Day before surgery.
Early this summer, my dad was diagnosed with a severely malfunctioning heart valve, and valve replacement surgery was recommended. Open heart surgery at Dad’s age (87) is considered very risky. But there’s a new kind of valve replacement surgery that avoids opening the chest. TAVR (Transcatheter Aortic Valve Replacement) accesses the aorta through the groin. The new valve is threaded up through the femoral artery and positioned using high-tech equipment. Recovery time is cut from weeks to days. Kate and I were in Springfield, Missouri last June for the initial diagnosis and angiogram. When it looked like it would be several weeks before surgery, we left Springfield and traveled north, expecting to come back for the surgery. A need for two new arterial stents postponed TAVR surgery even further, and we made it all the way to Vermont before Dad finally got a surgery date. We got back in time for me to take Dad to his pre-op appointments. This is where they finally got real about all the risks involved, and for the first time, they mentioned – almost casually, as if this was something we should know already – that without this surgery, Dad’s life expectation was three months.
Barcoded for surgery.
On August 26, I took Dad in at 7:30. It took a couple of hours for all the prep, including placing a bar code sticker on Dad’s forehead, which made us both laugh out loud. It was almost noon before they wheeled Dad’s gurney away. I grabbed some lunch and waited in his room, and just over an hour later, two of the three surgeons came with the good news. “It couldn’t have gone better.” He was their first patient to get the latest generation of this valve, and they were delighted by how much easier it was to place, how well it fit. Everything went perfectly. “He should be up and walking in four hours and going home tomorrow morning.” The miracles of modern medicine. Dad didn’t feel instant results. For the first week, he was as exhausted as ever and starting to feel pretty frustrated. He was a trooper, though. Continued to host neighborhood “happy hours” on his patio. On Day 3, my cousin gave a dinner party for us, and he lasted well into the evening.
Opening a birthday present.
Day 7 was Dad’s 87th birthday, and his neighbor, Sharon, wasn’t about to let him forget it. Several of us went out to lunch together, and that evening, Sharon hosted a patio party with about 20 neighbors and friends. Everyone commented on how his color had improved, and the next morning, his first burst of new energy had him up early, moving lawn furniture and cleaning up. We’re still here in Springfield, waiting on some parts for warranty work on Bessie. But even though Dad appreciates our company and cooking (and tells others he’s paying off the mechanic to hold things up), he’s better than ever and will be fine on his own.
Thank you Medicare for one hell of a birthday present.