(I'd like to preface this entire blog by saying that I am conveying my thoughts as they occurred, not in context of the overall experience. The patient care at St. Joseph's Hospital from the second I walked in the door until I was wheeled out to my wife's car was second to none. I didn't encounter one person that was anything less than totally professional, friendly, compassionate and comforting to a whiney ass like me. From the girl that wheeled me to my car all the way back to Dr. Untermann in the Cath Lab and everyone in between, I was never treated like anything less than the only patient they had to deal with that day).

First of all, let me apologize for my meloncholiness last week. You have to understand though that having this whole process compressed into a couple of days can be rather unsettling. I mean, from "Hey, I have a wierd little pain in my chest" to "We're now going to insert the balloon and stent wire" is a little over the top.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. The last thing I told you was that I was being admitted to St. Joseph's Hospital Friday morning at 6am. I will continue the story from there. I apologize to those who were there for details that they know that I have forgotten, but morphine and other pain meds can do that to a brother, you dig?

So here's the deal from whence we last spoke.

I was told by the doctor to report to the admit desk at St. Joe's at 6am and that I could have nothing to drink after midnight Thursday night. No big deal. I ate a nice dinner of broiled Tilapia at about 6:00pm or so, and I drank a trainload of water to make sure my veins and vessels were nice and plump for the next morning (thanks Anne). I was also told that if I was it would be okay to take a Tylenol PM to help me sleep.

Really? A whole Tylenol PM? I'm having an in-patient cardiac procedure and your answer is Tylenol PM?

Egad.

My mother in law came over Thursday evening to take care of Lauren Friday, get her to school, and get her back to her house so my wife could stay there Friday night. That was quite a help indeed).

Anyway, I was finally able to fall asleep (Thanks, Tylenol PM) around 10:30pm or so. Since I had to get up at 4:30 to get showered and on our way, that was actually a decent night's sleep. I was fully expecting to simply stare at the ceiling pondering my own mortality all night. What a relief.

When I woke up Friday morning from the alarm clock's warning (thanks Bachman Turner Overdrive), I felt like someone on death row waiting to make "The Walk." Despite being about 600 weeks pregnant, my wife has been very positive and astoundingly supportive through this entire event).

We were able to be ready quickly since my wife has all her baby having luggage already packed in the car and the night before had packed my hospital stay stuff as well. (Having a wife that'scompletely anal retentive when it comes to packing is a God-send sometimes).

So, as I predicted, we arrived PLENTY early at the hospital. That allowed for plenty of wandering around trying to find the cath lab admit desk. Thank God, because my usually reliable navigational skills had apparently been rendered useless by all of this drama.

We finally arrived and signed in at the Cath Lab around 5:40am. My first sign that things were going to be alright was that the admit nurse at the desk looked up at me laughing and said "Don't tell me you walked into a Cardiac Cath Lab full of heart patients wearing a Kentucky Fried Chicken T-shirt?"

"Well yes ma'am. Apparently I did."

Ah, life's rich ironies.

Anywho, we got seated and started our waiting. Apparently there is a lot of waiting. I hadn't given this much thought but apparently the plan is to have plenty of patients lined up so that the docs don't have to wait, and that appears to be the best way to handle these things.

Much to my surprise, my waiting room posse began showing up shortly thereafter. My dad was there first to entertain us with his pacing, and Molly's sister Heather came second. I appreciated their presence more than they know.

I had been told that I was to arrive at 6am, I should / could be on a table by 8am, out by 9am and in a room by 10am. That didn't sound so bad.

I got my wristband (which is sort of like your cath lab Golden Ticket) around 7:45 and was taken back for the pre-op / bus station portion of the day around 8:15am and my wife and guests were told that they should be able to come see me in about 45 minutes.

I was led into curtain area 18 and advised to "remove everything and put this stuff on."

This stuff consisted of a pair of size 8 ankle socks with grippy bottom and a hospital gown that was about a size medium. How do I know this? Because the ties in the back didn't even reach. I mean seriously, I'm not here to be awarded the Most Fit In All The Land Award. Save these mini-gowns for the eating disorder ward. A bunch of XXL's and beyond would do well here.

