Ed's Journal

4,555,200 heart beats. I don't know how many days on earth God plans for me. Since my surgery my artificial aortic valve beats on average, 65 times per minute. That is 1,560 per day. 569,400 in a year. Four million, five-hundred-fifty-five thousand, two hundred heart beats during the last eight years. That's a big deal. I smile. My heart is thankful to God. The pain eight years ago is now a thin scar on my chest. The fear, anxiety and depression are remembered but not over powering. I remember God's grace during that time. That memory gives me resilience when I face today's trials and troubles. In my faith tradition there's a Bible verse that I have found helpful and weight bearing during that time of surgery eight years ago today: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13). For if God is strengthening me, He must have a purpose for keeping my heart pumping. In short, simply taking the time to write and post this single paragraph may be by His design for you to read. May you have peace and joy the days to come.

Seven years—seven years to the day of my aortic valve surgery. All of the high anxiety, physical discomfort, and emotional stress during that time got me a chance to enjoy today and to appreciate the over 2,550 days that followed. In other words, the surgery was worth the price. So if you're facing heart valve surgery or are recovering, know that there are many people who are on the same medical journey. Their stories are posted on this blog to encourage, comfort, and fill your spirit with hope. I found them that way, and I pray that you will too.

What a pleasure it is to see the picture Dr Patrick McCarthy of Northwestern Medicine, Chicago on the first page of this website today. I still remember waking up from aortic valve replacement surgery six years ago today. Dr McCarthy leaned over my face, smiled and told me the length of surgery (2.5 hours), that I had a bicuspid valve and to be sure tell my children so they should have their hearts checked-out for this congenital heart condition. I remember the first time I met him in his office. I was carrying my copy of the HeartValveSurgery book. He immediately recognized it and I felt a bond with Dr McCarthy. Thanks to him and his team I am enjoying an active life doing Pilates, Yin Yoga, Tai Chi and outdoor walk. I visited the hospital last month to participate in a sleep-thought research project, as a small way of paying forward.

Pilates three times per week, yoga twice and soon Tai Chi once per week. All live on Zoom. But this Saturday I will be outside at a 5k walk as part of an HMR weight management program. I am looking forward to being with people again. Life is good and my heart pumps away eager for each moment of the day. Hope the same for you, or will be soon.

In our backyard, up-turned mounds of fresh snow reflected the sunlight in mid-afternoon. A white glaring after-image peeked through my steamy, darkened eyeglasses. The brightness darkened the path which needed to be shoveled. Too bright to look ahead to see where to shovel so I looked beneath the lower frame of my glasses to decide where to begin. I could see only my dog Pepper's footprints. So I shoveled the snow not knowing where I was going, following only Pepper's trail. Her path led me in a loop from the deck landing along the fence to the evergreen to the birdfeeders and finally returning to the back door. Today is my fifth anniversary of aortic valve replacement surgery. This website, HeartValveSurgery, has guided me from pre-surgery to the day of surgery and to today. The early days were one shovel full at a time. Thanks to all who shared posts, where I learned I was not alone. Now I look forward to writing a post on my anniversary each year. I hope you enjoy each step along the way, even if it's through the snow.

FOUR YEARS AFTER Chronic gray clouds hid today’s pinkish sunrise display. An extra-large bright yellow banana seemed to enjoy being breakfasted upon with an assortment of meds. Even the deep dark strong coffee seemed to know today was a special day—my fourth anniversary after aortic valve replacement surgery. Outside the sparrows, awaiting spring, warbled and chirped until I smiled. And I wondered about those waiting for surgery. I wondered if they hear the birds who are also singing for them—coaxing a smile. Have a great day today and tomorrow.

