... How shall I begin filling you in on the goings on in our life?
I went for my ablation procedure last Wednesday in Victoria, British Columbia. It was a grueling few days-well lets just say few weeks-- leading up to the procedure. It was the tightchest-can'tbreathe-can'tthinkofanythinggood-fearscented kind of stressed out. So while I was so... occupied... I let my mind drift into some silly reading material.
Yes.
Ashamedly.
I did read them.
All of them....
The Twilight Saga
I allowed myself to be that girl I once was long long ago. You know... the fifteen-year-old girl who can't think of anything besides a good romantic story full of intrigue and excitement. So for a week and a half I read all 2381 pages of fanciful fiction.
It was a good mind break. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. However, I must make an aside comment: I did take note that I would not allow an impressionable-young-teenage-girl read the books if I had one. Bella is not a good role model for a young lady. But that is for another blog on another day.
I finished the books on Tuesday of last week, and the following day Josh and I flew to Victoria for the procedure.
We stayed at a hotel the night before and headed to Royal Jubilee Hospital for 6:30 for a bunch of pre-procedure stuff, the majority being sitting and waiting for hours. Josh was only allowed to sit with me for about an hour before the procedure, so I was thankful I came armed against idle thoughts with my iPod (filled with a playlist of peaceful-Christ-centered-music), and the hat that I was crocheting for Josh. I finished the hat about 20 minutes before noon (the schedule procedure time), which left me 20 minutes with only my music and my thoughts.
For the 20 minutes leading up to noon I filled it with meditating on Psalms 91 (a Psalm that has been very comforting to me my whole life as I have struggled with this heart issue), and praying. I did feel calm. A bit jittery, but also calm--if the two can coincide. I felt as though Jesus were sitting on that bed with me holding my hand.
Then they came and wheeled me into the OR. I was covered with blankets. I met the anesthesiologist. I talked to the nurse. I talked about the weather in Kelowna. I talked about what kind of art I make and how long I lived in Texas.
And then the doctor came and gave me a local anesthetic, and began putting the four catheters into my leg. I remember that I felt some pressure in my leg, but only for a second while he was inserting them. Then I remember him walking away, and wondering when they would put them into my heart. The anesthesiologist came and gave me a sedative in my iv. I looked at the clock and it was 1 pm. Then everyone left my side, and it appeared to me that I was going to have a bit of time before the procedure began.
Suddenly my heart began beating weird, and fast. It took me a minute to remember that the doctor had told me that I when I started to feel this happen, that it was them playing with the rhythm, and I was safe. I waited a minute longer and then looked at the anesthesiologist who was sitting about 15 feet away at a desk. I asked him how fast my heart was beating, and he said 250. Then, "would you like me to give you some more medicine?" to which my response was to look back up at the ceiling calmly and yet nervously and say, "Sure." I watched him walk over to my iv, I saw him inject something clear into the iv, and then I remember nothing for some span of time.
When I woke up I noticed my heart still beating strangely. I looked at the clock which said 2:30. I looked over at the anesthesiologist who was looking quite bored, and over at the nurse who may or may not have asked me how I was feeling. Then some more time passed. My heart was beating normally. The doctor came and told me something which seems to have been something along the lines of "It was the easiest one. We ablated it. Success."--though, I realize that a doctor would use more words, and my sedated mind must have just compacted it into something I could understand. I remember hoping that he would come back later when I could more fully know what had happened in the hour and a half that I was asleep.
A few minutes later and I was being wheeled back into the room I had been in before. The nurse that I had spent the morning was there to greet me, along with another young male nurse. They had heard that it was a success, and she asked, "Should I call the hubby?" I said, "Yes, Josh is in the waiting room." She left to get him. When he came in I smiled and he asked me how I felt. I said, "Good. I feel hungry." She let Josh sit with me for the majority of the next 4 hours, though he did have to take a break to go get some lunch himself.
To my relief, Dr. Novak and his associate doctor did come to speak with us. I was feeling much more aware and alert at that point. He told Josh and me that they were considering the procedure a SUCCESS. They said they were able to locate the extra pathway quite easily, that they never had to put me at risk for a stroke during the procedure (which was a slight possibility depending on where the pathway was), and that they ablated the AV Node, after which they tried to get my tachycardia to start back up again for 30 minutes, and it never began again. They told me that if I don't have an episode within one year that they consider me completely cured.
After I was allowed to go home (3 1/2 hours of laying flat later), we went back to the hotel where I drank chocolate milk and ate a couple chocolate truffles--those of you who have kept up with me this past year will know that I haven't been allowed to eat chocolate or drink coffee since June, so it was quite the treat. A perfect end to a hard days work, and a difficult year. Praise the Lord that he had such a good ending for this saga.
Prior to that day, I honestly felt like I was not going to make it out of that procedure alive. As much as I was placing my hope in God, it seemed to make so much sense that it was God's will that this procedure be the end for me. In hinds sight, I gave too much thought to that idea. Feeling foolish, I confided in my dear friend Ashley, who said these comforting words:
I begin this new year with a courageous spirit, a healthy heart, and a desire more than ever to live up to the super-womaninity that God has called me to.
I went for my ablation procedure last Wednesday in Victoria, British Columbia. It was a grueling few days-well lets just say few weeks-- leading up to the procedure. It was the tightchest-can'tbreathe-can'tthinkofanythinggood-fearscented kind of stressed out. So while I was so... occupied... I let my mind drift into some silly reading material.
