Ablation
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The following is one of the most surreal experiences I've had in my life. Leading up to it, through it, and after it. Here it is.
HISTORY:
Read previous post
THE PROCEDURE:
We flew to Baltimore and drove down to Bethesda to have the procedure done. My first appointment with me EP doc was Monday. He was soft spoken, humble, unassuming and SO reassuring. We talked through all the options and decided that an EP study and ablation of the crazy cells were the best route. All 6 of us were packed in the exam room, as we had nothing else to do with the kids during the appointment and he wanted Josh to be in the room for the discussion. He was understanding and enthusiastic about the boys. He has 3 boys and 2 girls of his own. I'm not sure why that helped to know, but it was just one more reassuring fact that gave me peace about having him do the procedure.
On Wed morning my Dad came over to our hotel room at what was about 4:30 a.m. his time. He was ready and graciously willing to spend the day with his four grandsons so Josh could come to the hospital with me. We drove the 25 minutes to the hospital and Josh dropped me off under the awning so I could head in while he parked in the colossal parking garage. That in itself was a 10 minute venture.
He met me upstairs and we followed a nurse back to the prep and recovery rooms. They wasted no time firing up the process. I was given the typical high fashion hospital garb to wear and plenty of papers to sign. A tech in his early twenties came in and I was informed that he was going to be the one doing all my prep work for the procedure. The prep work included an IV, which he did a HORRIBLE job at and made me bleed more than I've ever bled during a needle stick, and an EKG, in which he had to completely expose my chest. I tried mightily to not feel awkward, but it was simply NO use. Here is this 32 year old mother of four babies, one currently weaning from breastfeeding and I have this little baby tech rearranging heart leads over top and underneath things that had to be moved around. You know what I mean by things. He was nervous and flapped on and on about how he was a tech before he joined the Navy, so he knows what he's doing and he thinks that the way they have him do things here don't make any sense....because, you know....he was a tech before. So he knew best. I was thankful when the EKG was over and I could recover my chest, that has fed four babies. The IV never stopped hurting and I never stopped chuckling about how sure he was of himself, and horrible of a needle sticker he was. He was a character.
At around 9 a.m. four boisterous, blue clad men arrived and said they'd be the team to take me back. The wheeled my bed down several halls and in and out of an elevator and into the spacious and COLD procedure room. I sat and took in the sights. There was a skinny bed table with a towel rolled at one end for my head. There were heaps of cords draped across the bed and over poles. 8 large computer monitors hovered on the opposite of the bed, displaying acronyms I didn't understand. The men had me climb onto the bed and two of them went around behind me to begin adhering various leads to my back. The adhesive was freezing and I apologized when each one was placed as I squirmed and shuttered. There were two older men, probably in their 50s that were teaching the younger men, probably in their late 20s, early 30s. One of the older men said from behind me, "You are in a room with a bunch of men and no women. If you start feeling screwy about that just tell us and we'll go get a woman to be in here." I laughed at reassured them I was fine. They shouted across the room at eachother, demanding this and that and proclaiming this and that in such authority, it was obvious they knew exactly what they were doing, how quickly it needed to be done, and how important it was that every little detail was done perfectly. I asked about the placement of leads and cords and my body at one point and the older man fiddling with the straps he was using to secure my wrists to the bed answered, "Well, there are going to be 5 tiny little probes poking around in your heart. We don't want you to move. At all. If we don't strap you down and you wake up and jerk for some reason you could end up going somewhere else....for good." They strapped down my knees, my wrists, my shoulders and my forehead. It was unnerving, but necessary. Very, very necessary.
As they worked I peered at the screens trying to figure out the purpose of each one and the strange symbols and blinky lights that adorned them. After all leads were placed and I was laying in position exactly where they strapped me onto the table, I peered at the furthest screen and found that it displayed a 3D image of my heart. Yes. INSANE! The leads and the x-ray under the table and the one hovering above my chest all worked together to provide the procedure team with an actual factual picture of my heart. I later learned that ink was expelled from one of the probes as they worked that displayed on the screen where they were in my heart. IN.MY.HEART! There were PROBES in my heart! FIVE of them! Anyway, the 4 loud men totally over estimated how much time they needed to prep before my EP doc and fellow arrived all scrubbed in.