So I packed all of my stuff into that prison check-in clear plastic bag and got dressed into my anti-shyness gear and climbed on to my gurney. I have yet to encounter a hospital gurney that was meant to acommodate my 6'3" frame. I'm always hanging off the endfrom mid-calf down.

I then met my prep nurse Heather. She was very pleasant, friendly, quite easy on the eyes, and was from the midwest with a mom from South Dakota, so we had plenty to talk about while I explained what a needle puss I am. She stated that she too was a needle puss, so I immediately felt better. Sure, she probably got this from page 2 of the "how to be a pre-op nurse" class, but hey, it worked.

(Oh, by the way, congratulations Heather on your upcoming nuptuals in Ireland in May. I hope you guys have a great time and have a great life too).

Then, while I was getting blood drawn, IV's placed and being told what was going on, I met the person that was going to shave my groin.

His name was Mike.

Mike was very considerate, friendly without being overly chatty, and did a nice job.

One highlight of this event is that Mike didn't completely shave the region. He took care of the left and right groin in case the Doctor wanted to send up a second cath from the other side, but he left the middle alone. So now I have the classic stripper muff all the way up to my navel, which to me is hilarious but to everyone else is horrifying because I keep wanting to show it to everyone. That happens when the entire population of Sandy Springs has seen your privates over the course of 28 hours, but I digress...

Anywho, once Mike was done and I was setup with a double tap IV in my left arm, my wife was allowed to come back and see me. She brought a surprise guest, my friend Hoss.

He and I've been best friends since the 8th grade and although life's events have conspired to keep us both busy and our respective laziness has kept us from keeping in touch, it was great to see him. (He is of similar build and lifestyle as me, so I think seeing me laying in pre-op waiting for a cardiac cath made him think a little).

Anyway, we talked and laughed for a while, and then Hoss went out so Heather could come in, and then my mom came in as well. It was great to see everyone and certainly made me less anxious, especially considering that I spent more time in pre-op than I did in the waiting room proper.

At about 10:45 Heather came back and told me to say my goodbyes and that they would be taking me in shortly.

The best thing that happened so far came next. A girl came and introduced herself as Tara and said that she would be my bartender (which as many of you know would be the most important person in the room in my eyes).

Tara is an old friend of my Brother-In-Law's sister Shannon. When Shannon found out what was happening, she had immediately called her friend Tara and asked her to do what she could to get on my case so she could make me more comfortable. I can't thank Shannon enough for that.

I was then wheeled into a nice and open but hideously cold room. I was moved on to a narrow table with arm holders on either side to lay my arms in so I could be still (and I'm sure they hoped, quiet as well).

I told Tara that I was a bit nervous and quite a needlepuss, and she said she'd take care of me, which I assure you she did.

The doctor came in, explained that he was going to get started, and got started by giving me two quick injection of novicane in my right groinal region. You know, not in the leg but not really in the stomach either. THAT groinal region.

The next span of time is a bit of a blur, even though I was very brave after being fortified by many doses of whatever delightful stuff they were giving me during the procedure.

According to Molly, the Doctor came out to see her after about 45 minutes (I don't recall him leaving, but that could have been because of the dancing cows I was seeing). I will now post her notes:

The procedure normally takes about 45 minutes.

After 45 minutes they came out and told us they did find blockage and would be attempting a stent and Todd would need to stay overnight.

Over an hour later the Dr. came out to talk to me and give me the bad news - the stent did not work. Todd has vein that is 100% blocked, and they refer to it as Total Coronary Occulsion. The Doctor worked on him for over 2 hours and tried 15 different wires but nothing would go through.

Side note: the Doctor said he had to give Todd 7-8 times the amount of normal drugs in order to "calm" him down. He kept saying your husband is a bit high strung. At one point he had to ask Todd to stop talking so he could concentrate. So, even during heart procedures while completely high on drugs Todd is talkative - imagine that!**

Anyway, since the angioplasty didn't work that means he needs bypass surgery.

Honestly, things got a little fuzzy after that. We had no idea there was a possibility that angioplasty might not work. Naive maybe, but no one ever mentioned it might not work. We were just excited that up to that point we had not heard the words bypass.

I will now return to my interpretation of the events.

After my initial fears and the introduction of various chemicals into my system, I realized that I couldn't feel anything and that if I looked straight up and a little left, I could see the screen the Doctor was watching and follow his progress.

