Valvular Heart Disease

Though it seemed like hours, in only a few minutes the doctor arrived with his assistant.  “Hi,” he said, “I’m Dr. Warren,”  he paused. “You’re a very sick man,”  he added, “but the good news is that we’ve figured out what’s going on and you’re going to be fine.”  He looked way too serious.

“So what’s up?” I said, trying to remain light and nonchalant.

“Apparently,” he continued,” when you had Hodgkins Disease, some 20 years ago, the radiation treatment began a process of calcifying your aortic valve.”

“So what’s that mean?” I asked. “This obviously isn’t a respiratory infection,” I added, trying to remain calm.

“Well, think of it this way,” the doctor continued, “it’s like your heart is trying to pump a firehose full of water through the eye of a needle.  The valve has a gateway, a “flap,” which is no longer opening and closing properly to let blood flow correctly. Instead of three flaps on the valve, you in effect have two, neither of them healthy.

“This malfunction is causing your veins and arteries to “sweat” and form water in the area surrounding your heart and your chest. Hence, you’re having trouble breathing.”

I looked at John, observing the blood had drained from his face.

“We’re going to have to replace your aortic valve, and you may need a double bypass, depending on the blockage you have in your heart” he said, as if he was telling me I had a cold.

“What?” I shouted, in shock and feeling my face turning red.

“Calm down,” my partner John said.  “Pay attention and listen,” as if I was 6 years old.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he continued, “you also a small hole in your heart, an Atrial Septal Defect, existing since birth, but with no symptoms. We’ll go ahead and fix that, too.”

Shocked, I closed my eyes.  This wasn’t happening to me.

“So what’s the next step?” I asked.

His assistant spoke up.  “Your room’s going to be ready in about an hour.  You two might want to go get some lunch and then come back.”

The doc added, “we’ll try to get you into surgery over the next couple of days; in the meantime, we can start treating the congestive heart failure.”  He shook my hand, turned to John and smiled.  “We’ll get him back into shape,” shook his hand and left the room.

The door closed, I burst into tears.  “How am I going to pay for this?” I said.  Forget the $50 office visit from the morning, I was now staring at possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars!

“That’s not important,” John recanted.  “We’re going to fix it – that’s all.  Yes, we’ll fix it.  You can’t go on living like this.  It’s not living.”  He was referring I’m sure to my shortness of breath while going up the stairs at our 3-level home, suffocation while lying down and not being able to sleep, and a horrible inability to walk, even through a supermarket.

We left the exam room and headed to the hospital cafeteria for something to eat, although I had completely lost my appetite!  I picked at the food on my plate, while John ate very little of what he’d gotten.  “Guess I had better call work,” I offered.  “Which means probably the end of the job.” 

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When we returned to the doctor’s office, another assistant met us in the hallway.  “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Not really,” I quipped, “but I guess you’re not letting me out of here.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said.  “But don’t worry, lots of people have this procedure, all the time.”  I felt like a trapped animal, and the zookeepers had me in their sites.

I limped to the hospital room (admission had already been taken care of), having to stop several times to rest (it seemed a mile from one place to the other).

“Just think, you won’t have to worry about this interval resting any more,” John said.  “Won’t that be wonderful?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied, “I’m so excited.”