I laid there, covered in cords, sticky leads and warm blankets waiting for my docs to arrive and listened to the random conversations happening across the room. Talk about residency and the horribleness of long, grueling hours in procedure rooms. I was too nervous and curious to be bored, and just very ready to have it all finished and done. The fellow came in covered in blue colored garments and his hands sticking straight out - away from anything that could contaminate him. Just like in the movies one of the guys came up to him and placed a tightly wrapped, sterile package of gloves on the instruments table. I was grateful that I couldn't turn my head far enough to see all the surgical instruments spread across the table. He pulled open the package and carefully slipped his hands in the gloves. They did a quick check of my name and all other important information and called, "time out". One of the gravely voiced men came from behind me and took my IV tube in his hands. "Alright. I'm going to help you feel a bit less nervous." It was nearly instant. I've known that feeling and continue to really dislike it. With a flush of heat my eyes lost their ability to focus and I lost care for anything. That was it. Until I woke up. I have no idea how long it had been. I felt something tugging at the crease of my left and right legs. That's where the probes were inserted - through tiny catheters in my femoral arteries. I'm sure what I awoke feeling was quite painful, but the narcotics did their job beautifully and I didn't have a care in the world what was happening. I saw the x-ray box over my chest and turned my eyes just enough to see a blue garb. He saw me and walked over. "You're awake! Hello! Want to go back to sleep?" "uh huh", with as much as a nod as I could muster under the taut head strap holding me in place.
Later I startled awake with a strange sensation - I can't say what, and then the same sequence took place.
And then later Josh was there. And the sweet, precious lady that sat for 4 hours as my monitor, to be sure that I didn't pull my legs up, giggled, "they gave you SO much sedative! You had a LOT of it!" I'm not actually sure of the total time of the procedure, but I know it took them longer than they anticipated. They weren't able to get the SVT to fire up, so they ablated the PVC cells and after that were not able to get my heart to react to any sort of stimulant and act up - which is exactly the result they wanted.
There was a conversation with my mom. I described the best my drugged head could what took place and we marveled about how incredible it all was. I hung up with her at some point. Or maybe I fell asleep and Josh closed out the conversation. I'm not sure. I saw my doctors face a couple times as I passed in and out of wakefulness. Each time he observed, "you look pretty sleepy still. I really think you should stay the night". I hadn't considered staying the night before the procedure, but as the nausea from the sedative set in and I realized I wasn't able to sit without feeling like I was riding a Gravitron at a 90s fairground, staying the night sounded like the only logical choice. Everyone I talked to was encouraging me to do so. My dad, my mom, the sweet and precious monitor lady, my doctor. My husband was the only one gently encouraging me that I would recover perfectly back in the hotel room and that I would be able to get better rest through the night without being pestered every few hours for my vitals. I chose to stay the night and could tell that he was bummed, but knew he supported me whatever I chose. They wheeled me to my room and he stayed for a bit while they set me up. He kissed me goodnight and left. I sat up to allow for the stethoscope listening to my lungs and felt the nausea wave back in. I was given more zofran and was grateful for it! If you are interested, I just got distracted from typing this and checked out a few videos on catheter ablation because I wasn't actually totally sure what they did up in there. Here's a SUPER boring video that shows an actual ablation taking place. It shows a bit of what the room looked like and how they do what they do. It's SO SO SO fascinating to me! But of course it is, because it happened to me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJXfsZiQWCY (I don't know how to do fancy hyperlinks)
AFTER THE FACT:
As I gained awareness throughout the night I became more and more regretful of my choice to stay at the hospital overnight. My IV site KILLED and the hospital bed was leaving me with that all too familiar sore back that hospital beds are absolutely expert at giving. Every time a nurse came in they wanted to poke and prod my "sites", to which I was less than enthused. They were remarkably tender and poking at them only make the bruising worse. I thought it was odd that this was all happening even when I volunteered to stay the night. None of it was necessary, which made me want to be in the hotel even more.
I was wide awake by 3:30am local time and ready to be discharged. I was discharged SEVEN hours later - after a lot of nagging. We'd scheduled to head to the Smith's house that morning thinking I would have been at the hotel over night. We were going to try to be by there at 8:30, which was 12:30 for our body clocks - perfect timing for boy's naps!
Josh brought the boys to the hospital to pick me up. Judah and Joel played with the breast pump parts as they stood on a chair in front of the room sink. It occupied them wonderfully for the 40 minutes until the final out paper work was finally signed. We slowly walked the halls and I gingerly climbed into the van, taking great care to not over crease my "sites".
I sat in the seat, watching traffic seamlessly through the snow lined highways, the sun already starting it's winter's day descent - the boy's magic school bus DVD droning in the background -
- my heart had a new rhythm
Other than two small, sore spots on my groin I had no other signs that told what had just taken place. I put my fingers to my wrist and felt the slow, steady rhythm. I held me breath, expecting to feel it hop - and pound - just like it had been for months. I expected to catch my breath and feel that odd hot flush rush up my chest and into my head. I expected to feel light headed and ready myself to count how many hops I was having all clustered together.
There was nothing it.was.beautiful.
