Hospitals, Heart Conditions and Tiny Miracles

February 28, 2011 By

One week ago today, my husband Jamie entered Good Samaritan Hospital. The three days that ensued were among the most frantic and stressful of our married lives.

Jamie had originally set a doctor’s appointment to undergo some routine testing for the chest pain he had experienced during aerobic activity. Almost immediately he was admitted into the Clinical Decision Unit as the doctors forged forward for a diagnosis and treatment.
No abnormalities showed up on his EKG nor on the other tests the doctors performed so they decided he should spend the night for monitoring and then put him on the treadmill at 7 a.m. the next morning.

If you’re not familiar with sluggish Jamie in the morning, that alone might have killed him.

Sure enough as his heart rate rose, the chest pain began. The problem is, though he was hooked up to every contraption in the hospital, no abnormalities showed up on the EKG and the cardiologist was stumped.

“Oftentimes the EKG doesn’t show what’s really going on,” the doc explained. “We performed the treadmill test on a patient and everything looked fine. We sent him home and he had a heart attack the next day.”

I’m not sure if that was supposed to be comforting?

For the next step, Jamie was given an angiogram (where a thin tube is placed into a blood vessel in the groin and X-rays are taken of the blood flow in an artery). The diagnosis was finally reached: there was significant damage to Jamie’s left and central arteries that was caused by his cancer radiation treatments 12 years ago. This resulted in 70% blockage and the resulting pain.

The cardiologist sat me down to discuss the options. The first he presented was bypass surgery, which I don’t know about you, but the mere mention almost made me have a heart attack. Fortunately, he was reluctant to pursue this because of Jamie’s young age (there is a big chance of having to redo it in 10-15 years) and risks associated with the damage the radiation has caused.

The temporary solution is he underwent another less invasive surgery to install stints to open up the blockage. They were not able to access all the problem areas without doing bypass surgery but they hope this process, along with blood thinning medication he will need to be on the rest of his life, will help alleviate the problem.

The surgery went smoothly but I had a wake-up call. I went through a range of emotions during those three days: uncertainty over what his conditions meant, dread the doctors wouldn’t find a diagnosis and then bald-face fear as I faced the very possible possibility that I could be left to raise our two young children without the love of my life. (On Wednesday, Mile High Mamas will feature guest blogger Catherine who lost her husband in an accident a few years ago).

To sustain me through it all were loving friends and family who offered words of support, watched my kids and brought us meals. I truly felt sustained and comforted during some of the most difficult moments. On the day of Jamie’s surgery, I rushed to retrieve my son from preschool and drop him off at a neighbor’s.

As I put the keys in the ignition, the horn started incessantly honking as the gauges and lights went haywire. We have have occasionally had this electrical issue but it had been over a year since the last incident. Incredulously, I marveled that it chose this moment of all moments to act up…and I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically.

Knowing there was a very great liklihood this electrical firestorm would drain the battery rendering me unable to get to the hospital in time, I turned to the Man Upstairs. I said a little prayer with as much certitude and humility as I could muster: “Dear Lord, if you can help Moses part the Red Sea, I KNOW you can make this car start working.”

And you know what? That is exactly what happened almost immediately.

It was a small test of faith amongst so many big trials.

But the biggest blessing of all is having my husband home.

ORIGINALLY POSTED AT MILEHIGHMAMAS.COM

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Jamie

How Strep (and Being LOST) Helped Me Save Mankind

February 1, 2011 By

The end is near.

At least the light at the end of my of my strep-induced vow of silence, not the other “end” (though I felt close a few times last weekend).

I’ve had strep many times but nothing like this latest bout, which I deemed STREPZILLA. I was rendered unable to speak or eat due to the agonizing pain.

On the plus side, I dropped five pounds.

I stayed home from church on Sunday and went to the Urgent Care where they loaded me up with antibiotics and sub-par painkillers. I say sub-par because Jamie doped me up with Percocet the night prior and that was the only thing that came close to depleting the pain.

It also gave me a killer buzz that kept me up all night.

Jamie helped out a lot over the weekend but I knew he would be back to work as usual on Monday (Bode’s day off). The little dude has been a great sport coping with his deadbeat mother but I asked my friend Eva to watch him so he could have some social interaction with people who don’t use perturbing charades to communicate.