There was a lot of talking that sounded a lot like Charlie Brown's teacher with the only words I really remember hearing being "Are you feeling okay?" and "Would you like some more pain stuff?" I repeatedly answered yes to both. Maybe that explains the dancing cows and the loud buzzing sound.

Then I remember getting sore around my lower back and upper ass. Really sore. It turns out that the table was really designed for 20-60 minutes and not the nearly two hours they kept me there. Not that I'm complaining. I appreciate their efforts greatly.

I am also glad I was EXTREMELY high when they wheeled me out and brought Molly in and told us that despite using 15 different wires, they were unable to poke thru my blockage. That was the first time anyone heard the B word: Bypass.

The Doctor kept apologizing saying he'd done his best and he was disappointed, but I wasn't mad. I'm still not mad. It is what it is.

Anyway, at that point we were introduced to Lilly, who turned out to be the PA for a Doctor Murphy. She stated that although she understood we were disappointed, she had been notified by Dr. Unterman to let them know that I looked like an excellent candidate for some sort of robot surgery.

Robot surgery? That sounds cool. Tell me more.

Lilly said that I "was an excellent candidate" because I am "so young and thin."

Wow. They have some pretty low standards at THAT hospital.

She explained that Dr. Murphy was one of the world leaders in this procedure and that she'd like me to meet with him ASAP, so we made an appointment for Monday at 10am. Here's some info on the procedure. It's very cool:

In 2002, Saint Joseph’s became the first hospital in Georgia – and one of only a few in the nation – to perform robotic-assisted, totally-endoscopic, closed-chest heart surgery. Saint Joseph's is one of the few hospitals in the nation to offer this advanced technique for patients undergoing general, urologic and advanced cardiothoracic surgical procedures, including coronary bypass surgery.

In addition, Saint Joseph’s was designated as the exclusive training center in the Southeast for the da Vinci robotic surgical system. As one of only five training sites in the world for the da Vinci Surgical System, physicians from throughout the southeast and around the world will be trained in the techniques of minimally invasive surgery.

The da Vinci system is a leap ahead for minimally-invasive procedures. Using da Vinci, traditional open-chest surgery can be accomplished endoscopically, without any incicions involving the ribs or breast bone, offering patients an alternative with less pain, reduced risk of infection and a speedier recovery.

The da Vinci Surgical system is operated by a surgeon sitting a few feet away from the patient at a console. Using a high-powered camera, the surgeon guides the arms of the robot that holds surgical tools which are inserted into the patient through small, keyhole-sized incisions.

The device has wristed instruments, which for the first time, allow the surgeon to move his own hands the way he would in a traditional surgery with precision, extraordinary control and range of motion. In addition, the da Vinci’s video monitoring system provides a three-dimensional view of the surgery with magnification ten times that of the naked eye allowing surgeons the ability to see the operating field more clearly.

The biggest advantage is that the minimally invasive procedure reduced the recovery time by a lot. If I had cracked chest bypass, I'd be in the hospital for a week or more and not back to work in well over a month to six weeks.

This way, I can be discharged in a few days and after resting for a full week, I should be ready to resume a normal life. I am getting ahead of myself however.

I was wheeled to a room on the 7th floor with Molly in tow. There were other people there when we arrived, but I don't remember who they were. I only remember for sure that Molly and Hoss and possibly Heather were there, but I was reminded that my mom visited as well.

I received an envelope full of emails from my Racing Stalker friends (thanks Ethel) and that made me feel a LOT better. (I am repeatedly astounded at the caring and friendliness of others far away. Despite its shortcomings, teh internets is truly an amazing place.

So after arriving in my room around 1pm or so, I was hooked to an IV and a blood pressure cuff and told that I was to keep my right leg still until around 10pm. That didn't sound fun.

What was less fun was the removal of the dressing on my groin around 2pm and the subsequent measures to assure that the wound was closed.

See, you can't just have an open wound in your femoral artery. You can bleed to death in a minute or so if that thing blows the clot, so they have to be very careful about the wound site.

"Very careful" means that application of a glorified c-clamp using the bottom of the bed as one side of the clamp and my groin as the other pressure point, and holding that there for about 28 minutes.

