Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Monday, February 18, 2008
I'm a shock absorber
This time, I put the update on my LiveJournal page first, so I'm just linking to it from here. No new traumatic events, just a little more information about the last one.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Jove's Own Hiccups
Don't you hate a story that starts out "Don't worry, I'm fine now"?
My defibrillator fired off late Tuesday morning, nine times within five minutes or so. Anyone who wishes to know what this feels like can easily simulate it at home by licking a 9-volt battery and, at the same moment, having your mortal enemy smite you with a sledge hammer.
Nine times.
Failing that, remember the little bird in Shrek that tried to hit that high note?
Spare a few thoughts for roommate John, who wasn't sure anything was going on until he heard me break the toilet seat.
I had just experienced one jolt and was sitting on the closed lid. I had mostly reassembled my wits when I felt another one, and the next thing I remember I was sitting *in* the toilet on pieces of shattered plastic.
He: "Do I need to call 9-1-1?"
I: "I'm not sure..."
ICD: *ZAP*
I: "Yes!"
Sorry, no pictures.
I will say that lying naked on the bathroom floor having Jove's Own Hiccups every fifteen to thirty seconds made me feel as helpless as little else has or can.
I know now that the first few were 5 joule charges, and the last one was 35 joules. I sorta thought it might have been a bigger wham than the ones before, but it also could have just been the emotional reaction of "Oh, God, another one". (The nurse confirmed this: People generally can't tell the difference. A shock is a shock.)
The manufacturer says that someone who's touching me when it goes off might feel a charge of about 2 joules. (This is conveyed in answer to the questions everyone asks, "Can I still have sex?") But what I hadn't been able to learn is "What does 2 joules feel like?"
I thought about that when John was looking for my pulse. I was half afraid it would fire off while he was trying, and, I admit, half hoping it would. It didn't.
Well, now I know what 5 joules feels like, and can extrapolate. It ain't like touching a metal doorknob. It's ultimately harmless, but you'd know you'd been slapped pretty good.
By the time that 35 joule kick happened, the novelty had completely worn off.
I had finally had the sense to lie down on the floor, modesty be damned. I was in the middle of the hall, having made barely a token attempt to get my pants on, when John returned from the 911 call and found me. I'm afraid he thought the worst before I had a chance to speak and tell him that I was still awake and (relatively) lucid.
That 35 joule kick was, it developed, the last. Laying on the floor had helped calm my heart. It never did happen that John was actually watching when I received a jolt. It's a shame. I wanted to know what it looked and sounded like. It sounded like thunder to me, but I suspect it was silent. Except, of course, for me yelling.
Something In The Blood
I'll have to skip over the blur of the arrival of the ambulance and the trip to Emory Crawford Long (where my doctors are). I traveled alone in the ambulance, but I hadn't been there long before my wife (with my daughter) and John (with my son) caught up with us. By then, with the liberal application of modern pharmaceuticals (let's hear it for modern pharmaceuticals!), I was feeling well enough to be snarky about my own condition (it's a coping mechanism), something the nurses and doctor picked up on and responded to. If it's possible to have fun in an ER, I think we did.
One of the really unexpected things discovered in the ER was that my system was all but depleted of potassium. The nurse there had mixed a "cocktail" with the potassium supplement in its liquid form, ice and orange juice -- at least she said it was orange juice, but the potassium liquid must have a really powerful taste. It tasted like-- well, like nothing I'd ever had before. The medicinal equivalent of a Lovecraftian creature that the human tongue cannot describe because it exists in dimentions we cannot perceive. The Pharmaceutical Horror, the Drugg From Out Of Space.
I Have Been Assimilated
Now I have a fourth doctor writing prescriptions for me, another cardiologist, Dr Whelan. He was present when the nurse with the australian accent downloaded my ICD data. That's the only reason I know it fired nine times: I had lost count.