The toughest part about this latest illness has been lack of sleep. I was up most of my first night due to pain. The second night, because of the Aforementioned Buzz. By the third night, I was loopy and desperately needed to sleep. But I had a challenge even greater than pain and buzzes: phlegm.

If you’ve never had strep, there is a lot of accompanying phlegm due to the infection. This is where strep is the root of all evil: your throat is so sore you can’t swallow so I was reduced to carrying around a “spit glass” with me at all times.

It’s no wonder everyone treated me like a leper except for Fat Kitty who has an appreciation for spit and bathes himself daily in it.

To stay entertained on Sunday evening, we watched a few episodes from the first season of LOST. If you’re not familiar with the show, Flight 815 crashed on an island and the survivors have many unexplainable and mysterious encounters. In the second season one of the characters (Desmond) spends three years inside of a Hatch inputting numbers into a computer every 108 minutes to prevent the world from being destroyed.

That night as I went to bed, I was almost delirious from lack of sleep. Every time I’d start to nod off, phlegm would well up in my mouth and I needed to spit it out. In my frenzied state, my dreams transcended reality. I became Desmond but instead of inputting numbers, I had the imperative responsibility of spitting every 15 minutes or the entire earth would be subjected to a catastrophic electro-magnetic explosion.

You heard it here people: My phlegm is single-handedly responsible for saving the world.

You’re welcome.

This is not the first time I have dreamed about LOST. Check out my post last April when Hurley almost suffocated me to death.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Humor

My deepest, darkest secret

November 10, 2010 By

I got the MRI results back for my knee last week. The results did not surprise me. The commentary did. The official report from the lab:

History:
Medial meniscus tear. Medial compartment degenerative change.

Findings:
A small amount of joint fluid is present, within physiologic range. There is heterogeous bone marrow signal in the metaphyseal regions; this is a common finding in menstruating females.

To summarize?

1) In addition to my arthritis, I have a meniscus tear in my knee.

2) I am a menstruating female.

And apparently this is a common finding. WHEW!

I need Arthroscopic surgery to repair the torn meniscus. This is allegedly a pretty standard procedure with a recovery of about 6 weeks(though full recovery will take longer than that.)

Thus begs the much more difficult question: when to do it. I’ve been experiencing pain for well over a year now but have been able to maintain my lifestyle by hiking and biking every day (though running and volleyball are definitely out).

But our schedule is kinda tricky. Jamie and I are heading out on a cruise next week (aboard the Norwegian EPIC!), I need to be in Park City for a conference the beginning of December, then there’s Christmas and we also have numerous ski trips planned including Telluride, Echo Mountain and Crested Butte.

Right now, mid-February is about as soon as I can swing it. Maybe I’ll even do it on the 20th–my birthday.

I’ve already had lice as a birthday present.

Comparatively, a new knee sounds pretty darn swell.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Humor

Why I Have One Foot….Err…Knee In the Grave

October 26, 2010 By

I’ve had a lot of inquiries about my knee so I suppose I should back up a bit to tell you what is going on.

Albeit very slowly because I’m an invalid these days.

No, I did not have an accident. That, at least, would made for a spectacular story. What I’m suffering from is just extreme wear and tear on my right knee from years of athletics. About a year and a half ago I started experiencing some moderate pain after running. A year ago, I had to abandon running altogether but was fine with my other activities.

Until recently.

I used to play competitive volleyball and got together with some friends in Utah to play over Spring Break. I couldn’t walk for two days afterward. I was also asked to be a leader on a pioneer trek and had to pull out because I knew my knee wouldn’t survive four days of extreme conditions.

Plus, I don’t look good in a bonnet.

It’s been the last two months that my knee has grown progressively worse. I went on a pretty moderate hike a couple of weeks ago, which caused a lot of pain. But the catalyst for finally calling the doctor was last week. I was hanging out on my bed watching TV and an unbearable pain overcame me. For about 2 minutes, I couldn’t bend or straighten my knee and I knew I needed to intervene–immediately.

I was on the phone with the doc the next day.

Since that time, I can’t even walk without limping. I had my appointment yesterday where X-rays were taken. The doctor observed, “If you will look at how worn out that area is, it looks like you’ve got arthritis.”

He went on to explain that there is likely a problem with my meniscus, which is a wedge of cartilage in the knee joint. However, the X-ray couldn’t reveal what is truly going on so I have to go back for an MRI next week.