This morning, just before sunrise, winter-rains bent over my backyard and absorbed the trees within its ice. Dark blackish brown branches of a pine tree caged the sparrows until the sun stirred the wind and crackled the frozen limbs. The sparrows escaped. That was my first view of my neighborhood on the third anniversary of my aortic-valve replacement surgery of 2016. Even though it is now raining tonight, temperatures should remain above freezing. The sparrows will be free to fly as early as they choose tomorrow. It’s been another good day. I tell myself, “Enjoy the best part of each day--when the sun, or the promise of it, warms the heart.” May you do the same.

This morning, with below zero temperatures (F), I'm reminded of how I felt right after surgery and how I feel two years afterwards. Today, I peered out my kitchen sliding door into the early morning darkness and saw 2" of flaky snow on the stairs where my dog would soon step. So I shoveled it and laid down ice-melt. Minutes later when my dog, Pepper, ran outside into the frigid cold, her paws were firm on the steps; she did not slip. But she was cold, too cold to stop and return to the warmth herself. After 2 minutes I whistled for her; she stopped, turned and ran back to the house. In the same manner 2 years ago I had prepared for heart surgery, with the same willfulness that I employed today for Pepper, and like my dog, I hurried outside into the cold to shovel the snow and listened to my heart beat in anticipation of a peaceful spring, and soon I returned home for some warm coffee and hug from my wife.

For the last 40 years I've had a practice of keeping a mini-log of personal major events during the calendar year. The space for each year is a mere 2" by 4" so only the most important items are listed; maybe, a new car or a Job change. In January I looked back to check what I had written during 2016. When I looked, only one thing had been entered: heart surgery Feb. 5th. I was floored. How could that be? Hadn't anything else of major importance happened? They had, Only I had not appreciated them at the time. So here's my list for 2016: walked ten steps at home Feb 9th; walked up and down steps Feb 10th; slept in my own bed; walked a block outside; completed cardiac rehab II & III; took a train into Chicago; walked 5k; maintained weight; started weight training; resumed Tai Chi; resumed Pilates; shoveled snow for 30 feet; completed 12 weeks biofeedback & breathing training; resumed mediation; went golfing once; went to 2 school re-union gatherings; joined a stamp club; visited a seriously ill relative; rejoiced with my wife's & kids' successes; and walked the dog. Actually this is too many events to cram into the tiny space in my log, but they are all important to me. Probably more important than past years. My next step is to sharpen a pencil and to squeeze as many of these as possible into my 2"x4" 2016 box.

While watching "Everest," I connected with the words of a character who was feeling tired at the foot of his long climb to the top. He said, "I thought I would acclimate sooner." Today, the 5 a.m. outdoor temperature is minus 12 degrees F. When my aging dog returned after only a few minutes outside, she barely made it up the 3 stairs back into our warm house. But Pepper persisted on 3 legs. Quickly I wrapped her in my sweater to share my body heat. She stood very still and breathed in the heat, as if it were warm air. This is my first active winter after my surgery, Feb. 2016 . In Nov. when the temperature dropped to the 40s, I was startled at how I slowed down--from exercising 6 days per week to 3. I no longer had the energy. But I am back to 4 days-- all indoors. But even though I feel I should have acclimated to the cold sooner, it doesn't really matter. There is a Warmth like a body-heated sweater that refreshes me. Off to Pilates this afternoon.

Nine months following aortic valve replacement, I find myself healthier but in constant need of medical tweaking. Two months after surgery, I started Cardiac Rehab, but my cardiologist did not like the stress test results and decided to follow me more closely. Three months following surgery my Primary Care Physician sent me to a Urologist to check out my bladder. I did it but not very willingly. Everything check-out, sort of. Four months after surgery I made my final visit to a weight loss program that I had attended successfully for over a year. Because of a change in meds, I lost confidence and extended my Cardiac Rehab into Phase III. This was a good decision. But I forgot to stop taking the dropped meds, until I visited my cardiologist. He said that was OK because my blood pressure was getting too high. So he recommended I take tests to explore my kidneys. Done that, A-ok results. Long story short, my health psychologist suggested biofeedback as a way to meet my lifelong goal of being self-aware and in self-control, so I spent three very productive months with a biofeedback therapists. He showed me how to improve my breathing, my sleep and relaxation. Over the last 9 months I've going from ground zero to daily exercising, to working on eBay selling, to writing, and to socializing. I'v joined a group of neighbors who have just decided to do Fitbit activities "together." In hindsight, my first six months was putting my life back together. The last 3 were focussed on adding more activities and increasing my stamina. Next will be increasing what I've learned to think of as a polygon of of various exercises, practices, and lifestyle changes designed to tweak my progress toward being more self-aware and more useful to those around me. I've decided to start revisiting this web-site regularly to see what I can learn from your posts. Thanks for sharing.