(To read about what led up to this, check the previous post - to see what happened after - read the next post (not currently written...)
HISTORY:
Read previous post
THE PROCEDURE:
We flew to Baltimore and drove down to Bethesda to have the procedure done. My first appointment with me EP doc was Monday. He was soft spoken, humble, unassuming and SO reassuring. We talked through all the options and decided that an EP study and ablation of the crazy cells were the best route. All 6 of us were packed in the exam room, as we had nothing else to do with the kids during the appointment and he wanted Josh to be in the room for the discussion. He was understanding and enthusiastic about the boys. He has 3 boys and 2 girls of his own. I'm not sure why that helped to know, but it was just one more reassuring fact that gave me peace about having him do the procedure.
On Wed morning my Dad came over to our hotel room at what was about 4:30 a.m. his time. He was ready and graciously willing to spend the day with his four grandsons so Josh could come to the hospital with me. We drove the 25 minutes to the hospital and Josh dropped me off under the awning so I could head in while he parked in the colossal parking garage. That in itself was a 10 minute venture.
He met me upstairs and we followed a nurse back to the prep and recovery rooms. They wasted no time firing up the process. I was given the typical high fashion hospital garb to wear and plenty of papers to sign. A tech in his early twenties came in and I was informed that he was going to be the one doing all my prep work for the procedure. The prep work included an IV, which he did a HORRIBLE job at and made me bleed more than I've ever bled during a needle stick, and an EKG, in which he had to completely expose my chest. I tried mightily to not feel awkward, but it was simply NO use. Here is this 32 year old mother of four babies, one currently weaning from breastfeeding and I have this little baby tech rearranging heart leads over top and underneath things that had to be moved around. You know what I mean by things. He was nervous and flapped on and on about how he was a tech before he joined the Navy, so he knows what he's doing and he thinks that the way they have him do things here don't make any sense....because, you know....he was a tech before. So he knew best. I was thankful when the EKG was over and I could recover my chest, that has fed four babies. The IV never stopped hurting and I never stopped chuckling about how sure he was of himself, and horrible of a needle sticker he was. He was a character.
At around 9 a.m. four boisterous, blue clad men arrived and said they'd be the team to take me back. The wheeled my bed down several halls and in and out of an elevator and into the spacious and COLD procedure room. I sat and took in the sights. There was a skinny bed table with a towel rolled at one end for my head. There were heaps of cords draped across the bed and over poles. 8 large computer monitors hovered on the opposite of the bed, displaying acronyms I didn't understand. The men had me climb onto the bed and two of them went around behind me to begin adhering various leads to my back. The adhesive was freezing and I apologized when each one was placed as I squirmed and shuttered. There were two older men, probably in their 50s that were teaching the younger men, probably in their late 20s, early 30s. One of the older men said from behind me, "You are in a room with a bunch of men and no women. If you start feeling screwy about that just tell us and we'll go get a woman to be in here." I laughed at reassured them I was fine. They shouted across the room at eachother, demanding this and that and proclaiming this and that in such authority, it was obvious they knew exactly what they were doing, how quickly it needed to be done, and how important it was that every little detail was done perfectly. I asked about the placement of leads and cords and my body at one point and the older man fiddling with the straps he was using to secure my wrists to the bed answered, "Well, there are going to be 5 tiny little probes poking around in your heart. We don't want you to move. At all. If we don't strap you down and you wake up and jerk for some reason you could end up going somewhere else....for good." They strapped down my knees, my wrists, my shoulders and my forehead. It was unnerving, but necessary. Very, very necessary.
As they worked I peered at the screens trying to figure out the purpose of each one and the strange symbols and blinky lights that adorned them. After all leads were placed and I was laying in position exactly where they strapped me onto the table, I peered at the furthest screen and found that it displayed a 3D image of my heart. Yes. INSANE! The leads and the x-ray under the table and the one hovering above my chest all worked together to provide the procedure team with an actual factual picture of my heart. I later learned that ink was expelled from one of the probes as they worked that displayed on the screen where they were in my heart. IN.MY.HEART! There were PROBES in my heart! FIVE of them! Anyway, the 4 loud men totally over estimated how much time they needed to prep before my EP doc and fellow arrived all scrubbed in.