Now, I’m sure most people would not be happy about the prospect of a more serious problem and a requisite MRI. And believe me, I’m trying not to think of that $2,500 co-pay (good-bye, Christmas).

But I was relieved it looks like more than just arthritis because I want this fixed. The prospect of living with it the rest of my life is not a good one.

Plus, arthritis is for old people, isn’t it?

When I go to the doctor’s office, an admitted guilty pleasure is catching up on all the gossip magazines. But the selection in this particular waiting room?

A wide assortment of Arthritis Today.

Welcome to my new life.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Humor

A taste of the bitter-sweet

December 1, 2009 By

Returning home to Calgary is always bitter-sweet. I was blessed with a wonderful, magical childhood that every kid in this world deserves but doesn’t always get. Life was never perfect but I had two parents who gave me wings and taught me to never second-guess my dreams.

Well, except for that one time I dreamed I was riding to a desert island in a shark’s mouth.

This last trip to my childhood home was more meaningful than ever.

When I wasn’t busy groveling for votes for the Microsoft Office Winters Games Contest, Hadley, Bode and I spent the majority of our time hanging out with family. We collected pine cones in my parent’s golf cart, took naps, got sick, got better, visited my dear friend Stacey, went to breakfast at glorious Cora’s and played with cousins.


We also took daily walks with my parent’s dogs


and rolled down the gully near my house.

Note: It was my father who instigated that one, not me. Kinda humbling to still get your butt kicked by your 70-year-old dad.

But the true highlight was when we took a trip to Southern Alberta for my niece Ashton’s special day.
I went for several runs, exploring my favorite haunts around my neighborhood, through Fish Creek Provincial Park, and along the swollen Bow River. It was in these places, along these trails, that I first learned to dream, explore and soar.

Those moments were the sweet.

The bitter was dealing with my mother’s rapidly declining health.

Since I originally wrote about her 25-year battle with Multiple Sclerosis, she has become more open about her condition. And accepted it. She has regular debilitating attacks, can no longer drive and relies on my father for most of her day-to-day tasks. They stay abreast on cutting-edge treatments, praying for the day she might be one of the recipients. It is a process that is both hopeful and heart-breaking.

I am glad to be back in Denver. It was a great trip. It was a sobering trip. And I cannot think of a better time to be there than during Thanksgiving so that I could count my many blessings.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Canada, Family, Health, Olympics, travel

Grumpy Old Woman

October 21, 2009 By

Mom Canuck always said if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all.

Which is why I’m not saying much this week.

I had to postpone Haddie’s annual Halloween bash because this plague is still leveling me and I haven’t slept in days.

Does bronchitis feel like death? If so, I think I’m suffering from both.

Speaking of death, we were sad to hear of the passing of our friend (and bishop) Darrin’s grandfather. Of course, he was likely in his late 80s and such a passing is to be celebrated. Since Jamie and I have been so near death the past few weeks, we discussed our ideal age to meet the grave.

Me: “I want to live until I’m 89. Only if I’m healthy, of course.”

Jamie: “No way. 85 tops.”

Me: “Yeah, you’re right. You’re going to be a grumpy old man.”

Jamie (glaring at me): “I wonder why.”

========================

On another note: what do you do when you’re bored out of your mind and can’t sleep all night?

The Monster Mash, of course.

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Note: Family Member #5 is the kitty that will be joining our family next week. That’s blog fodder just waiting to happen.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, holidays, Humor, Jamie Tagged With:

Les Miserables, Denver Style

October 7, 2009 By

So, we’re sick.

If I had a $1 for every time I started a blog post with that, I would be a wealthy woman. About four weeks ago, I had a cold for a few days. Jamie caught it from me and has battled it ever since.

The kicker was when he went to Oregon last weekend for (what else) a pumpkin weigh-off. The day he flew home, I cooked, I cleaned, I doted on his children. I was the ultimate 1950s housewife waiting to greet him wearing a frilly apron and with a feather duster in hand.

OK, more like a fleece pullover and iPhone. We ARE in 2009.

What did Jamie bring me?

Pneumonia.

Yes, my friends he has pneumonia. He went to the doctor yesterday and he paid the hospital a visit today to get some X-rays because his condition had worsened.

Here’s the great thing about working for yourself: unlimited days off when you’re sick.