Eight months ago I had open heart surgery. It was unexpected. It was overwhelming. Today when I read many of your posts, tears welled up. Your stories tug and tear at my feelings. Many stories uplift and give hope, evoking a teeth-showing smile. When I write, I invite you to share in my experience. And in the same way, you invite us to share in your pains and your joys. And this sharing is a good and comforting thing. Glad I'm a part of this community. Hope you are glad too.

For the last week, I've been looking forward to to-day, as if it were my birthday, the seventh-month-versary of my open heart surgery. But something happened in a moment while I waited expectantly. I simply lost motivation to push myself physically. I am meeting my weekly activity goals : six days of cardio exercises, two strength training, and one pilates session. Added to my exercise program were weekly bio-feedback therapy sessions, with thrice-a-day breathing exercises and progressive muscle relaxation. Also I took steps to find out when I can resume Tai Chi classes. This Friday I will play golf (52nd high school re-union event), and so I've been practicing at the driving range during the past two weeks. I diligently combined my newly acquired breathing and muscle control techniques with my swinging techniques. Then in a moment, I lost my drive to walk the fastest 5K I could. And when I lost that drive I noticed a stray dog whimpering as I walked toward it. I saw rain-drop seeds fall from a monster sun flower. I heard a gnat buzzing near my ear. And then there were what I call God driven moments. Strong impulses to do something kind and loving: an impulse to hand some money to a stranger who was looking for work, or to lend my smile to a pulmonary rehab patient on the treadmill next to me, or to accurately give directions to a middle aged woman getting exercise on the neighborhood bike trail. These kinds of free-flowing, loving moments are my motivational for me. So this month I'll use the memory of them to motivate me to do activities that strengthen my heart, expand my lungs and stretch my mind-body connection. What are some of the things that motivate you to exercise and take care of yourself in other ways? Please share. I'm interested in knowing.

After looking at a list of my daily activities my light bulb went from dim & flickery to bright and steady. That's because I realize that I've reached the point when I'm actually doing more than I had been able to do for months before the surgery (AVR). But now I'm looking to upgrade. Today I begin some biofeedback sessions to learn how to relax and to conserve energy. Lights out, for now.

Almost 5 months since aortic valve surgery, and I Just finished a 36 session Cardiac Rehab program this week. Its photo-copied "graduation certificate" has a lot more value to me than I had thought it would. When I started Cardiac Rehab I did 10 minutes each on three different exercise machines. Each week the duration increased by 1 minute per machine. The final week each session was 21 minutes or 63 minutes total. Cardiac Rehab was 3 days per week and for the last month I did the same regimen at a local fitness center for another 3 days--combining for 6 days. I was feeling confident until my meds were changed this week and my pulse rate increased, as expected, but my confidence took a nosedive. So I enrolled in Phase III of Cardiac Rehab where I'll exercise at the same hospital gym but without a heart monitor. I'll do this for 3 months twice a week and 4 times at my local fitness center. My hope is to condition my heart with its now faster (but OK) heart rate. The major benefits of Cardiac Rehab, for me, were confidence building, self-awareness of my body's limitations and capabilities, and a greater empathy for people who have heart problems. Next steps for me are to return to doing Pilates once I transition making 6 days of exercising per week a solid habit, and my "bucket list" plan is to go the next step in Tai Chi. I highly recommend Cardiac Rehab as one way to improve stamina and endurance. Besides that I met a lot of supportive & encouraging people.

