vifferman

When it was time to leave ICU, they made me get up and walk for a bit, to make sure I didn't spring a leak, and to get everything working. This was surprisingly non-traumatic, partly because of morphine tablets, and because it was a snail's-pace walk. I now had a couple of largeish clear plastic tapes on my chest covering the wounds, which allowed me to be showered by the lovely Kai Ming so I didn't reek quite so much of chemicals. My single room had an ensuite, TV on an arm, couple of chairs and a cupboard. Not the flashest hotel I've stayed in, but the service was mostly pretty top-notch, and the remote-controlled bed (and more droogz) helped me get some sleep, not easy when I was confined to lying immobile on my back (and will be for the next couple of months).
The day after leaving ICU, it was time to climb up/down two flights of stairs. This too was surprisingly easy, and reassuring, as we have a three-storey house.
Meanwhile, despite the diuretic and other drugs, my weight continued for a few days to be on the high side, due to fluid retention. A new and alarming problem (to me) was atrial fibrillation, a not uncommon post-heart surgery effect. This is where instead of the chambers of the heart pumping rhythmically and systematically, the normal rhythm is joined by spasms in the heart, and the pulse rate races a little. In my case, it got up to something like 170 at one stage. The feeling is like a fluttering in your chest at first, which then feels like running your bike with the sparkplug leads on the wrong cylinders. Luckily, I was connected to a wireless telemetry device, which broadcast a constant ECG to the nurses' station. I was given some drugs to settle this down, which apart from another couple of episodes, they did.
The last couple of days were pretty sweet, apart from one further a-fib episode: I had a new room which got some sun, overlooked the harbour, and had a balcony with a picnic table and chairs. I got whatever I asked for (and promptly), a newspaper was delivered every day, and life seemed not so bad (apart from the food tasting like crap, due to my drug-addled senses.)
On the Wednesday following surgery (Friday18th), I decided I'd had enough of being a patient, and wanted to feel like a person again, so I got up, shaved (a mammoth task), showered, and put on some clothes. On my walk around the hospital, I met my surgeon at the nurses' station. "You want to go home?" So, a mere five days after surgery, I did.