Here’s the bad thing: you don’t get paid.

Not even 5 minutes after he left for the hospital, a reporter from Channel 4 who interviewed me last week called to see if I could do a last-minute interview about how the FTC’s new ruling impacts bloggers.

I had only a very surface knowledge of that 81-page ruling.

My house was a mess. Bode was poopy. After straightening everything and everyone up, I literally had 5 minutes to become an expert on it.

All I can say is good thing it wasn’t live TV. Editing is a beautiful thing.

Oh, and they did a teaser for my segment on a commercial break DURING OPRAH.

It may be the the closet I’ll ever come to her.

So, poor Jamie is currently passed out upstairs, Bode has a runny nose and Hadley and I are both battling sore throats.

At least it isn’t lice, right?

So, here’s my question: are you a suffer-in-silence type or do you need someone babying you the entire time? Jamie and I are a bit of both. We check to see if the other is alive and leave ‘em alone to wallow in their misery!

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Humor, Jamie

Our Story of Easter, Cancer and Rebirth

April 5, 2009 By

Jamie has been cancer-free for 10 years.

He had recently graduated from college and had started his own consulting firm when a lump starting forming on his neck. It disappeared after a week but night-sweats and flu-like symptoms emerged. And then the lump returned.

He tried a few home remedies to no avail and finally sought medical attention. After Jamie described his symptoms, the doctor said, “I think it could be either mono or cancer. And I don’t think it is cancer.”

He was wrong.

Jamie was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease, cancer of the lymph nodes. When detected early, the survival rate is 80%. Like all cancers, later-stage prognosis is deadly. He was single, without insurance and living in Utah, far away from his family.

His doctor told him to apply for Medicare. He was initially denied. Miraculously, he was eventually able to get on programs for which she should not have qualified and his medical expenses were covered.

But then came his personal expenses. No longer able to work, Jamie faced a very bleak, daunting future. Amidst all this turmoil, he received a call from Tom Sawyer, an influential local businessman. Tom had risen above a horrific childhood to play football for LSU, become an engineer, work on the Eagle Lander for NASA, and by accident got into politics and landed in the White House as a trusted aide for Presidents Nixon and Reagan.

He is also a cancer survivor.

Jamie had met him only once before as they both assisted their Japanese friend Yodi with becoming an American citizen.

Tom invited Jamie to his office and upon arrival said, “Jamie, let me be straight with you. I hear you need some help. Tell me about your situation.” Jamie reluctantly divulged his circumstances, to which Tom queried, “How much do you need to get through the next month?”

Initially, Jamie refused but then realized this was an answer to prayers and he gave him a number. Tom told him to come by his office the next day and he would give him a check. The next day, Jamie showed up and Tom handed him a check for twice the amount they had discussed. Jamie pointed this out to him and he brusquely said, “Yeah, I know.”

The pattern persisted. Each month, Tom called Jamie to his office. Each conversation ended the same: “Come into my office tomorrow and I will have a check waiting for you.” This lasted the duration of his chemotherapy and radiation treatments and Jamie’s cancer has never returned.

Last week, I had moments of serious refection as people very close to me suffered deeply. With immense gratitude, I looked at my life, my marriage, my children, my home. I looked at the path we have taken. It has rarely been smooth or perfect. Times may be tough but we are fortunate to not be riddled with debt and recognize the miracles we have experienced to bring us where we are today.

This time of year, millions of people celebrate Easter as a time of resurrection and new beginnings.

Today, I am grateful for the man who gave us ours.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Health, Jamie Tagged With:

Forget Salmonella–Beware of The Big, Ugly Cry Outbreak

June 20, 2008 By

Our regularly-scheduled Front Range Adventure Boot Camp weigh-ins will continue at a later date due to my current condition. This week, my husband Jamie and I were supposed to lead a large group of teenage girls on their first ever multi-day backpacking trip along the rigorous Colorado Trail.

Note: I said supposed to.

I have instead spent this week on my deathbed due to the plague that struck the night before our trip. This isn’t your friendly, everyday sniffling and hacking plague. No, this illness consists of excruciating stomach pain, vertigo, nausea, fevers and head aches. And I won’t even mention all those dedicatory prayers I made at the throne of the porcelain gods nor how I went 48 hours without sleeping.

Test results have not confirmed my condition but salmonella poisoning or an infection seem most certain.