I finished my jig saw puzzle today. Finished in-home physical therapy. Drove my car around the block. Now I'm focussing on getting back into my pre-heart problem daily routines. So I'll still be posting, but not every day. My hope is that everyone who posts and comments on this more-than-wonderful web-site will have whatever their heart desires.

I was driven to downtown Chicago to see my cardiologist & surgery Nurse Practitioner. I woke at 4 a.m., left at 5:30 a.m., arrived @ 6:45, took chest x-ray 1 hour ahead of time, saw my N.P. 1 & half hours early, saw my cardiologist 15 min. Early. EKG was ok. Chest x-ray was good. Blood pressure was ok. Incision is healing. Ok'd to drive. Cardiac rehab recommended. Drive home was smooth. Got home, coughed & I felt like my sternum would totally split. My eyes teared. I muffled a vulgarity. Tomorrow I hope to drive my car around the neighborhood to celebrate 29 days of post-op recovery.

Icy sidewalks, that made outdoor walking out of the question for me today, made my working on a 1,000 piece jig saw puzzle interesting, today. A few puzzles back, I learned that once I find then place a piece, enjoyment fades.. It has vanished into the picture or the design. When I look for it, I can't find it. It's as if the hard found piece is no longer interesting, no longer does its odd shape or color combination, delight me. I wonder why it took so long to find, but almost immediately I forget it once it has fit into its place. This has left me with a question. Can I compare what we go through after heart surgery to finding a jig saw puzzle piece? All the effort that we might go through to walk a short distance no longer interests me, now that I can walk a few blocks. Yet now there's another piece I'm looking for: to walk a half mile. Won't that be fun? Until a mile is in sight. And than a 5-K fast walk. And than Pilates again, someday. And so this heart journey is a jig saw puzzle, of a sort. But each step learned and well placed doesn't simply blend into the puzzle. Each step remains vibrant and stronger only because I relearned how to step again after getting out of the hospital bed. And so if I now take a 1,000 steps, I choose to remember the first step. I remember the joy then and even now feel it, but not as vividly. I don't want it to become like a vanishing puzzle piece ... .

All three walks were outside today; 11 min.; 24 min. and 28 min. I felt so happy, I couldn't help talking as I was passed by. One young mother had a first grader on a scooter, an infant in a baby-carriage plus a high strung 40 pound mix-breed dog. The dog didn't notice me until about 30 feet ahead of me. He turned and eyed me, barked then dismissed me as he followed his mistress and his family. Another dog pulled her master aside for me as a walked slowly behind them. She studied me as if I were a bird who was unaware that a dog was at hand. I smiled and told her master that she most likely smelled my dogs. The dog thought, almost out-loud, "No you are a bird. Perhaps a pigeon or a duck." Tonight, a 4 to 6 inch snowstorm is forecast. Right now, according to our dog, Pepper, it's raining ice. Probably there won't be many dogs outside tomorrow. At least I won't see them because my walking-in-the-snow privileges are suspended for now.

I took two 12 min. walks outside today: 4 city blocks. I found a discharge instruction sheet, Home Walking Program, that suggested that I do this 4-6 times per day until I can do 30 minutes per walk. Then to reduce the walks to twice a day. This Wed. I'll need to walk in the hospital parking lot and its vast hallways to see my surgical team. I'm less anxious about that walk because I can see progress in my walking stamina. In mid-April I hope to be walking about 45 minutes per walk.