That was not my favorite part of being in the hospital.

Then the wound specialist gave me about a six pound sand bag the size of a really big hamburger bun and put in on the wound and said I had to leave it there for eight hours.

One other highlight of the day was another surprise visitor. One of our friends Amy (of Robert, Amy and Maya fame) has a sister that works at St. Joe's and apparently Robert and Amy asked her to stop in and check on me.

The wound care nurse lady came in to check on my groin and subsequently sent everyone out of the room and threw the covers back. At this point, everyone but the president had seen my wedding tackle and any modesty I brought into the hospital had been put away with my clothes in a plastic bag.

Just then, in walks Amy, or if not her, then it was Amy's twin sister. Actually, it was just Amy's sister coming to check on me.

I imagine that she, like everyone else, was overwhelmed at the sight of my genitalia.

(just kidding. If I weren't so high at the time, I'd also remember her name. But I appreciate her visit nonetheless).

The middle of the day remains fuzzy until the arrival of food around 5:30pm or so. Since I was in a Catholic hospital and it was Friday, I got...you guessed it...FISH!!

Actually, I got fish, corn, green beans, cole slaw and some apple sauce. I ate every bite of everything except the apple sauce and even ate some grilled chicken tenders on top of that. Apparently pain medicines make me hunry as shit.

The wife had gone so far above and beyond in this whole deal, especially considering that I fully expected her to give birth while I was in the Cath Lab. She finally hit the wall a little after 6pm Friday. I fell asleep around 6:20pm, got a phone call at 7pm and got a visit from my Dad (again) at a little after 7pm. We talked for about an hour or so and it was nice having him there. I know he's pretty freaked out about this whole thing and he has a hard time expressing all of that, so he paces and talks and that in itself is comforting to me, although the pacing apparently drives every other human insane.

After he left, I tried to sleep, but the automatic blood pressure measurements every 15 minutes and the visits every two hours for groin checks, temp, BP and pulse in the foot made it tough to sleep much.

They finally came and removed my sandbag at a little after 10pm which meant freedom to get up and pee by myself.

And let me say something about peeing in the hospital. I'm glad I didn't have a cathiter, but the bottle / jar they give you holds 1000 ml or one metric litre. That's a quart. But when you're on a fluid IV all day and put away cup after cup of water to keep the kidneys flushed, a human my size can make a LOT more than a litre of pee in one "effort." I had to take special care to pee often enough so as not to overfill the bed pee jar.

And I'm not even going to talk about the concept of bedpans.

So, I decided to go to sleep a little after 10pm, only to realize that sleep was tough, my IV arm hurt like shit, and that they were going to continue to visit me and wake me every two hours.

At the 2am visit that came at the same time as my IV machine giving an alarm, I asked for a darvacet, which I got. Didn't matter though as I still had a 4am visit and at 6am someone came in and wanted blood. That is no way to wake up, I assure you.

Saturday morning saw the wife getting there early (along with my Dad again), and after a few check ins by nurses and other folks, I saw Dr. Unterman and he updated us on everything.

Molly had a few questions and his answers brought some things into perspective. Here are a couple more notes from her:

"We are trying to focus on our good fortunes right now. Even though earlier in the week it felt like every time we turned around the news kept getting worse, we've come to realize it's actually getting better.

To quote cardiologist: ''The worst case should have been 3 months ago when your husband should have died of a heart attack."

Wow. That puts things into perspective.

Todd's heart actually has grown ancillary vessels which are making it possible for blood flow to occur. That's why he didn't have a heart attack and why he only feels pain when he exerts himself at this point. That's the most amazing /fortunate part of this whole ordeal. And we're fortunate that he went to the Doctor almost immediately after feeling pain (which we NEVER though would come to all of this). And we're fortunate that his cardiologist has recommended him for this new procedure with one of the most well respected doctors in the southeast and even in all the world."

So this is where we are. I have an appointment Monday at 10am to see if I can have this procedure done. The good news is that if I can, it'll be ASAP. The other good news is that if they get in and can't do it that way, they'll crack my chest and do it the old fashioned way, so either way I'm getting the bypass and getting fixed this week.

So long for now. I'll be back with some more as we move forward this week and further...