Life List #5 - On Top of the World, part 2

(see part one of the story here)

Chris and I spent the night before in Fairplay - arriving at nearly midnight and waking after a restless night at 3:30. I'd brought instant oatmeal which we ate liberally loaded with nuts and drank hot tea. I desperately hoped this would be enough to power us through the start of the day. We had a store's worth of REI gear on our persons. I'd bought anything and everything - I had no idea what to expect.

Was I actually going to climb a fourteener?

At 5:00 am we met Mike (my boss) and our friend Brian at the Kite Lake trailhead. It was dark, and Chris and I were quickly outfitted with borrowed headlamps, gloves and poles. All of my extra weight had been redistributed among our crew. Adrenaline quickly replaced my knotted stomach and my four-hours of sleep addled anxiety.

OMG. I was going to climb a fourteener.

The first thing that Mike told us was that we were going to go slow. Really really slow. Even slower than I thought I had ever gone before. So slow that we would be frustrated and want to go faster. That slow. Did we get it? Slow.

The second thing was to remember to breathe. Breathe deeply and continuously. This might sound elementary but have you ever noticed when exercising that you sometimes forget to breathe? It is key as you start gaining vertical feet.

Admiring the ice crystals that were everywhere.

As we started getting closer to the ascent part (the trail was very long), I began to notice something particularly troubling. Everything was coated with a thin sheet of ice. By everything, I mean the trail had turned from dirt to rocks. And the rocks were solid black ice. Yikes.

Ping pong goodness

The darkness finally eased into light and someone commented that it was like being inside a ping-pong ball. We were in a cloud of fog - or maybe just a cloud - we were already at about 12,000 feet.

Um, hello. I was freakin' climbing a fourteener!

See the ice coating my hair. My hairsicles. It was everywhere.

We stopped at 13,000 feet to check pulse ox rates. Mine had slipped to 85. Breathe, I was told. Don't talk, just breathe.

Nanuk of the Mosquito Range

We powered up with electrolyte gels and water as we hit 14,000 feet. Another check of the pulse ox showed mine back up to 95. It never fell below 94 for the remainder of the climb.

Don't be fooled by the sun. These rocks were icy.

One foot after another and all of a sudden, we were there. We were at the top of Mt. Democrat at 14,155 ft. We'd climbed two miles and 2,300 vertical feet. That's a 20% grade. My pulse ox was 95, my heart rate was about 145.

I had just climbed a fourteener!

But wait! There's more...

Life List #5 - On Top of the World, part 1

In August of 2008, my Sunday night small group spontaneously decided to try to climb Mt. Bierstadt. A noble attempt, but we were sadly turned away from the summit - or even close to the summit - by rain and snow. In August.

A September climb of Mt. Elbert yielded similar results - hail stopping us only 100 feet higher than on Bierstadt. Mountain climbing was hard. I was painfully slow, struggled with the heart rate in my nerveless heart, and it seemed as though the weather was always against us. I decided then and there that mountain climbing was not for me. Long hikes, yes. Vertical feet? No.

Fast forward to September 2011. My boss calls me into his office. What's your work out regimen, he asked. You in good shape?

Not particularly phased by the question - we are a fit office and workout routines are a common conversation topic - I launch into a litany of my cardio and strength training regimen. Sometime over the spring I'd amped up my fitness schedule so I was excited to talk about it. Something just clicked into place with me and exercise over the past several months, but that is a topic for another post.

Great, he said. How about on Thursday we climb a fourteener?

Say what?!? 

My initial reaction was no. No. NO. I had a heart transplant a mere five years prior. Had this been forgotten? And what about all this business about my speed? I was slow...way slow... excruciatingly slow. Oh, and my heart rate is cray-zee. Like interval training - it would speed up to the top of my target range while climbing and then I would need to slow down until it hit the bottom before starting the process all over again. It took at least an hour for it to settle at a steady rate. I was a hot mess on a mountain plus, most importantly, I had never even been over 12,000 feet outside of a car.

So of course I said yes.

(to be continued...)

On Not Going Gently

So, what happened in there, the night of my biVAD surgery?

I was sitting with my surgeon, Dr. Awesome, almost a year after my transplant. He was late to the appointment by almost 90 minutes - his last of the day -  but had called ahead to his nurse to ask if I would mind waiting. We were there, ostensibly, to talk about my wiring.