The doctor's official description of the incident was that the ICD had fired "inappropriately". (Not quite the word I might have chosen.) By this he meant that the situation to which it was intended to respond, ventricular fibrillations, had not occurred. It was confused by my rapid heart rate at the time, although there is no particular explanation for the rapid rate in the first place. (Probably the combination of low potassium and a missed dose of toprol.)
After it had fired once, the anxiety it created kept my heart rate elevated, which served to convince the ICD that its job was not yet done. It's programming giving it no alternate course of action, it kept firing.
That won't happen again. While she was reading the ICD's records, the doctor and nurse-tech tweaked the unit's programming to allow it to more easily tell the difference between atrial fibrillations, ventricular fibrillations, and "mere" high heart rate, and react accordingly. The unit's logs stored detailed information about my heart's day-to-day activity not available any other way: They used that information to recalibrate some of the defaults the ICD uses to decide what an extraordinary event is.
That is, the ICD is pretty capable straight out of the box, but the better configured it is to its particular circumstances and environment, the more effective it will be. As a computer geek myself, I find this fascinating, and not just because the gadget is in my chest. I'm awestruck that not only is this degree of care possible, but it's available to pretty much anybody who needs it.
No sense of rhythm
My heart rate was not just elevated, but irregular. As the machines reported a "rolling average", the numbers jumped all over the chart, from 90 to 160 beats per minute. Which is not to say that a minute ever went by in which my heart beat 160 times. My heart sounded pathetic when I was hooked up to a monitor that actually sounded each beat.
And all of this we learned before we ever left the ER. By the time I had a room, it was pretty much all over but the shouting. They kept me topped off with medicines, to keep my heart rate controlled until my system recovered from the trauma and my heart calmed to a regular, normal at-rest rate (60-70 bpm). There was talk of a "plan B" if it didn't do so, but the doctor was confident that it would do so after a night's rest.
And it did.
That's about all there is to tell.
Oh, and there's a new champion. The potassium supplement I now have to take is, without question, the biggest pill I've ever had to swallow. It's about an inch long, the circumference of a piece of chalk, and not half as yummy.
Some of my pills I can just pop 'em down without water. This one, I'll need a *lot* of water and a bit of mental preparation too. I almost didn't manage it in the hospital, and the nurse had broken those in half.
But it is over and I am here to tell the tale, and even laugh at parts of it.
SEE ALSO: LiveJournal.
My defibrillator fired off late Tuesday morning, nine times within five minutes or so. Anyone who wishes to know what this feels like can easily simulate it at home by licking a 9-volt battery and, at the same moment, having your mortal enemy smite you with a sledge hammer.
Nine times.
Failing that, remember the little bird in Shrek that tried to hit that high note?
Spare a few thoughts for roommate John, who wasn't sure anything was going on until he heard me break the toilet seat.
I had just experienced one jolt and was sitting on the closed lid. I had mostly reassembled my wits when I felt another one, and the next thing I remember I was sitting *in* the toilet on pieces of shattered plastic.
He: "Do I need to call 9-1-1?"
I: "I'm not sure..."
ICD: *ZAP*
I: "Yes!"
Sorry, no pictures.
I will say that lying naked on the bathroom floor having Jove's Own Hiccups every fifteen to thirty seconds made me feel as helpless as little else has or can.
I know now that the first few were 5 joule charges, and the last one was 35 joules. I sorta thought it might have been a bigger wham than the ones before, but it also could have just been the emotional reaction of "Oh, God, another one". (The nurse confirmed this: People generally can't tell the difference. A shock is a shock.)
The manufacturer says that someone who's touching me when it goes off might feel a charge of about 2 joules. (This is conveyed in answer to the questions everyone asks, "Can I still have sex?") But what I hadn't been able to learn is "What does 2 joules feel like?"
I thought about that when John was looking for my pulse. I was half afraid it would fire off while he was trying, and, I admit, half hoping it would. It didn't.
Well, now I know what 5 joules feels like, and can extrapolate. It ain't like touching a metal doorknob. It's ultimately harmless, but you'd know you'd been slapped pretty good.
By the time that 35 joule kick happened, the novelty had completely worn off.
