On September 11, 2018, the culmination of a year and a half of medical tests, a two-week delay, and finally admitting that I needed it done, I had surgery on my heart to correct two of the congenital disabilities that had plagued me all my life. I had only ten days prior celebrated my 47th birthday.
These birth defects played only a small part in my physical well-being for much of my life. In my school days, I was the weakest of the boys but still stronger than any girl. I rode a bike to school and enjoyed physical activity. I noticed I was slower and could not go as far as others, but I had always dismissed that as being out of shape.
My congenital deformities played a part when I wanted to join the army and have them pay for my university tuition. It was then that I realized that maybe the problem with my heart was bigger than I expected. This discovery threw me back. I also didn’t want to admit there was a problem; after all, I could do anything I wanted physically…
…to a degree.
It was the winters before and after the turn of the century when I picked up a cold. This is a five-day unpleasantry for most, but it generally affected me for over a month. December was always a bad month for me; I became convinced I would die in December because I struggled so much with this seasonal affliction.
Then, one day, I didn’t get better. I kept expecting the cold to go away. Weeks turned into months, and I would eventually break down and see a doctor about this prolonged cold/flu. A bunch of tests were performed, and then I learned that colds and flu can cause pre-existing cardiac problems to worsen.
Things did get worse.
Stairs felt like mountains.
Shopping was an epic death march.
It took forever to catch my breath.
Surgery was looking more and more like the only option.
So, round after round of tests, scans and other diagnostic imaging were completed on me. I saw the surgeon in the one place that I was not expecting.
For much of my childhood, I was a patient of Sick Kids in Toronto. They monitored my development, and I was stable. On my 13th birthday, I had my last visit to Sick Kids. Now, quickly approaching my 30s, I found myself in Sick Kids again, seeing a doctor.
The surgeon did go through what he was going to perform on me and made it sound all peachy-keen, until he stressed that there would be a significant risk to my life.
YIKES!
The chances of death on the operating table were high. The two-year survival rate was only 45%.
YIKES!
I went home and stewed about this for months and then got notice that surgery was in September. I chickened out and cancelled it.
I impatiently held my breath for the next two years, waiting to see if I made the right decision. I survived for two more years, then three, then more.
Until 2017.
I started to notice how much my life was being affected. I had stopped clearing the snow from the driveway years earlier. I slowly climbed the stairs, taking a break halfway up. I needed to catch my breath on the simplest of tasks. I was going downhill and downhill fast.
I knew that the surgery that I failed to do two decades ago was very much needed, even with the dismal 45% survival rate that scared me off the last time. The surgery looked promising this time because I did not know if I would survive two more years without trying something.
I saw the doctor and got the ball rolling.
The good news was that the surgical technique had dramatically improved, and I was only looking at a 5% chance of failure.
I could live with those odds.
September 11, 2018, was the big day. The surgery is a big blank spot in my memory. I was asleep for much of it, so I cannot say what had happened. I can say that I am thrilled that it was a success.
A big, raving success!
My cardiologist would say to me that “people come to the hospital in hopes of getting a little bit better. You came here, and you got cured.”
The change in my life was so profound that I had no idea how sick I was until I had become healthy—no more huffing and puffing on the simple things. If I huff and puff now, it is really because I am out of shape.
September 11, 2018, is my re-birthday. I started a new life, and today is the fifth anniversary of this event.
I must thank my wife for helping me through those trying times as I prepared for surgery and the lengthy recovery. So much of what we do now is and was inspired by my health. I thought I would die, so I started travelling to as many places as possible to give Charlene as many memories as possible. Now, with a healthy heart and body, we travel because travelling is amazing. There is an entire world out there that we need to explore and celebrate living and loving.
Five years ago was the best decision that I had ever made, besides marrying my wife. We have seen and done so many things because of September 11, 2018.
