For the most part, families are wonderful. They give us\nsupport, encouragement and love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But they also give us their blood and guts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve spent a lifetime trying to ward off the inevitable, my\nancestors\u2019 legacies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Last month, 50 years of bike riding, running and pretending\nI\u2019m Arnold Schwarzenegger in the gym failed me. That three grandparents died of\nheart disease, I was doomed. No outrunning, out-biking or out-lifting that. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Late last year I noticed my blood pressure rising. My\ncardiologist said when I got back from Colorado, where we spent the holidays\nwith our family, he\u2019d run some tests. But on New Year\u2019s Day, my blood pressure\nspiked to 201\/106. That\u2019s stroke\nterritory. The ER doc in Colorado said I wasn\u2019t having a heart attack, but he\ncouldn\u2019t reduce my BP much below 175. \u201cSee your cardiologist,\u201d he said. All\nthat medical training and this is the best advice he can offer?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did when we returned to Florida. He ordered some tests,\nthe penultimate of which was a cardiac CT scan that takes pictures of the heart\narteries. By the time I had it done, we were only six days from leaving for a\n3-week vacation in Chile. Two days later, I had a follow-up visit with him, but\nhe had yet to see the test results. \u201cI\u2019ll call you when I get them. Maybe I can\ntext the doc and get a preliminary reading\u201d he said. I walked to the front area\nand began to check out when he comes down the hall and tells me to come back to\nthe exam room. He shows me the terse response to his text: \u201cVery bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My cardiologist said he could perform a catheterization\nthe next morning. It\u2019s the final arbiter, as they run a camera up through your\nveins to the heart and get the definitive look. \u201cIf I can put some stents in,\nyou can go on your trip,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it wasn\u2019t to be. The blockage, which included the LAD\nartery, nicknamed \u201cthe widow maker,\u201d was in areas of the arteries that\nprecluded stents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He still was willing to entertain the idea of me going to\nChile. But when I told him that the first stop was the Atacama High Desert, one\nof the driest spots on earth at 8,000 feet, he raised his eyebrows. When I told\nhim on the third day we were to start a hike at 15,000 feet, his eyes popped\nout of his head. Karla and I looked at one another. Just maybe being in a\nforeign country in the middle of nowhere having a self-induced heart attack was\nnot the best way to spend a vacation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two weeks later I met with the surgeon. Folks who knew\nhim said he was good. The nurse in the catheterization lab said he was\nexcellent but \u201ca little gruff.\u201d But then again, he was a surgeon, many of whom\nhave a reputation for bad bedside manners, in part because when they enter a\nroom, they hear trumpets. Which seems to prevent them from hearing their\npatients\u2019 concerns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This guy was different. First, he had, in his youth, done\nthe Ironman. He said he used to work out two hours a day. So at least he\nunderstood the disorder that some of us have about loving to suffer. He spent\nan hour with me and assured me that I was a low-risk patient. The only\nconcerning factor was that I was immune compromised, my psoriatic arthritis. Factoring\nthat in, they have a matrix that shows your risk factor. The one that caught my\neye was that I had an 8% chance of dying during the surgery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eight percent? If I was told I\u2019d get $50 million dollars\nand I can watch Marjorie Taylor Greene get the Salem witch treatment but had an\n8 percent chance of dying immediately afterwards, I think I\u2019d pass. But I\ndecided to roll the dice, in part because doing nothing didn\u2019t seem an\nattractive alternative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He said it was to be a triple bypass. The irony here is\nthat as part of my quest to outfox my grandparents (and mother who had bypass\nsurgery at my age) I twice suffered through a ride from Evergreen to Avon,\nColorado, a distance of 117 miles while climbing 10,500 feet over three\nmountain passes. It was called the Triple Bypass. Oh, aren\u2019t they so clever\u2014and\nin my case, prophetic!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
March 20 arrived, and I was greeted by a nurse whose job\nwas to shave me. She did\u2014everywhere. How many places were they going to cut, I\nthought? The only thing she left me was my close-up for a porno movie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eventually, I was rolled into the operating room, as I\ntried to keep the number 8% out of my head. Six and half hours later, I\nreceived the greatest gift ever\u2014I awoke, dazed with tubes coming out of my\nchest, but I survived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first three days were encouraging. My chest didn\u2019t\nhurt that much. Guys I had talked to said that was the worst part. But they\nnever broke their femur or cracked their pelvis in eight places. I\u2019m practiced\nat pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The only wrinkle was a visit from my surgeon on the third\npost-op day. While he had an expansive look inside my chest, he noticed an\nirregular lymph node, so he biopsied it. \u201cYou\u2019ve got cancer,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ll\nprobably need chemotherapy.\u201d But it looks like I\u2019ll need nothing\u2014literally. \u201cYou\u2019ve\nprobably had this small cell lymphoma for years,\u201d the hematologist said, \u201cAnd\nit\u2019s so slow growing that you\u2019ll probably never need treatment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the fourth day, my stomach began talking to me. The\nnext day I was doubled over. Of course, the hospital ordered a scan: Voila! I\nhad gallstones and the whole organ was failing, a not uncommon occurrence after\nheart surgery. Seems the gallbladder, when teetering on the edge before heart\nsurgery goes over it when you mess with the heart. Kate, the first of our three\nkids to spend a week with me and Karla, walked me through the darkest period of\nthis whole sordid affair. My Romanian general surgeon said she could take it\nout that night. So about 7 pm, I\u2019m rolled into the pre-op room. By 10 pm I\u2019m\nthe only one there, except for the nurses waiting for gunshot victims.