My Catheterization Made Me Cry

The Good and The Bad

Follow up to last week’s article…

“I’m glad you came in. Let’s see what’s going on here…”

I’m kind of ashamed of myself. After the catheterization, I cried when the doctor said I didn’t need a stent. Who does that?

I was really looking forward to the immediate relief a stent would bring me from those weird symptoms. For nearly two weeks, I had been asking God for help. I was absolutely sure that he answered YES to the stent when he winked at me numerous times. From the unexpected mourning doves nesting in my window box to the big ad for my cardiologists on the back page of our local newspaper right before the procedure, I thought God and my mom were sending me signs of reassurance.

You see, after my mom died 20 years ago, I started really believing in synchronicities — or what some call God Winks. I have written about how the number 22 has kept showing up in my life and how God has always communicated with me in different ways. (Here’s a link to that article if you’d like to read it and others. )

I have to confess as a child, I never felt as if I were enough for my parents. I needed better grades, better manners, and a better boyfriend they said.

But I never told them how I felt. I kept it a secret.

So when I was standing in the parking lot in front of the pharmacy while talking to a friend the afternoon before my heart cath, I was pretty shocked when I turned and saw “You are enough” on the back window of a car right beside me — and, you won’t believe this, when I grabbed my phone to take a picture of the decal, the time was 2:22.

To top it all off, I was actually wearing the black t-shirt with the big yellow sunflower that my sister and I bought to honor our mom a couple of Sanibel summers ago.

I was so giddy by the time I got to the hospital the next day, they almost had to restrain me from running into the operating room.

The nurses were finally able to get me into my hospital gown, insert an IV and get my vitals before rolling me into the state of the art cath lab.

I rejoiced when the cardiologist said, “I’m in!” He wasn’t sure if he could use the small radial artery in my wrist or not. So things were really looking good.

Photo: This is the radial artery compression device they use to stop bleeding. After surgery they release air gradually over a few hours. And I had to wear a splint to keep my wrist from bending for a couple days.

I was lying on the table covered with warm blankets, a huge computer screen to my left and a camera over my chest. Daniel, my male nurse, kept an eye on the blood pressure monitor on my left arm. At one point, it registered over 200. Dr. Meier was behind a plastic screen; I could see him pushing and pulling the guide wire that was making its way through the arteries in my heart looking for blockages. But in less than 30 minutes, I started worrying. I could hear them talking. " Oh no! They aren’t finding anything. What am I going to do? I’ll have to ask Amy.”

Finally, when Dr. Meier pulled back the plastic screen, he said, “There’s good news and bad news. We didn’t find any significant blockage. We tested the two small ones we found, and they show no signs of distress. But it does look as if you have something called microvascular dysfunction where the tiny vessels in your heart aren’t dilating properly.”

I sighed, “I’m so disappointed.”

The tall, compassionate doctor with smiling eyes peered over his white hospital mask at me. He had already done a miraculous procedure. But leaning in closer, he did something even more helpful. He said, “I understand. We’re going to take care of you.”

I ask myself to this day, “What more of a reassurance could God have sent me?”

Well.

When the male nurse got me back to my room, he asked, “You’re from Upper Sandusky, right? Do you know the Reid family?”

“Of course, I love Dan and Wendy Reid.”

“I was their son Nick’s roommate in college.”

Unbelievably, the whole hospital stay was only 5 1/2 hours. My appointment was at 7:00 am; I was checking in at Koehler Drug Store before 1:00 pm. And guess who my pharmacist was? Yep, Nick Reid. I knew Nick worked at Wyandot Memorial Hospital, but I had never seen him at Koehler’s before. He was such an angel, answering every question I had about my new medication.

You know God must have been really tired from winking all those times at me. He tried so hard to tell me he had things under control. I should have trusted that He knew better than I did.

I am so grateful; it makes me cry.

It’ll Be OK.

“We don’t grow older; we grow riper.” ~ Pablo Picasso

They usually don’t put a stent in unless there is a 70% or more blockage. ( Circle 3 )