Pre-Op

1 cup menopause
1/2 cup career shift 
3/4 cup empty nest 
1 full cup human rights violated 
1 full cup youth trauma
Toss in a cup of open heart surgery and you’ve got yourself a recipe for a full on mental breakdown!

Nobody knew what I was going through, namely me until it all came to a head and even then I still didn't know what was happening to me.

A couple days later I sent my doctor a very detailed note of the trauma I had experienced as a child, a youth and that suddenly and without warning it just decided to reappear and that I wasn’t doing so well. She arranged for me to come in the next day. I could see that she was taken aback by my appearance, I had myself a rough few days and I was looking even rougher. The events I had described to her in my note as well as explaining to her what had happened at Big Bag were concerning as my heart was already in danger. She expressed her concerns about my level of stress and my heart. At this point with my anxiety and my breakdown she instructed me not to go back to work so I went on sick leave from Big Bag. 

I had a voucher for a trip I booked at the very start of the pandemic that I never took. I was in the midst of still doing all these tests, MRI, Echo, CT Scan with the contrast and a TE, (which is a test they pretty much put you out for, they stick a probe down your throat down through your esophagus to obtain better images) prepping for my surgery. Shit was pushing me further into a zone I was not at all familiar with at all! Shit was getting real and it started sinking in that this really is a big fucking deal! I can’t remember the exact day but sometime in mid March I met with the surgeon. We had a brief discussion about what was to take place, he wanted to “repair” the valve as this was his specialty and if he wasn’t able to close off the leak that way he would then replace it. We even discussed which type of replacement I preferred, mechanical or pig and I went with the pig. We set a date.

I wanted to take this trip and to use this voucher before my surgery because I had no idea what was gonna happen during the surgery or after for that matter. The wonder of whether I would survive the operation or not was constant. I was fucking tripping, not in my right head at all! Reading the 20 page “What to Expect with your Heart Surgery” booklet wasn't helping at all either. I still had no idea what I was in for and there was too much going on mentally for me throughout January, February and now March… shit was just going, going, going piling up and somehow I was able to just roll with it and make it to all of those appointments. Meanwhile, I was a complete emotional wreck doing all of this shit in zombie mode. 

A  surgery date was set for April 11th, 2023 and a trip to my favorite beach was booked!

My voucher was used. I can honestly say that I don’t remember any of that trip, going, being there, coming back… none of it. The next thing I do remember was getting my affairs in order which I had no idea how to do. I have a cousin, Jen and we have a pretty close relationship and right from the start she was there to help me with all of this every step of the way well, as much as she could anyway. She is very well versed in “how to get shit done” on a different level than myself and she was a great help to me. I almost felt calm when we spoke, she was consistently trying to console me and that I do remember.

I returned home from my trip one week before surgery. There was a bunch of immediate pre-op stuff that had to happen that week. I had one or two long appointments at TGH for all this pre-op stuff.  I’ve had several surgeries in the past and no prep I’ve ever done was like this! Outside of the normal stuff, I had to swab my ass, speak with a pharmacist about the meds I’d be on and have a chat with a volunteer who already had open heart surgery and oh yea get my teeth cleaned.

Whatever the pharmacist was telling me was like whomp whomp whomp, Charlie Brown. I wasn’t listening and the words weren’t going in. I wasn't able to take in any more information at that point. The volunteer was a man, I had zero interest in speaking with him…he didn’t have an empty nest, he didn’t have implants or a 4th valve and he wasn’t going through menopause! I had no interest in what he had to say to me so I dismissed him. I also found out later on that outside of having your chest cracked open, open heart surgery for a man and a woman are very different! There’s a LOT of awareness to be had, information that isn’t out there for women with a Heart Condition facing open heart surgery and by telling and sharing my story, I’m hoping to change that.

I had an email from the surgeon’s office with a letter attached that was addressed to my dentist. I didn’t read it, it wasn’t addressed to me. I was done with all of this information flying at me. I didn't want to read it, I was done. I still don’t know mentally how I was able to get all of this shit completed in the state that I was in. Before you have heart surgery your teeth have to be cleaned within the year prior and I was right on the line, slightly overdue for a cleaning. It's now Friday, I arrived at my dentist’s office with the attached letter addressed to him in hand for my teeth cleaning appointment which was scheduled for 5 PM. They closed at 6 PM. Surgery is Tuesday morning. My dentist comes out after reading the letter that I didn’t read, and tells me that the surgeon has instructed him that I need to be on an antibiotic one hour prior to having my teeth cleaned. It’s 5 PM and neither of us had any idea that this was a prerequisite because I didn’t fucking read the letter! My dentist is awesome! He called the pharmacy across the street and ordered one amoxicillin pill. I ran over and swallowed it. I sat in the dentist's office for an hour. They actually waited for me because well, we’re running out of time. Surgery is Tuesday morning so they waited for me for one hour before they started the procedure. Teeth got done. 

Between Friday evening and Tuesday morning, I don’t remember much at all. I do remember cleaning up my house and packing for my “5 day” stay at the hospital as that’s how long they told me I would be in for and that’s about it. A friend came by Monday night and she offered to take me in the morning to the hospital, which was super early at 6 AM. I really didn’t want to put her out but I don’t know…I didn’t know what was gonna happen to me, I was scared and I was grateful that she offered so I accepted. She showed up the next morning on time and dropped us off. My son, Trent was with me and with a very heavy heart, I told him that I loved him and said goodbye. I went in, changed into the gear and hopped onto the gurney. I breathed in that cold air all smelling like anesthesia and rubbing alcohol and I was physically as ready as I possibly could have been for my surgery.

I had reached out to my daughter several times since the last time we saw each other and received minimal to no response back. I really didn’t have too many people I wanted to talk to about this with mostly because for whatever reason, I felt ashamed, ashamed that this was happening to me. I am the rock. I am the strong one. I am the one everybody leans on and looks to for strength, so being needy and wanty was very foreign to me. I hadn’t seen my daughter since that night I came home from the Big Bag event and had that breakdown. I wanted her, I needed her. Suffice it to say that between March and April I definitely wasn’t in my right mind and because of the little to no response I got from Kayla. I had sent her a text message asking her “how come I feel like you want me to die?” No response. No reassurance, no comfort, no anything from her! In the back of mind I felt that she wanted me dead. In hindsight, I can now see how fucked up that question was coming from your own mother and me not knowing what, if anything, she could have been going through mentally herself at that time. Lord knows she’s had her fair share of shit to deal with over the years!

I do know that after that, I sent her some words in anger and still got no response, not until maybe two or three days before my surgery, she then decided to send me a big long text. Her words to me were very familiar, words she would’ve sent me way back when she was a teen. Basically how she’s not going to tolerate my words or the way that I was treating her. My daughter was 34 when all of this was going down. I blocked it out or at least I thought I did, I had to! No space in my head for any of this right now, also, it wasn’t the start of an open communication conversation, she was making a bold, crass statement to me and done. I was now in surgery mode. I put her on block and that was that. I was overtaken with fear, I was fucking scared to death and her words weren't helping me at all! In my opinion, her timing was a bit off to say the least. I was going under…I couldn’t deal with any of our lifelong issues at that specific time and when I think about it, no matter what my daughter has been through throughout her life, Crohn’s Disease at the age of 9, Breast Cancer at 28, I was always always there for her, every appointment, every procedure. I would never ever ever turn my back on my daughter never! She had turned her back on me… she broke my heart, I was hurt and in pain, a pain like I have never felt before in my life.

To be fair, I have given Kayla the opportunity to respond to any or all of this. Whether she will or won’t… only time will tell.