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m wheeled into the operating room and put under general\nanesthesia for the second time in seven days. When I awoke, I asked how it\nwent. \u201cIt didn\u2019t,\u201d she said. \u201cYou went into a-fib.\u201d She said she consulted with\nmy heart surgeon. \u201cHe said it would probably be OK.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Probably? He\u2019s sitting at home, probably watching The\nHousewives of New Jersey, while I was probably going to be OK. I was glad she\ndemurred. \u201cI thought it wise to wait until tomorrow when the hospital is filled\nwith plenty of experts I can call on,\u201d she said. She was being cautious and\nadvised, \u201cThere\u2019s a reason patients have better outcomes with female surgeons.\u201d\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Why the hell are women so much smarter than us?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So the next day, as she put it, she \u201cstabbed me four\ntimes,\u201d inserted the robotics, clipped the gallbladder from the liver, crushed\nit and sucked it out one of my stab wounds. I was home the next day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But not for long. Hunter, who had taken over from Kate,\nand I went for a walk, after which I had a pain in my chest. Consulting the\nimpeccable health source, Google, I learned that fleeting chest pains are\ncommon after a bypass. But this one didn\u2019t fleet. Six hours later I was in the\nER.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They thought the pains were simply the sternum\nrearranging itself and complaining after it was assaulted, but of course they\nran some tests. They still couldn\u2019t tell me the source of the pain but\ndiscovered two blood clots in my lungs, again a typical byproduct of a bypass. I\nwas back in the hospital for couple of days until they decided that the\nembolisms were safely parked in my lungs and weren\u2019t going anywhere. A\nsix-month course of blood thinners should allow them to dissolve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This marked the second time in recent years I spent my birthday\nin the hospital. That could be depressing, but I prefer to consider these trips\n\u201cdestination birthdays.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The last doc doing rounds that morning was a colleague of\nmy surgeon who had come in almost daily to offer a few words of wisdom and\nencouragement and then disappear. He looked like Dr. Marcus Welby but older. I\nhad earlier asked him if he was a sort of surgeon emeritus. \u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cif\nyou don\u2019t operate, you\u2019re out of here.\u201d I later learned that this guy who\nlooked to be well into his 70s, had twin 15-year-old daughters at home. So,\neven if could, he couldn\u2019t afford to be emeritus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But on this morning, he tried to lift my spirits. \u201cYou\nknow,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve been through a lot, what with three major things\nhappening to you\u2014the bypass, gallbladder and cancer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFour things,\u201d I said, \u201cYou forget why I\u2019m here now\u2014the embolisms.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh yeah,\u201d he said. \u201cAny one of those could have killed\nyou!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m not sure if he was trying to bolster me, but all I\ncould think of was \u201cYeah but there\u2019s still time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later that day, I was home again, this time with my son\nZack, his wife Chelsie, and my 7-month-old grandson Orion, who so far seems\npretty enamored with life. He smiles a lot. Which was good for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Daily walks and naps, along with anything I want to eat (because\nI lost 14 pounds during my ordeals) have been my routine. I feel like I\u2019m\nmaking daily progress. I\u2019m a little less tired each day. My walking pace has\npicked up. And the fatigue I had for the past couple of years has lessened,\nreplaced by a tiredness that I think relates to my physical trauma,\nunderstandably so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve tried to make peace with my ancestors for treating\nme this way, though years of ice cream piled in what is known in our house as a\n\u201cGriendling bowl\u201d may not have helped. Grandpop Andrew Griendling had what I\u2019ve\nessentially got\u2014arteriosclerosis. He died of it at my age. His wife Anna, nee\nCorvin, was rolled into the operating room for heart surgery, said, \u201cIt\u2019s\nchilly in here\u201d and promptly died. Grandpop Pasquale Petta died at 66 after two\nheart attacks a week apart. But his legacy included a full head of black hair,\nfor which I\u2019m vain enough to consider it a fair trade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ah but, Grandmom Maria, who lived until I was in my 40s,\nwas the exception. I don\u2019t know what she died from officially, but she lived until\n90, all the while resigned to life\u2019s imperfections. The glass was always half\nfull.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Some people think because I\u2019ve had this string of broken\nbones and brains these last four years and am now recovering from surgery that\nI\u2019m tough or dogged\u2014or too stupid to know the difference. No, I get strength\nfrom those around me, and they all were here this past month. What a gift! And after\nall, whatever I\u2019ve gone through Karla and the kids have had to, also. But they\ndidn\u2019t have the advantage I did\u2014drugs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The glass is more than half full and then some.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
For the most part, families are wonderful. They give us support, encouragement and love. But they also give us their blood and guts. I\u2019ve spent a lifetime trying to ward off the inevitable, my ancestors\u2019 legacies. Last month, 50 years of bike riding, running and pretending I\u2019m Arnold Schwarzenegger in the gym failed me. That… Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2120"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2120"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2121,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2120\/revisions\/2121"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/griendling.com\/wordpress1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}