Yes.
Ashamedly.
I did read them.
All of them....
The Twilight Saga
I allowed myself to be that girl I once was long long ago. You know... the fifteen-year-old girl who can't think of anything besides a good romantic story full of intrigue and excitement. So for a week and a half I read all 2381 pages of fanciful fiction.
It was a good mind break. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. However, I must make an aside comment: I did take note that I would not allow an impressionable-young-teenage-girl read the books if I had one. Bella is not a good role model for a young lady. But that is for another blog on another day.
I finished the books on Tuesday of last week, and the following day Josh and I flew to Victoria for the procedure.
We stayed at a hotel the night before and headed to Royal Jubilee Hospital for 6:30 for a bunch of pre-procedure stuff, the majority being sitting and waiting for hours. Josh was only allowed to sit with me for about an hour before the procedure, so I was thankful I came armed against idle thoughts with my iPod (filled with a playlist of peaceful-Christ-centered-music), and the hat that I was crocheting for Josh. I finished the hat about 20 minutes before noon (the schedule procedure time), which left me 20 minutes with only my music and my thoughts.
For the 20 minutes leading up to noon I filled it with meditating on Psalms 91 (a Psalm that has been very comforting to me my whole life as I have struggled with this heart issue), and praying. I did feel calm. A bit jittery, but also calm--if the two can coincide. I felt as though Jesus were sitting on that bed with me holding my hand.
Then they came and wheeled me into the OR. I was covered with blankets. I met the anesthesiologist. I talked to the nurse. I talked about the weather in Kelowna. I talked about what kind of art I make and how long I lived in Texas.
And then the doctor came and gave me a local anesthetic, and began putting the four catheters into my leg. I remember that I felt some pressure in my leg, but only for a second while he was inserting them. Then I remember him walking away, and wondering when they would put them into my heart. The anesthesiologist came and gave me a sedative in my iv. I looked at the clock and it was 1 pm. Then everyone left my side, and it appeared to me that I was going to have a bit of time before the procedure began.
Suddenly my heart began beating weird, and fast. It took me a minute to remember that the doctor had told me that I when I started to feel this happen, that it was them playing with the rhythm, and I was safe. I waited a minute longer and then looked at the anesthesiologist who was sitting about 15 feet away at a desk. I asked him how fast my heart was beating, and he said 250. Then, "would you like me to give you some more medicine?" to which my response was to look back up at the ceiling calmly and yet nervously and say, "Sure." I watched him walk over to my iv, I saw him inject something clear into the iv, and then I remember nothing for some span of time.
When I woke up I noticed my heart still beating strangely. I looked at the clock which said 2:30. I looked over at the anesthesiologist who was looking quite bored, and over at the nurse who may or may not have asked me how I was feeling. Then some more time passed. My heart was beating normally. The doctor came and told me something which seems to have been something along the lines of "It was the easiest one. We ablated it. Success."--though, I realize that a doctor would use more words, and my sedated mind must have just compacted it into something I could understand. I remember hoping that he would come back later when I could more fully know what had happened in the hour and a half that I was asleep.
A few minutes later and I was being wheeled back into the room I had been in before. The nurse that I had spent the morning was there to greet me, along with another young male nurse. They had heard that it was a success, and she asked, "Should I call the hubby?" I said, "Yes, Josh is in the waiting room." She left to get him. When he came in I smiled and he asked me how I felt. I said, "Good. I feel hungry." She let Josh sit with me for the majority of the next 4 hours, though he did have to take a break to go get some lunch himself.
To my relief, Dr. Novak and his associate doctor did come to speak with us. I was feeling much more aware and alert at that point. He told Josh and me that they were considering the procedure a SUCCESS. They said they were able to locate the extra pathway quite easily, that they never had to put me at risk for a stroke during the procedure (which was a slight possibility depending on where the pathway was), and that they ablated the AV Node, after which they tried to get my tachycardia to start back up again for 30 minutes, and it never began again. They told me that if I don't have an episode within one year that they consider me completely cured.
After I was allowed to go home (3 1/2 hours of laying flat later), we went back to the hotel where I drank chocolate milk and ate a couple chocolate truffles--those of you who have kept up with me this past year will know that I haven't been allowed to eat chocolate or drink coffee since June, so it was quite the treat. A perfect end to a hard days work, and a difficult year. Praise the Lord that he had such a good ending for this saga.
Prior to that day, I honestly felt like I was not going to make it out of that procedure alive. As much as I was placing my hope in God, it seemed to make so much sense that it was God's will that this procedure be the end for me. In hinds sight, I gave too much thought to that idea. Feeling foolish, I confided in my dear friend Ashley, who said these comforting words:
We are all fools in some way, to be sure... Sometimes God allows us such weaknesses to be humbled to the point of absolute necessity in Christ. I can't imagine anything much more humbling than the fear of death. Even though we have so much hope...
Remember that you are immortal until God decides it is time for you to die. Nothing can take your life apart from divine providence. Ryan (Ashley's husband) always speaks of Stonewall Jackson who said He was as safe on the battle field as he was in bed- only because he believed that nothing could kill him until God was ready for him to die. Needless to say he was very courageous in battle.
I begin this new year with a courageous spirit, a healthy heart, and a desire more than ever to live up to the super-womaninity that God has called me to.
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