My chest wires to be specific. The ones that sort of look like twist ties wrapping around my sternum were poking me from the inside. None of the options were worth the inconvenience of living with being poked so we continued on to other subjects. 

I actually knew full well what had happened on the night of November 7, 2006. I'd managed to get my hands on my medical records and had pored over them with the help of Google to translate the medical terminology. I'd read the timeline of events and frankly, there in the stark black and white of the doctors' messy handwriting, it hadn't seemed nearly as dire as I had heard. 

He told me the surgery had started out well, especially for someone who was hanging by a thread, in multiple organ failure and on a balloon pump with a heart beat that was as steady as a popcorn machine. Once the biVAD was in, by all accounts, the operation was a success. 

And that's when something bad happened. My blood wouldn't clot. I wouldn't stop bleeding. They did everything, he said. I was loaded with as many clotting agents as probably exist. They talked about just leaving me open to monitor, but in the end decided to close me up and hope for the best. All in all, I received enough transfusions to replace my body's blood at least three times over. He stopped talking for a second. It was out of our hands, he finally said.

It was your will to live.

Even now, I still have a hard time finding the words to describe what happened that day. The day where everything bad that can happen to a heart happened. The day that my family (and friends) pulled together around me like a sweater. The day that God did something that I can never deny.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.
- Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

NaBloPoMo - Day One

Hey look! I have a blog! And wow, no updates since June 2010? Tsk, tsk...for shame, Hassell.

So for some reason, November in the interwebs tends to be a "National To Something Every Day" month. There is Gratitude Months (a fine idea, I might add), NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, which I seriously considered) and then NaBloPoMo. Writing a blog post a day sounded less daunting than writing the 1600 words per day required to get a novel done and slightly more challenging than writing one thing per day for which I am grateful.

Not that I am not grateful. As a matter of fact, several of these blog posts over the month of November will probably be brimming with gratitude. Cuz it is November and that's how I roll, people.

Anyway, welcome back to Best Day of Life. Let's see where this all goes.

Going Back

This week I had my annual heart transplant tests - a right heart cath, a left heart cath (aka, I believe, an angiogram), an echo, a VO2 max treadmill stress test and a kabillion labs. The only thing missing from this day of fun was a biopsy, aka the rejection test. Unbeknownst to me, the clinic has stopped doing biopsies for everyone over two years out providing that 1) you are not presenting any rejection symptoms, 2) there have been no med changes, and 3) you have a good history. So no neck poke. Hooray!

Annual test day, in a word, is tough. The tests span two opposite ends of the spectrum - running on a treadmill with snorkel gear in your kisser to flat on your back, stoned on the "juice," and keeping your leg still for four hours. And in between, there are EKGs (at least two), blood draws, IV insertion (three attempts this year) and multiple exposures of any and all body parts. Including the ones that have nothing to do at all with your heart. AT ALL.

I can't help think when I'm doing all this that for 3 1/2 months - and really for the first two years post transplant - that this was my life. I'd automatically extend an arm to a nurse for a draw, it was second nature to rattle off my extensive drug list (including dosages) and I could give you a medical history so fast and complete it would make your head spin.

And I can still do those things (and did) but these year was different. This year, I RAN on my treadmill test for almost a minute - at an 18% grade. That is like running up Mount Massive (okay, for a minute, but still!) I exceeded my age potential by 103% - most heart transplants, due to our physiological differences, don't get to 75%. When I commented that I'd been doing interval training, the doctor warned, "but the test has an incline." To which I responded, "yeah, when I'm not doing intervals, I'm nearly at the machine's incline potential." 'Nuff said.

This year, the number one question was if "I'd gone back to work yet." There were actual looks of surprise when I answered, "Um, yeah...I've been working since five months post-transplant. And yes, I am back full-time. More than full-time some days."

And when the X-ray technician asked me if I "was a good walker" for one second, I wanted to throw that 103% in her face and then sprint to the machine, although despite the fact that I am a GREAT walker, I would've fallen on my doped up ass.

And then I remember that I could've run into the hospital straight from an Ironman competition and that wouldn't change a thing. To them I am a patient, the girl who survived one of the last of the old school bi-VADs, the girl who had her blood replaced three times in twelve hours, the girl who could barely walk when she left the hospital. And I was all those things - without those things, I wouldn't be who I am now. I am so grateful for that experience which gave me my life.

