I recently read an article that described death as a, “Heart-stealing, soul-sucking asshole.” I know this to be true. And with the events of this week fresh in my mind, it seemed relevant to share here. After my last post Patrick declined rapidly. The illness paired with a bad heart sent him back to the hospital. There are two things I would like to preface those details with before I lay them out for you. First, I do not know hospital policies. I don’t know by what criteria they decide who to admit for observation and/or treatment, and who to send home. But I’m fairly certain that a cardiac patient with a recent history of v-tachs and who is besieged by an awful illness causing more, powerful v-tachs, should not be sent home. And second, as evidenced by the events of Wednesday night, sometimes the “paramedic team inside Patrick’s chest” is not sufficient to keep his heart in normal rhythm. Things go wrong. Things get scary. Telling him, “Your pacemaker is doing its job,” seems insensitive at best. Especially when it is proven mere hours later that it is in fact NOT doing its job. As I said earlier, Patrick didn’t feel safe at home. His heart was still acting up and he felt sickness through his entire body. At 8:30p he decided to drive himself back to the hospital. He left, and I messaged our church’s prayer group, requesting prayer. Patrick called me at 8:56p to tell me he was just a couple miles from home and his heart was acting up. I asked as I always do, “Do you want me to call 911?” He said to wait, but it was a bad one. It intensified, scaring both of us, before it began to subside. He almost hung up the phone when the episode began to intensify once again. I could hear the fear in his voice. I messaged the prayer group at 9:02p, “Please pray, he’s so scared. He's having a bad episode.” “I’m worried I won’t make it to the hospital.” He cursed, telling me he was pouring sweat. The fear in both of us grew. He said his heart was burning. I think he and I were both questioning his decision to drive himself. “Do you want me to call 911?” By this time it was 9:03p, and he said he would rather try to make it to the hospital than park and certainly die on the side of the highway. I was powerless. We were both crying. He told me he loved me and that he didn’t want to die. Two minutes later - an eternity - he made it to the hospital parking lot and hung up. I messaged the prayer group, “He never should have come home today, they never should have let him go.” I spoke with a friend of ours, and then our pastor’s wife, and messaged back and forth with a few others. Our friend and church networks, though they may not realize it, supported me through yet again one of the hardest times in my life. At 9:19 Patrick called. I was so relieved. He was alive. I thought he would be telling me that he was fine and they were going to keep him overnight. But his voice was scared and uneven, and I could tell something was still wrong with his body. “I love you. They’re going to shock me. My heart -” “You need to hang up the phone,” I heard a woman’s voice say in the background. “Is that your wife? You can call her later.” “I need to go but I love you, Haley. I love you so much.” I’m not even sure if I was able to say it back before he hung up. Shock him? That sounded… Horrifying. But if it's what they had to do to get his heart to go back into a normal rhythm, all I could do was lean on the fact that God had him, and that he was in the best place he could be for a time like this. He called again at 9:38p to let me know they had to use the external defibrillator twice on him to get his heart to slow down to a normal rhythm. He was sedated although he swore he was awake for the whole thing. It didn’t work the first time so they had to do it again. So you tell me, how was his pacemaker “doing what it was supposed to do,” if he was in a v-tach episode for thirty minutes? It’s by the grace of God that Patrick is here today. It has been several days and I’m still upset over the whole thing. I found out that our friend was able to be with him when the hospital staff shocked him, and I am so thankful for that. I can't imagine being scared and alone, afraid he was going to die, with no familiar face in that emergency department room. For our friend - you are a Godsend. Our pastor was allowed to sit with Patrick when they moved him to the ICU, and I finally received some more information via text. He said the cardiologist adjusted the levels at which Patrick receives corrective pacing and shocks from his pacemaker/defibrillator, to lower those thresholds so we don’t have a repeat of this event. He also said that Patrick was saying he knew what he needed to do - that Seattle might not wait until September like we had hoped. He also addressed something that brings tears to my eyes - whether Samuel will remember him if he dies soon. Remember when I said that death is a heart-stealing, soul-sucking asshole? Death doesn’t care if not enough memories have been made, not enough photos taken or videos created. Death doesn’t care if goodbyes haven’t been said, kisses and hugs not given. Our pastor said he has a memory of his own father from when he was three, and he assured me Samuel will remember Patrick. I have to hold onto that - to cradle it close to my heart when I am faced with fearful times in the coming days. Patrick has a larger than life personality, so it stands to reason that the memories he and Samuel have made thus far will be so powerful that they will remain embedded in Samuel’s mind for the rest of his life. Patrick came home Thursday morning. He said the cardiologist he saw in the hospital told him, “You’re out of options.” He explained that the Seattle doctors say he is not a candidate for a repeat ablation because his blood pressure dropped dangerously low during the last ablation. I can’t remember the specifics, but Dr. Akhoum from Seattle told me over the phone that the blood pressure dropping happened when they were doing what needed to be done to pinpoint the exact parts of Patrick’s heart that needed the ablation. So the ablation he had done was their best effort - not exact science. But because of this, a second ablation isn’t feasible. So Patrick is back on the second and only other medication he can take to reduce ventricular tachycardias. And when it stops working, he will need to go to Seattle immediately. It’s always nice when there are medical providers who don’t mince words. Patrick doesn’t appreciate sugar coating. He wants the bare naked truth. So he is home for the time being. He and I both seem prone to meloncholy, when thoughts of his condition invade our thoughts and bring us down. I noticed he was in one this morning, and as usual wanted to make him smile. “I’ll wipe your butt until the day I die,” I said. “I’ll even use the toilet paper you prefer.” Because in marriage there should be no secrets - no topics off limits. I made him smile, yes, but I also added, “I will take care of you. I love you.” He is obviously not out of the woods. I may have mentioned in a previous post that he basically operates with nausea and bloating every single day. Some days it's worse than others, but it is always there. Food triggers it, and drinking any fluids. Today he was getting through his day, feeling reasonably well while sitting at our shop. Before he left he took a drink of water and immediately began to bloat. Then his heart started to race, before the pacemaker kicked in and paced him back down. Water. A drink of water led to a v-tach episode. “Your pacemaker is doing what its supposed to do.” Yes, but when will that not be enough? Some days I wonder what will be the straw that breaks that camel's back - his heart malfunctioning, or his decreased quality of life? When he is no longer able to eat solid food because of the discomfort it causes, or when he has an event that sends him in an ambulance to the ER and he is medevaced to Seattle? We had a good run of uneventful years. It’s like living on the Ring Of Fire. We know this here in Alaska - how many recent small earthquakes have we sat through, that have awakened us, spooked our dogs, swung our chandeliers? I first heard when I was in elementary school that we are overdue for a Big One. Patrick is overdue. It’s coming. I need to create an evacuation plan. I need to pack our bags, make sure we have batteries and water, survival food. I need to prepare our kids without terrifying them. I need him to write down what goes to his two oldest daughters, and what goes to his oldest son, and what goes to the younger children he and I share. We need to write wills. I need to research immunocompromised, and heart transplant recovery. I need to… I need to… I need to... *Photo is the first photo I ever took of Patrick, January 11, 2005*
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