I had finally had the sense to lie down on the floor, modesty be damned. I was in the middle of the hall, having made barely a token attempt to get my pants on, when John returned from the 911 call and found me. I'm afraid he thought the worst before I had a chance to speak and tell him that I was still awake and (relatively) lucid.
That 35 joule kick was, it developed, the last. Laying on the floor had helped calm my heart. It never did happen that John was actually watching when I received a jolt. It's a shame. I wanted to know what it looked and sounded like. It sounded like thunder to me, but I suspect it was silent. Except, of course, for me yelling.
Something In The Blood
I'll have to skip over the blur of the arrival of the ambulance and the trip to Emory Crawford Long (where my doctors are). I traveled alone in the ambulance, but I hadn't been there long before my wife (with my daughter) and John (with my son) caught up with us. By then, with the liberal application of modern pharmaceuticals (let's hear it for modern pharmaceuticals!), I was feeling well enough to be snarky about my own condition (it's a coping mechanism), something the nurses and doctor picked up on and responded to. If it's possible to have fun in an ER, I think we did.
One of the really unexpected things discovered in the ER was that my system was all but depleted of potassium. The nurse there had mixed a "cocktail" with the potassium supplement in its liquid form, ice and orange juice -- at least she said it was orange juice, but the potassium liquid must have a really powerful taste. It tasted like-- well, like nothing I'd ever had before. The medicinal equivalent of a Lovecraftian creature that the human tongue cannot describe because it exists in dimentions we cannot perceive. The Pharmaceutical Horror, the Drugg From Out Of Space.
I Have Been Assimilated
Now I have a fourth doctor writing prescriptions for me, another cardiologist, Dr Whelan. He was present when the nurse with the australian accent downloaded my ICD data. That's the only reason I know it fired nine times: I had lost count.
The doctor's official description of the incident was that the ICD had fired "inappropriately". (Not quite the word I might have chosen.) By this he meant that the situation to which it was intended to respond, ventricular fibrillations, had not occurred. It was confused by my rapid heart rate at the time, although there is no particular explanation for the rapid rate in the first place. (Probably the combination of low potassium and a missed dose of toprol.)
After it had fired once, the anxiety it created kept my heart rate elevated, which served to convince the ICD that its job was not yet done. It's programming giving it no alternate course of action, it kept firing.
That won't happen again. While she was reading the ICD's records, the doctor and nurse-tech tweaked the unit's programming to allow it to more easily tell the difference between atrial fibrillations, ventricular fibrillations, and "mere" high heart rate, and react accordingly. The unit's logs stored detailed information about my heart's day-to-day activity not available any other way: They used that information to recalibrate some of the defaults the ICD uses to decide what an extraordinary event is.
That is, the ICD is pretty capable straight out of the box, but the better configured it is to its particular circumstances and environment, the more effective it will be. As a computer geek myself, I find this fascinating, and not just because the gadget is in my chest. I'm awestruck that not only is this degree of care possible, but it's available to pretty much anybody who needs it.
No sense of rhythm
My heart rate was not just elevated, but irregular. As the machines reported a "rolling average", the numbers jumped all over the chart, from 90 to 160 beats per minute. Which is not to say that a minute ever went by in which my heart beat 160 times. My heart sounded pathetic when I was hooked up to a monitor that actually sounded each beat.
And all of this we learned before we ever left the ER. By the time I had a room, it was pretty much all over but the shouting. They kept me topped off with medicines, to keep my heart rate controlled until my system recovered from the trauma and my heart calmed to a regular, normal at-rest rate (60-70 bpm). There was talk of a "plan B" if it didn't do so, but the doctor was confident that it would do so after a night's rest.
And it did.
That's about all there is to tell.
Oh, and there's a new champion. The potassium supplement I now have to take is, without question, the biggest pill I've ever had to swallow. It's about an inch long, the circumference of a piece of chalk, and not half as yummy.
