The surgery. It's done. It was successful, and according to the doctor, definitely needed. I was, without going into details, "a mess in there." In other words, I was not crazy; the pain was real. So now I'm on my way to "a new lease on life" and I couldn't be happier ... or couldn't have been happier ...
During the third week of my recovery, my mom, a 100 lbs, non-smoker, non-drinker, and overall healthy 73-year-old woman, had a heart attack. I couldn't believe it. None of the family could. And to make it more unbelievable, there is no history in her family of heart problems. So why my mom?
But she survived it and was actually euphoric once she realized that she survived one. But then ...
Less than a week later, while I was sitting at her house while my dad was talking his daily walk, she awoke, looking ashen. When I asked what was wrong, she claimed, "I don't feel right." So, I followed the hospital release instructions on how to handle this type of scenario, possibly angina. I gave her the first nitro pill and waited the minute. I gave her the second and call my sister. "Do I call 911?" After it didn't work, I gave her the third nitro and made the call. The ambulance arrived, 8-10 paramedics, firemen, etc. Chaos.
My 12-year-old niece was there to witness the scene. But that brave girl took care of the dogs (four to be exact) and even ran to retrieve a pair of sweat pants and sweatshirt for me since I was still in my jammies and robe. (Didn't really feel like welcoming the crew with that look ....)
That's when the real stress started ...
To be continued ...
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