than her well-wishers.
While my husband was recuperating I’d have had these morbid thoughts. Just cough from one of my kids, my initial reaction would start me thinking of the worst scenario. I had stopped taking things for granted.
During his convalescence, my husband’s immunity was pretty low and even a common cold would give him pain. Coughing and sneezing would make him feel strained around his chest area where his ribs were on the mend. In our Asian society, we are too polite to tell the well-wishers to stay away during the period of convalescence. It’s a cultural norm to visit the sick. So my husband had to receive visitors regardless his state of mind. In his good days he would enjoy some good company.
He had to adapt his taste buds to bland food. At this time I had to reduce salt, sugar and oil in the cooking. It had to be a feat to fry fish in 2 teaspoons of oil. When I shopped for my groceries I had to buy cholesterol-free stuff. I cooked more vegetable dishes.
Then I had this brainwave, I thought it would benefit the whole family to eat the same healthy stuff. My children were still young enough to change their mindset.
Monday, January 1, 2007
Intensive care unit
It was a very nervous me who took the lift to the operation room. The operation took more than seven hours. By the time I reached the operation room, my unconscious husband was already wheeled outside the operation room. I managed to have a glance at him before the nurses pushed the bed on castors and all into the lift. He looked so pale and lifeless. I was told to wait for the call in the waiting room.
I met my husband’s two friends outside the waiting room. I told them what little I’d known. They didn’t stay long as it was pointless when my husband was in the intensive care unit.
When the call came, a voice told me to go to see the surgeon in his room. The surgeon was already in his room and told me to take a seat. He told me he did 6 bypass grafts instead of 3 as intended. He explained he did 3 more bypass grafts on the minor blockages he discovered that the angiogram had missed. He said he might as well fix them while he was at it. I’ll always be grateful to the meticulous surgeon.
I also paid the dietitian a visit who advised me on nutrition therapy. I was told to prepare low-fat, high-fiber meals for my husband. In the past I couldn’t even get my husband to cut down on his high-fat food. She gave me guidelines on what to eat and what not to eat.
Before I left the hospital, I went to see my husband in the intensive care unit. The seriousness of the unit was obvious when I had to remove my footwear and put on the ones provided by the hospital. I also had to wear a hospital gown over my outfit.
The surgeon was with him. He was looking at the monitors. I could see a few tubes that were attached to both sides of his body. I can remember clearly there was a bag to collect blood and a drip-feed above his head. My husband was barely breathing, he was so still, didn’t move or stir.
My husband was in the intensive care unit for 2 days. He spent 5 days in the hospital room before he was discharged. The first day he was out of the intensive care unit, he was asked to walk. My husband knew what was good for him and faithfully did what he was asked to do, even though he had to walk together with his drip-feed.
Both my husband and I slept fitfully during our stay in the hospital. Nurses came to take blood pressure and give out medication; surgeon came to check on him. It seemed to be a round-the-clock service.
One time while my husband was out walking in the ward, I took over the bed and covered myself with the blanket. I was awoken by the nurse who wanted to take my blood pressure. I told her I wasn’t the patient but the patient’s wife.
I met my husband’s two friends outside the waiting room. I told them what little I’d known. They didn’t stay long as it was pointless when my husband was in the intensive care unit.
When the call came, a voice told me to go to see the surgeon in his room. The surgeon was already in his room and told me to take a seat. He told me he did 6 bypass grafts instead of 3 as intended. He explained he did 3 more bypass grafts on the minor blockages he discovered that the angiogram had missed. He said he might as well fix them while he was at it. I’ll always be grateful to the meticulous surgeon.
I also paid the dietitian a visit who advised me on nutrition therapy. I was told to prepare low-fat, high-fiber meals for my husband. In the past I couldn’t even get my husband to cut down on his high-fat food. She gave me guidelines on what to eat and what not to eat.
Before I left the hospital, I went to see my husband in the intensive care unit. The seriousness of the unit was obvious when I had to remove my footwear and put on the ones provided by the hospital. I also had to wear a hospital gown over my outfit.
The surgeon was with him. He was looking at the monitors. I could see a few tubes that were attached to both sides of his body. I can remember clearly there was a bag to collect blood and a drip-feed above his head. My husband was barely breathing, he was so still, didn’t move or stir.
My husband was in the intensive care unit for 2 days. He spent 5 days in the hospital room before he was discharged. The first day he was out of the intensive care unit, he was asked to walk. My husband knew what was good for him and faithfully did what he was asked to do, even though he had to walk together with his drip-feed.
Both my husband and I slept fitfully during our stay in the hospital. Nurses came to take blood pressure and give out medication; surgeon came to check on him. It seemed to be a round-the-clock service.
One time while my husband was out walking in the ward, I took over the bed and covered myself with the blanket. I was awoken by the nurse who wanted to take my blood pressure. I told her I wasn’t the patient but the patient’s wife.
