It wasn't exactly a vacation, but at least it was a day off

My every whim was catered to.  If I was chilly and wanted another blanket, a white one that had just been heated in some sort of special blanket-oven was produced and unfolded atop me like a shroud.  If I was having trouble seeing the TV, a plump pillow was produced and tenderly placed behind my head. If I wanted a sip of water, a cup appeared, and a bendable straw was slipped between my chapped lips.

If you have guessed that I am not describing the wondrous care provided by a luxury hotel but rather the Morristown Medical Center Gagnon Cardiovascular Institute, you are correct.  I entered that facility yesterday around noon for a long-planned angiogram and stent procedure and was discharged 24 hours later almost to the minute, slightly worse for the wear wound-wise, but greatly improved heart flow-wise.

A nuclear stress-test in April indicated that I very likely had a blockage in one of the arteries of my heart, so the angiogram was scheduled to confirm or disprove it.  I was laid out on a pristine but incredibly uncomfortable table in the cardiac cath lab, and they went in through an artery in my wrist, and even through a semi-blissful drug induced haze, I could hear my doctor when he said, “there it is.”  One of my arteries indeed had a 90 percent blockage.  They dove in and fixed it up with a balloon and a stent. 

About four hours later, I was in recovery.  My left hand looked like it had been administered to by the special effects department of the “Walking Dead,” and I felt, surprisingly, like a brand spanking new member of the walking living.  Sandwiches arrived.  Warm Ginger Ale was quaffed.  Save for the incessant dinging of various monitors and the every-fifteen-minute squeeze of a blood pressure cuff, all was better with the world than it had been less than 24 hours previously.

So, that’s how my summer is going.  I can heartily recommend the Gagnon Cardiac Institute, but I would avoid the turkey sandwiches in recovery.  Shorn of mayo, salt, and pepper, its mouth-feel resembled a bite of roofing tile.  But with a newly repaired heart beating efficiently in my chest, I had to admit that I had rarely tasted anything so good.

Oh, by the way, yaaaay for Medicare! Vote for the guy who will ensure it’s around for another sixty years. It’s important.