Some of my pills I can just pop 'em down without water. This one, I'll need a *lot* of water and a bit of mental preparation too. I almost didn't manage it in the hospital, and the nurse had broken those in half.
But it is over and I am here to tell the tale, and even laugh at parts of it.
SEE ALSO: LiveJournal.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Floss your head
Hamilton Spectator | Brain cleaner: New stroke treatment can vacuum away deadly blood clotsBefore you ask, no, this wouldn't have helped me. I often speak of what happened to me as a "stroke", but strictly speaking it wasn't. A stroke is an arterial block: What I had was a leak, a brain hemorrhage accompanied by swelling.
It's a tiny vacuum cleaner for the brain: A new treatment for stroke victims promises to suction out clogged arteries in hopes of stopping the brain attack before it does permanent harm.
Called Penumbra, the newly approved device is the latest in a series of inside-the-artery attempts to boost recovery from stroke.
...Specialists thread a tiny tube inside a blood vessel at the groin and push it up the body and into the brain until it reaches the clog. Just like a vacuum cleaner, it sucks up the clot bit by bit to restore blood flow.
Still, I have experienced the up-from-the-groin thing, as it is also the route to the artery that was partly blocked when I had my heart attack. When they speak of cardio-catheterization, that's the procedure they mean.
If it sounds weird, well, it beats going straight in through the chest. It means a recovery period measured in days, not months.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Why I haven't been around lately
The better part of ten days of my life were consumed preparing for, en route to and from, or attending the Robert A. Heinlein Centennial celebration in Kansas City. (No, smart@$$, he wasn't there.) This process was made more awkward by being under doctor's orders not to lift anything heavier than ten pounds, due to having recently undergone the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator.Oh, fine, thanks. I plan to talk more about this on my LiveJournal page; I just thought you should know.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
On my way to being a Cyborg
I don't wish to become one of those people who has nothing to talk about other than his own medical problems, but I thought you might like to know.
I'm scheduled to undergo the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator (ICD) at Crawford Long on Wednesday, June 27. The full story is here.
I'm scheduled to undergo the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator (ICD) at Crawford Long on Wednesday, June 27. The full story is here.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Newsweak
But first, some blatant self-promotion: I play the Army Air Force veteran in this week's ARTC Podcast, "Unaccustomed to Fear".
"Thousands of LiveJournal customers are rebelling against the company's recent decision to censor hundreds of sex-themed discussion groups, a broad swath that has led to the removal of literary critiques and fan-written fiction about Harry Potter." Do remember, though, that it's only a First Amendment issue if the government is suppressing it. Any private company has the right to limit how its resources are used. If this bothers you, buy your own domain and server: They're cheap enough. (Why, yes, I do own purplemaster.com.)
The good news is, hybrid automobiles are beginning to sell. The bad news is, they're selling for the "wrong reasons". They aren't replacing those mean old SUVs, they're fashion statements, the third car in "two-car" households.
Turn off the TV and broadband for a week and family life goes completely to hell. (Spoilers: They cheat on days 2 and 6, and mostly sit around glaring at each other the rest of the week.) Perhaps the most amusing part of the article is the closing, Mother's Tips To Cut Screen Addiction, among them: "Take your children on holiday to countries where broadband has yet to make substantial inroads."
From VH1's Best Week Ever: This Video Contains All Of The Reasons Why Our Society Is Doomed. I've nothing to add to it. Try not to read the spoilerrific text in the entry and just click on the two-minute video.
I suppose that with Google Maps now offering street-level photographs, it's inevitable that someone would be creeped out by what they can see. Heck, I was creeped out the first time I saw my own front porch at a9.com. (Gosh, I wish my house were prettier.) One woman was creeped out when she discovered she'd left her curtains open the day the Google van drove by, and the world can see her living room -- and her cat. But within a day or two this phenomenon was topped by 90 West Santa Clara St in San Jose, where you can see dead people. I'm sure you'd rather check out co-eds sunbathing at Stanford.
Speaking of which (sort of), signs of Spencer Tunick were spotted this weekend in Amsterdam.
