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| LAD on the right side of this photo, where my stent was placed |
I have now learned it's position, but I still don't know much about heart function. Isn't it a bit strange to have such a wonderful organ pumping blood throughout my body, but I don't know much about it? Guess what this student will be focused upon in the very near future? But I won't bore you with it.
I will however say that with all the drugs I've been on for the last week (none of which were to either relieve pain or change my mood) I have had the usual deep thoughts. Deep thoughts also come when sleeplessness happens, usually due to various tests that had to be run every hour or so.
The heart is considered by poets and artists as the seat of our passions, our love we have toward others, the emotional center.
But just look at that ...a quivering mass of muscle working to move blood around.
So I thought of how for several years I've been missing any passion in my life. Joy, great and deep compassion, enthusiasm, sorrow...but not much passion. Was this from having that artery get blocked more and more? Was part of my pushy personality from trying so hard to push blood through that little space? (Friends can attest to this truth.)
I remember the first hours of being hospitalized, when they knew something was happening with my heart, but they couldn't figure out where or how. My personal experience was of having difficulty breathing due to the cough, and having many memories in my inner eyes, some of which I would tell to go away. I got many ancestors, and told them I wasn't planning on joining them soon. I let go of all my own decisions and turned everything over to the caregivers, knowing that a greater caregiver was in charge not only of myself but their hands as well.
I also saw the confusion and pain in their eyes as they confronted their own fears of Covid-19. I was given The Test; it meant 3 people in the room, one of whom was apparently being trained. Then the person in charge had to tell me the hospital couldn't run the test themselves because their lab was out of "re-agent." So it would be 24-48 hours after the test was sent to an outside lab. That was just the way it was. (But that changed, as so often happens!)
One of those people had great tattoos along his arm, and while I was being probed through my nose to my brain for 10 seconds, he told me to hold his hand. Yes, in those crazy "no touch" times, he offered his gloved hand to squeeze. It helped.
And since I told them I hadn't eaten for 12 hours, he came back with some crackers and ginger ale for me a few minutes later. That meant putting on another gown each time he came into my room. I don't know his name, but he was truly a "helper" which I told him. He said he knew exactly who Mr. Rogers was, as he had grown up in Pittsburg.
I told each of the helpers how I appreciated their being "front line" personnel, being out in the trenches doing what they knew how to do in order to help each sick person. I think they appreciated that I took time to discuss the pandemic with them. I made good connections with almost every one of them. What brave and talented people are in the medical profession!