I laid there, covered in cords, sticky leads and warm blankets waiting for my docs to arrive and listened to the random conversations happening across the room. Talk about residency and the horribleness of long, grueling hours in procedure rooms. I was too nervous and curious to be bored, and just very ready to have it all finished and done. The fellow came in covered in blue colored garments and his hands sticking straight out - away from anything that could contaminate him. Just like in the movies one of the guys came up to him and placed a tightly wrapped, sterile package of gloves on the instruments table. I was grateful that I couldn't turn my head far enough to see all the surgical instruments spread across the table. He pulled open the package and carefully slipped his hands in the gloves. They did a quick check of my name and all other important information and called, "time out". One of the gravely voiced men came from behind me and took my IV tube in his hands. "Alright. I'm going to help you feel a bit less nervous." It was nearly instant. I've known that feeling and continue to really dislike it. With a flush of heat my eyes lost their ability to focus and I lost care for anything. That was it. Until I woke up. I have no idea how long it had been. I felt something tugging at the crease of my left and right legs. That's where the probes were inserted - through tiny catheters in my femoral arteries. I'm sure what I awoke feeling was quite painful, but the narcotics did their job beautifully and I didn't have a care in the world what was happening. I saw the x-ray box over my chest and turned my eyes just enough to see a blue garb. He saw me and walked over. "You're awake! Hello! Want to go back to sleep?" "uh huh", with as much as a nod as I could muster under the taut head strap holding me in place.
Later I startled awake with a strange sensation - I can't say what, and then the same sequence took place.
And then later Josh was there. And the sweet, precious lady that sat for 4 hours as my monitor, to be sure that I didn't pull my legs up, giggled, "they gave you SO much sedative! You had a LOT of it!" I'm not actually sure of the total time of the procedure, but I know it took them longer than they anticipated. They weren't able to get the SVT to fire up, so they ablated the PVC cells and after that were not able to get my heart to react to any sort of stimulant and act up - which is exactly the result they wanted.
There was a conversation with my mom. I described the best my drugged head could what took place and we marveled about how incredible it all was. I hung up with her at some point. Or maybe I fell asleep and Josh closed out the conversation. I'm not sure. I saw my doctors face a couple times as I passed in and out of wakefulness. Each time he observed, "you look pretty sleepy still. I really think you should stay the night". I hadn't considered staying the night before the procedure, but as the nausea from the sedative set in and I realized I wasn't able to sit without feeling like I was riding a Gravitron at a 90s fairground, staying the night sounded like the only logical choice. Everyone I talked to was encouraging me to do so. My dad, my mom, the sweet and precious monitor lady, my doctor. My husband was the only one gently encouraging me that I would recover perfectly back in the hotel room and that I would be able to get better rest through the night without being pestered every few hours for my vitals. I chose to stay the night and could tell that he was bummed, but knew he supported me whatever I chose. They wheeled me to my room and he stayed for a bit while they set me up. He kissed me goodnight and left. I sat up to allow for the stethoscope listening to my lungs and felt the nausea wave back in. I was given more zofran and was grateful for it! If you are interested, I just got distracted from typing this and checked out a few videos on catheter ablation because I wasn't actually totally sure what they did up in there. Here's a SUPER boring video that shows an actual ablation taking place. It shows a bit of what the room looked like and how they do what they do. It's SO SO SO fascinating to me! But of course it is, because it happened to me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJXfsZiQWCY (I don't know how to do fancy hyperlinks)
AFTER THE FACT:
As I gained awareness throughout the night I became more and more regretful of my choice to stay at the hospital overnight. My IV site KILLED and the hospital bed was leaving me with that all too familiar sore back that hospital beds are absolutely expert at giving. Every time a nurse came in they wanted to poke and prod my "sites", to which I was less than enthused. They were remarkably tender and poking at them only make the bruising worse. I thought it was odd that this was all happening even when I volunteered to stay the night. None of it was necessary, which made me want to be in the hotel even more.
I was wide awake by 3:30am local time and ready to be discharged. I was discharged SEVEN hours later - after a lot of nagging. We'd scheduled to head to the Smith's house that morning thinking I would have been at the hotel over night. We were going to try to be by there at 8:30, which was 12:30 for our body clocks - perfect timing for boy's naps!
Josh brought the boys to the hospital to pick me up. Judah and Joel played with the breast pump parts as they stood on a chair in front of the room sink. It occupied them wonderfully for the 40 minutes until the final out paper work was finally signed. We slowly walked the halls and I gingerly climbed into the van, taking great care to not over crease my "sites".
I sat in the seat, watching traffic seamlessly through the snow lined highways, the sun already starting it's winter's day descent - the boy's magic school bus DVD droning in the background -
- my heart had a new rhythm
Other than two small, sore spots on my groin I had no other signs that told what had just taken place. I put my fingers to my wrist and felt the slow, steady rhythm. I held me breath, expecting to feel it hop - and pound - just like it had been for months. I expected to catch my breath and feel that odd hot flush rush up my chest and into my head. I expected to feel light headed and ready myself to count how many hops I was having all clustered together.
There was nothing it.was.beautiful.
(To read about what led up to this, check the previous post - to see what happened after - read the next post (not currently written...)