Egypt: Fatwa allows breast-feeding among adults. This is a couple of weeks old. I've been holding on to it until I could wrap my head around it (so to speak), but the logic still makes me dizzy.
"We have to remember that while more women are showing more cleavage, you really have to use your breast power responsibly." With great hooters come great responsibility, as I'm sure Stan Lee would have said had Peter Parker been bitten by a radioactive Scarlett Johansson. (I think I just stumbled upon the plot for Spider-Man 4.)
"Thousands of LiveJournal customers are rebelling against the company's recent decision to censor hundreds of sex-themed discussion groups, a broad swath that has led to the removal of literary critiques and fan-written fiction about Harry Potter." Do remember, though, that it's only a First Amendment issue if the government is suppressing it. Any private company has the right to limit how its resources are used. If this bothers you, buy your own domain and server: They're cheap enough. (Why, yes, I do own purplemaster.com.)
The good news is, hybrid automobiles are beginning to sell. The bad news is, they're selling for the "wrong reasons". They aren't replacing those mean old SUVs, they're fashion statements, the third car in "two-car" households.
Turn off the TV and broadband for a week and family life goes completely to hell. (Spoilers: They cheat on days 2 and 6, and mostly sit around glaring at each other the rest of the week.) Perhaps the most amusing part of the article is the closing, Mother's Tips To Cut Screen Addiction, among them: "Take your children on holiday to countries where broadband has yet to make substantial inroads."
From VH1's Best Week Ever: This Video Contains All Of The Reasons Why Our Society Is Doomed. I've nothing to add to it. Try not to read the spoilerrific text in the entry and just click on the two-minute video.
I suppose that with Google Maps now offering street-level photographs, it's inevitable that someone would be creeped out by what they can see. Heck, I was creeped out the first time I saw my own front porch at a9.com. (Gosh, I wish my house were prettier.) One woman was creeped out when she discovered she'd left her curtains open the day the Google van drove by, and the world can see her living room -- and her cat. But within a day or two this phenomenon was topped by 90 West Santa Clara St in San Jose, where you can see dead people. I'm sure you'd rather check out co-eds sunbathing at Stanford.
Speaking of which (sort of), signs of Spencer Tunick were spotted this weekend in Amsterdam.Egypt: Fatwa allows breast-feeding among adults. This is a couple of weeks old. I've been holding on to it until I could wrap my head around it (so to speak), but the logic still makes me dizzy.
"We have to remember that while more women are showing more cleavage, you really have to use your breast power responsibly." With great hooters come great responsibility, as I'm sure Stan Lee would have said had Peter Parker been bitten by a radioactive Scarlett Johansson. (I think I just stumbled upon the plot for Spider-Man 4.)
Saturday, December 22, 2001
It was time.
Welcome to the all new (well...) ad-free me. I've convinced myself that I'm going to keep doing this, so paying for the service (as Glenn Reynolds reminded us) was the Right Thing to Do. Thanks to all for the encouragement.
Thanks, as well, to
And to all you people who are seeing this because I am a Blog of Note, Hello! Pull up a chair. As they say, if you like what you see, tell your friends. If you have something to say about it, tell me. The address is right up there.
Wednesday, December 12, 2001
Landmark
I just got my 200th hit. It took two weeks from #100. Somehow I don't think I'm responsible for Blogger.com's bandwidth problems, but thanks for visiting anyway. At this rate, I'll be in the rarified atmosphere of Instapundit.com in... oh, 2025.
Wednesday, December 05, 2001
Holiday Crunch
The closer it gets to Christmas, the less time I'll have for these comments. I promise I won't forget about them if you don't.
Wednesday, November 28, 2001
Landmark
I just got my 100th hit. It took three weeks. I have no idea if that's good or not: I just know most of 'em aren't me, so thanks for hanging in.
Sunday, November 25, 2001
Happy Thanksgiving
My family is all happy and healthy. I hope yours is too. I actually have enough time on my hands to worry about something as inconsequential as this blog.
Life is good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)