Or a violently adverse reaction to the prospect of spending four days in the backcountry with a bunch of teenagers.

I held off going to the doctor for as long as possible because of my humiliating breakdown during my last visit in September. My daughter Hadley had been sent home early from preschool with pink eye. I was suffering from really bad allergies and figured I would kill two birds with one stone and made an appointment with my general practitioner. Now, let me preface this by disclosing I was in my second month of these mind-numbing allergies. I hadn’t slept in weeks and I was on my third sinus infection.

I arrived early to fill out Haddie’s paperwork and was told upfront by the snippy front desk that they had only booked one of us for an appointment. And the doctor would only see both of us if he had time.

Enter: Nurse Betty. When she came to take Haddie’s vitals, she rudely informed me he would only see Haddie, even though the error was on their part for screwing up the booking. The prospect of living with this misery even one more day was almost more than I could handle. An argument ensued. There was blood. And not the kind triggered by a needle.

When the doctor arrived, I was a snotty, bloody mess. Before he could even open his mouth, I blabbered on about the whole confrontation. If that was not bad enough, next came the very lowest of lows: The Big, Ugly Cry. In front of a man.

Of course, I was horrified but the more I thought of it, the more I spewed big, ugly tears. The same tears that baby Haddie cried when she first watched that demonic purple dinosaur and he started singing, “I love you, you love me” –marking the end of his evil reign.

The doctor consoled me, all the while undoubtedly wondering just how soon I could be admitted into the psych ward. Before long, the office manager came in. You know: that person who only appears to deal with those patients. And then the perkiest, funniest Physician’s Assistant imaginable. It was evident they were bending over backwards to appease me. And so I did what any humiliated, snot-infested woman would do:

I took advantage of them.

Well, more like their medications. In addition to walking outta there with a referral for an allergist, I also casually mentioned a cough that I may-or-may not have had at that juncture but that I knew I would have at the conclusion of my latest sinus infection. My husband Jamie claims I am a cough-syrup addict but anyone who has ever had bronchitis or a serious cough knows that nothing except for the good stuff even comes close to knocking you out. That stuff only the doctor can prescribe.

Or a Physician’s Assistant trying to appease an irate, sleep-deprived, snot-infested woman.

I’ll take it. And you’d better believe I did.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Health, Humor

FINALLY: the way to every man’s heart revealed

April 3, 2008 By

It is currently my husband Jamie’s basketball season and every year, I dread it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those overbearing women who doesn’t let her husband do anything fun. It’s just there’s something else factored in there: near-death experiences. You see, when Jamie played in the past, he was almost always rushed to the ER with a heart arrhythmia.

He has had a long history with his heart. Shortly after we got married, Jamie’s dad found an old video tape of Jamie playing basketball in high school. He eagerly watched the footage and proudly announced: “Do you see me out there?” Thinking he was trying to show off to his new bride, I scanned the floor, looking for his sexy high-school chicken legs but couldn’t find him. Finally, he let me in on the suspense, pointing to a guy passed out in front of the bench: “There – that’s me having an arrhythmia after playing!” Gee. I couldn’t have been more proud.

During the first few years of our marriage, his heart seemed to get increasingly worse. When I was pregnant with my firstborn, he nearly passed out after a game and we had to call an ambulance for him. His resting heart-rate? A whopping 210. He had a repeat performance the following year, only this time Haddie was able to accompany us to the ER. She had just learned to wave and spent the duration spreading good cheer to all the ER patients. I’m sure she thought it was “Wude” that none of them waved back. Go figure.

After that last episode, he finally caved and went to see a heart specialist – one who wasn’t part of the “Just let your husband play basketball and quit nagging him club,” like the first doctor he saw. This guy recommended an out-patient surgery, which Jamie opted for versus his other option: never playing basketball again.

The surgery was pretty non-invasive. Basically, they went into his heart via four arteries (two in his groin) and simply burned out the bad cells that were causing the arrhythmia.

His recovery was smooth, minus a grotesque and painful bruise he had on his groin for a long time. One day during this process, my dear, sweet husband said to me, “This surgery actually confirmed what we have long suspected about men.” I eagerly awaited profundities and I got ‘em with his mischievous answer:

“The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through His Groin.”

At least now it can be medically proven….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Health, Humor, Jamie
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