I walked outside today and when my body barked, "Enough, for now." I stopped turned around and went home to rest, and watched little Ollie growl at me.It was a fine growl from such a tiny dog. Later, at home, I walked down the stairs into my basement where I've been working on a 1,000 piece jig saw puzzle. While sitting on a bar stool, I found a few pieces. Then I stood and looked through my library to choose a book, DANCE WHILE YOU CAN. Tomorrow I'll list on eBay. Then I climbed the stairs into the living room and rested again. When I do things that require walking outside or climbing stairs, I count it as exercise, but it is so much more than exercise. It's almost like dancing or singing in a choir: the movement is the means to something, not the end in itself. So day by day, step by step I"ll enjoy this journey. From your posts, I see that many are doing the same, with some moving inch by inch and others going from mountain to mountain.

Today I borrowed an oxygen finger meter & my reading was 97%. I took a nap, without using my C-Pap machine, & when I woke up my reading was 90%. Tonight I will use my C-Pap machine, & I will take a reading when I wake up. My prediction is that it will be in the high 90s. Any predictions?

All morning I've been thinking about a desert near Tucson and how once I saw it bloom after a thunderstorm. It teemed with colorful flowery shapes and long, crawling things. To mark that experience I had purchased a desert scene lithograph and a paperweight with a scorpion suspended inside it. Later today, when my physical therapist challenged me to stop dwelling on having had surgery but to begin doing what I really like to do (repairing old books, doing Tai Chi, walking outside; writing), At first I felt like I didn't want to change what I'm getting used to. I sorta like the limitations of post-op life. I felt comfortable being like the scorpion in my see-thru paperweight: always appearing ready to move but never moving. So I asked myself, what do i want to do now? That simple question broke my mental barrier, so I went to the basement and found an old book that needed its accompanying map repaired. And I repaired it with document repair tape. And I feel real good.

Today was a reflection of yesterday: same events, same feelings. Except today it snowed. I felt alone, like a cross county skier, inside a snow globe, waiting for a gentle shake. Then your notes & emails moved me and the snow whirled & twirled. I am happy.

Another good day. The rhythm of the day is beginning to resemble my old ways. Whenever I add something new, I get tired very fast. During daytime naps I fall into deeply disturbing trance-like states (perhaps pain killer residual effects from 1st two days of hospital stay). I'm starting to realize the toll surgery took on my body; so I'm trying to be extra kind to it by listening to it before it throws a tantrum. I'm very blessed by God in that I have had very little pain, good mobility, and a loving family & friends.

I feel really happy, because tonight I was able to do a Tai Chi short form. By no means a master, I have been learning this movement for about 4 years. Since the surgery I've been practicing the moves in my imagination. My physical therapist suggested I try to do something I enjoy. So she gave me some restrictions on the movements, which actually didn't apply. I feel like the geese I saw the other day: from the ice pond to the horizon. And back.

Four Canadian Geese ruffle feathers. Each lounge on the wafer thin ice which rings the warm water of the placid pond. One, while on the ice, sips water; the others snuggle the rim where the ice meets the pond water. It seems they're aware that the ice might dissolve in the sun, but they ruffle their feathers, then another sips water until they all seem refreshed and fly away beyond the horizon. Soon the healing sun will warm the ice that I feel that I'm sitting. Once and awhile I sip the water. Now I wait for the ice to fully melt: the ice of aches & stiffness. Maybe tomorrow I'll enter the water & float awhile while looking forward to flying after a full life again.

Two weeks ago, today, I had open heart surgery. Today I walked around Hobby Lobby for 20 minutes and bought some acid free paper. I felt slightly wobbly. Walked in straight lines to conserve energy. Vowed never, ever to go back there because there were no overhead department signs indicating what aisles things were in. Felt angry at the register person who complained about their being no scholarships for middle class parents such as her. Felt peeved at the one who waited on us and said, "I won't ask you if you want me to bag these items because we no longer carry the large bags." Felt really, really happy when we got back home where I walked to the mailbox for the first time in over 2 weeks. It was a great day of shopping, everything considered. Tomorrow, maybe will go to the Forest Preserve and walk in concentric (happy faces) circles in the parking lot.