TheBanyanTree: The Heart Chronicles - Day One, Month Two

[Jim Miller]

It's 9 pm on Tuesday June 22, 2004. The sun has set on the Inland
Northwest and the dark is rising rapidly above eastern mountains. It's
still 84 degrees; hot for Spokane at this time of year. Now ends the
first day of the second month of my confined residency at Sacred Heart
Medical Center; 8 north. The weather has been warm the last few days.
>From my window, I see only a few clouds in the sky, but heavy haze
suggests an inversion. The sun rousts me out around five in the
mornings. Usually I pull the drape out from the wall, effectively
blocking the bright light from my eyes, and return to a deep sleep for
another hour or three.

I work on several projects to stay occupied. We hold our business
planning meetings in the family room on the west side of the nurse's
station. This keeps me directly involved in day to day activities and
important decisions as we work toward our future goals for Linda's
business. 

Since I'm local, I enjoy a steady stream of visiting friends and
neighbors. I chaired the 40 year reunion of my high school graduating
class two years ago, and word has spread about my situation, bringing
more email traffic and visitors. Linda brought in a box of "Static
Magic" that wasn't thrown out when we cleared my Mother's home two years
ago. The roll consists of 2 X 4 sheets of thin white plastic that cling
to the wall. I put one up with a black marker near by, and visitors sign
it before they leave. When this is all done, I'll be able to tell you
how many visitors I entertained. Did I tell you that some get so
comfortable in my accommodations that I nearly have to invite them to
leave so I can get on with work? Privately, it may be said that I
encourage the conversation, and there are those who suspect that I
actually thrive on the attention. That's their opinion, of course, not
mine.

Without reviewing past notes, I may be repeating this following. My
transplant team has two primary surgeons who have able assistance and
back up from a group of respected doctors, physician's assistants,
nurses, pharmacists and social workers. Dr Iconogle started the heart
transplant program here about 14 years ago. Dr Iconogle brought in Dr.
Sandler, a Canadian trained Russian surgeon, to work with him. These two
men are polar opposites. in their demeanor, and personalities, yet both
men equally enjoy the total and absolute trust of every patient and
staff member.  Dr Sandler is a warm friendly individual who is just as
likely to greet you with a hug, as a hello. He is overweight, somewhat
slovenly and always wears scrubs. I saw him in a print ad for a local
magazine recently. His hair was combed and he had a suit on. If he had
not been standing next to Dr Icenogle, I might not have recognized him.
Dr. Icenogle is trim and considered by many as aloof. His uniform of
preference is a dark blue pin stripe suit or blue sport jacket and tan
slacks. If you catch him dressed in scrubs, it's because he just came
from the operating room or is headed there. Dr Icenogle demands
perfection and full involvement in patient care decisions. This
obviously accounts for the excellent survival and success rate of his
program. He is frequently referred to as Dr. Ice, or simply Ice. It's
fitting. He has another side that I've been privileged to witness more
frequently as he visits me here in the hospital. He has a dry wit and
will catch you off guard with it. I was discussing a problem with my
heart rate and arrhythmia one day. Noticing a bikini clad model on the
cover of a Town and Country magazine, he stated that he could see what
the problem was. Recently, after listening to my lungs and heart, he
began walking out of the room, stopped, turned and said, "I don't know
about your heart. It sounds like a drunk horse on wood bridge." Then, he
walked out of the room. Last Sunday, Linda brought in a full meal that
she had prepared special for Father's Day. (Yes, I am bored with the
food here. Imagine that.) Mike and his wife were here and we were all
heartily engaged in the consumption of a very delicious meal. Right in
the middle, Dr. Icenogle walked in, looked around and stated, "What's
going on here? This looks like non-formulary food. . . . . I smell
spices." He then listened to my heart and lungs, commented about having
to do something with that horse and left.

>From the nurses and assistants, I hear stories about previous long term
residents and their antics. When I first moved in, I decided that I
wanted to be remembered after I left. I wear street clothes but have to
modify the shirts to accommodate the heart monitor telemetry
transmitter. Linda slits the inside shirt pockets to accept the wires
and reinforces the pocket back. She bought me several Hawaiian shirts
and tan cargo pants. With my sandals, I look beach ready. The look gets
a lot of comment around the floor. On Sunday, son Mike and his wife Jen
surprised me with room and IV pole decorating. The pole has a bright
green cap of foil appearing plastic fronds shaped like the top of a palm
tree. A colorful parrot is wired to a cross bar and several plastic tiki
lanterns also hang from the cross arms. My table has a grass skirt;
colorful plastic leis decorate the lamp. More tiki lanterns hang in the
window. Costumed native dancers are taped to the doors and refrigerator.
A plastic ship's pilot wheel is attached to the wall above my bed head
and a large yellow plastic tiki glass is adorned with a plastic umbrella
straw. It's kitschy, but the reception on the floor has been so good
that I may leave it up and add to it for the duration. One of the staff
taped a sign to my door that reads, 'JIMBO'S ISLAND, Honest, Gilligan
said it would only be a three hour cruise.' Yesterday, I was on the
phone to Mike when my nurse came in to give me meds. As she left the
room, I said, "thank you Mary Ann" (her actual name), and without a
moments hesitation, Mike asked if Ginger was there too. Everybody's a
comedian. In addition to the redecorating, I got a DVD player to plug
into the TV, along with several good movies to watch.

After a month, I've just about rotated through most of the nursing staff
and assistants. I have observed them and find their different styles
intriguing. Of the most interest are the charge nurses. One lady,
especially, seems to lack necessary leadership skills. She tends to
micro manage instead of making assignments and allowing people to work.
Her shift is always the most chaotic of the day. Quite frankly dear
folks, I couldn't stand to work under her and if I were her manager,
nursing shortage, or not, I'd replace her or at least remove her from a
management position. Of course there are a few nurses that I watch
closely for errors. They're mostly nice people, but I have difficulty
trusting their competence.

Yesterday morning, I acted completely out of character. I blame it on
being awakened from a deep sleep at 4:30 am. The lab tech woke me by
calling my name; announcing that she was there to draw blood. If I
haven't told you, you should know that I'm not a morning person. As I
lay there in a state of semi-fog, the lab tech, a young black woman with
flawless skin, was bent over my arm searching for an evasive vein. She
has drawn my blood several times, including a couple of times during my
week of testing in April. This morning, I noticed her hair for the first
time. It is curly and braided in small tight long strands. I asked her
if it is her hair, and she assured me that indeed it is. I asked how
long it takes to prepare it and she told me about four hours. I
commented that it must take a while to undo and she matter-of-fact said
that is also takes four more hours to undo. And this is where I probably
scared her. I reached up and massaged a strand between my thumb and
finger stating that I had to touch it. This was so unusual because I
simply do not touch other people, especially strangers. I don't know if
anyone has felt her hair before, but much to her credit, she managed to
hit my vein on the first stick. I realized after the fact, that my
action was way out of left field, and let her finish uninterrupted. As
she was cleaning up, I stated how pretty her hair was, which brought out
a smile and seemed to break the slight discomfort. I don't know if
she'll request to not do the crazy redhead in 823 in the future, but I
promise to keep my hand down from here on out, interesting hair or not.

As I thought about what I might write, I wasn't sure if I had anything
new. Now I realize that just because life is routine, the stories don't
stop. Next time I'll tell you about Gene and John. Both came in near
death and are recovering after mechanical VAD implants. I'll also tell
you about yesterday's code 55.

I installed journal software on my website, but want to spiff it up
before announcing the URL. When it's ready, I'll set up a gallery of
photos take here in the hospital.