Sunday, January 09, 2011

Bypass IV: Going Home

"How long before we can get back to the golf course?" is the question we had posed to all the surgeons and cardiologists we met in our pre-surgery rounds.

"Two months" was the answer. Standard deviation : nil. Considering their diverse backgrounds, it is obviously a figure approved by the IMC, the RCS and the FDA not to mention the International Golfer's union. Or mandated by God. It also turns out to be accurate.

No one told us how hard we would have to work to get there. We thought the two months will be like an extended recovery from a nasty flu. Lie back and get unending TLC. All needs, whims and fancies met. We know how to deal with that.

Reality Bites
Shortly after we are ferried back from the ICU, and before we have settled in, the young physio-therapist turns up with an equally young associate. Manuben One has a piercing gaze and holds our attention effortlessly as she describes in a soft voice the physical routines we have to follow. Manu Two has dancing eyes that dare us to look away as she demos an exercise or corrects what we are doing .

Walking Solves Everything
The first thing they teach is to Suck and Blow. The exercise tool for lungs is a plastic contraption with a teat and balls. Suck ten times. Blow ten times. Repeat till the balls are jumping around happily.

Next come exercises for the chest, arms and legs. Fatigue is not an excuse, it earns a very short respite. In no time they have us standing up and trying to take a step. Alok and Kusum told to encourage us to do the routines as often as possible. They take it very seriously. They hassle, cajole and help us.

In three days the Manus have us walking out of our rooms and around the corridors to cheering from nursing staff much like a one year old gets when he takes his first few steps. On the fourth day they take us up and down a flight of stairs.

Talking Helps
All three surgeons visit us every day at different times. They never miss. One day they come even after a sixteen hour overnight surgery. Hats off.

Surgeons Two and Three are primarily on check up rounds. Removing sundry detritus left behind by the procedure. Questions are asked and are answered. By them and by us. Medication for pain management as also for regulating liquid and solid input-output is constantly fine tuned. The dressings come off. As do the pacemaker wires inserted 'just in case'. Very businesslike.

Surgeon One comes in the evening. His visit is more like a social visit. He sits down with the family and we have a natter running to half an hour or so. This, more than anything else, helps us mentally along the path to recovery and gives everyone the confidence that things are turning out well.

He apologises, almost, for the hospital food. We discover his favourite sin food is Samosa. His wife has learnt not to expect him with certainty for any meal. Somewhere along the line he also takes a quick look at how we are coming along physically.

He takes us through what is happening and will happen inside our body. The refurbished heart he has fashioned for us should serve us well for 12 to 15 years if we take good care of it. The fractured rib cage he has given us will never heal. The veins he harvested will leave our lower legs numb for months to come with shooting pain from time to time.

The first evening he cautions: Be prepared for good days and bad.

A Horrible Day
The third day after surgery is the worst we will go through in this episode of our life. We don't sleep well, waking up again and again to answer the call of the diuretic we have been given. Kusum sits up all night by our side. Alok lies awake on a couch in the living room, jumping up every now and then as we stir noisily. A she-dracula turns up before dawn to draw blood. The bath service arrives at 7 a.m. and is followed shortly thereafter by house keeping and then by breakfast.

By 9 a.m. we are through for the day. Washed out. Manu One and Two arrive at the appointed time. For the first time in our life we turn away attractive young women. They make two more attempts during the day before giving up in pouty good grace.

When Surgeon Three arrives for the first medical call, we lay down the law. Henceforth, no one will disturb us before 8 a.m. He instructs the staff nurse. Thank you. Then onwards everything is tickety-boo.

Chalo Ghar 
On the fifth day out of the operation theatre, Surgeon One tells us that they are done with us. They will carry out a few tests the next day and if all is as expected we can go home the day after. That would be three days short of the plan.

The next day Florence One, after doing whatever tests can be done in the rooms, sends us off in a wheel chair with a pilot to the lab for an echo-cardiogram. Alok is our escort this time.

The Ultimate Test
As we wait, bored to distraction, in the Sunday-quiet corridor for the elevator to the lab floor, we hear a clickety-clack approaching from behind us. As it nears, we look south-south-east to find a pair of red stiletto heels leading to well turned ankles leading on to slim fit denim jeans leading further north to a rare sight, an end that justifies the jeans.

We look north-north-west to see if Alok shares our appreciation of perfection and find a wicked smile.

"Ready to go home, Dad!"
"Absolutely"

And so it comes to pass.

ps: For Alok's take on the ultimate test, click here.

pps: This is the last post on the Bypass per se, but Friend One called after the last post to say, "Levity is all very well but you need to put down stuff describing where you find the strength to go through something like this". Son One says we need to acknowledge everyone who helped us go into it smiling and to come out of it smiling. Fair enough. So here it is: