(Continued from Of CABGs and Kin part 1)

At the beginning of the angiogram, I kinda wanted to ignore the entire thing, figuring the less I noticed about what was going on, the more comfortable I'd be with the tube winding its way from my right groin and winding its way to my heart. As it went on, I become fascinated with it, and wanted to know what was going on, just because it seemed pretty cool.

So I lifted my head a bit to get a better look at the monitor, and the half-dozen or so folks in the room declared, "keep your head down."

It was explained to me that because of how they went in, I really should not lift my head, because that would cause blood to move around a bit more than necessary near the entry point, effectively causing some kind of internal bleeding/bruising situation. Okay then, I wouldn't lift my head. I was told I'd need to keep my head down for six hours following the procedure. Also during that time, I needed to apply pressure to the dressing over the entry point if I had to cough, sneeze, or laugh.

When the doctor explained the angiogram video to me (notably the part about recommending a three-way bypass), it also came up that there were signs of having had a heart attack in the last couple of years. That I didn't know about. You'd think I might have noticed something like that. I am still trying to wrap my head around that. I survived a heart attack I didn't even know I had.

I'm admitted to the hospital and I'm given a room. My wife and parents are with me - they'd actually been there for quite a while at this point. But now they are being funny. I'm sure if I wasn't at risk for hematoma, they would have been entirely boring, but no, wisecracking abounds. I just keep steady pressure on the bandage.

Since I can't lift my head, I declare that "anyone who wants to talk to me should stand right there," pointing up at a spot on the ceiling.

After those unbearable no-head-lifting hours, things got pretty cyclical. Doctors and nurses checking the bandage area, giving me drugs, drawing blood, asking about my bowel activity more often than I thought was absolutely necessary....
And waiting. Waiting for tests, waiting to find out when I would have surgery, where it would be, who would be the surgeon. A couple of days like that.

I had plenty of time to think back to when my dad had his bypass done. In the position I found myself now, I felt strangely unaffected. I was going to have my chest cracked open, guts moved around, arteries rerouted, then put back together, and I was supposed to be functional again. Yet, I didn't really think much of it other than that it was kinda neat that it could happen. However, fifteen years ago, when it was done to my dad...

Naturally, my dad is my template for manhood. I'm not talking about masculinity or machismo. I am talking about vitality and integrity, internal strength and personal decency. How a person should be right.

So when I saw him connected to the machines - tubes and wires attached to machines measuring who-know-what and putting some variety of fluids into him, while he barely reacted to the conversation going on around him... That nearly broke me. Everything in my mind stopped working correctly. If there is one moment in my life that I could not handle, that was it. I broke down. I tried to hold back tears - not from shame, but because I didn't want him to be upset from *me* being upset. Clearly he had enough problems. I thought I would have no problem coming to terms with what I'd see, but once I saw him - I shook, I broke.

On the other side of things... I was weirdly okay. Except that my mom would be going through this again. Fifteen years ago, she saw my dad the same way I did. In a couple of days, it would be my turn to do it to her. That made me feel pretty lousy. I know, it's silly to feel guilty for this, but I'm not sure I'd call it guilt, either. But I couldn't help thinking that if I'd only exercise a bit more, ate a little bit better, talked to a doctor more often, I might have avoided putting my wife and parents through this. At this point, there was no way out, though.

A couple of days go by, waiting for schedules to resolve for the three possible surgeons and two potential facilites, and it's finally determined that Dr. Coletta would be doing open heart surgery on me Monday, September 21.

More to come.