So even if the hospital never sees me as more than my patient number, I know that I am the woman who hiked nine miles in one afternoon on the Colorado trail, who indeed works a full schedule (plus extracurriculars), who dreamed of scrapbooking (literally) while on the cath table instead of grilling the doctors and happily left with her wonderful husband late Tuesday night to go her home with her pets - back to this incredible life.

First World Gratitude

Back on Thanksgiving, I published a list of 50 things for which I am grateful. I struggled with 50 and decided to stop at 25, but the more I listed the more I was able find. But while it is great to be thankful for caramel macchiatos, I decided to take my gratitude back to the basics.

I am grateful that...

• I can walk my dog in open spaces without being afraid or even thinking about land mines.
• I can speak my mind without fear of being thrown into prison.
• I have access to clean, fresh water anytime I want by turning a faucet.
• I can choose and switch my own religion without fear of my family wanting to kill me.
• I survived to be an adult protected against life-threatening diseases like polio.
• I can go outside of my house with my head and legs uncovered without my husband, father or brother as a chaperone.
• I never needed to fear the "rite" of genital mutilation.

America isn't perfect by any means and I am grateful to live here for more than the above reasons, but let's face it, the world is full of suck. The following are links to the some of the above issues if you are compelled to learn more to help reduce it.

- International Campaign to Ban Landmines

- Amnesty International

- Charity Water

- Human Rights Watch

- World Health Organization

50 Things I'm Thankful For

I have a zillion things to be thankful for and here are fifty of them.

1. The Internet. The single greatest invention of our time, I say.
2. My pit-bull mix, Jeely. For teaching me that saying "never" most of the time doesn't work.
3. My circle of friends. You people rock.
4. Being alive. When asked what the most surprising thing about my heart transplant experience was, I always respond "that I made it out alive." No joke. It was tough. I am incredibly grateful, even now, to be alive.
5. iTunes. How did I organize my music before? And talk about instant gratification.
6. Really good design
7. Noise cancelling headphones
8. My new-to-me car and the friends that sold it to me.
9. The fact that I can dispose of my old dead car easily and free just by donating it.
10. Adobe products - most especially Illustrator, InDesign and Photoshop
11. A fantabulous husband who is also my best friend
12. My crackberry (I'd be lying if it wasn't there!)
13. Having a challenging and fulfilling job
14. Legend of Zelda series and Rock Band for keeping me off the streets
15. My mom and dad for being my inspirations
16. Caramel macchiato lattes
17. An affordable warm house
18. My former low sodium diet for getting me off my butt and into the kitchen
19. Facebook
20. Digital cameras
21. Almost everything that comes off a pig
22. Sleeping
23. Food that is so good you want to cry
24. That I can leave my job at work so I have plenty of time for playing
25. Treadmills (and that I can use them at ridiculously high inclines)
26. Movies that make me laugh and that have no blood splatters
27. People demonstrating kindness
28. Google. Oh Google and your assorted and sundry products, I love thee.
29. Wireless internet and the fact that I can get wireless internet/VoIP on my crackberry
30. My incredible sister
31. Color
32. Living on the plains but only 20 minutes from spectacular mountains
33. The possibility that a public option might actually happen (no more pre-existing conditions! no more lifetime cap!)
34. A husband who is a computer genius
35. Sweatpants
36. Blogs
37. My cats even though they never leave the laundry room any more
38. A husband who makes wonderful lattes so we can occasionally save a couple of bucks
39. Ready to assemble furniture until such time we decide that's where we want to spend our money
40. Danskos
41. Digital cameras for giving me something to scrapbook
42. Art museums
43. The Lord of the Rings books and movies
44. Tivo. How did we live without this?
45. Hulu. For when I forget to set my Tivo.
46. Dishwashers
47. My choirs for giving me a voice and not just for singing
48. My night-owl genes because I love being the keeper of this legacy
49. My new(ish) heart and the individual who said yes to being a donor
50. God

Happy Thanksgiving!

Two Years

On the morning of December 4, 2006, Jan from Immaculate Heart of Mary church had come to visit me in the hospital. I struggled to focus on her words, stories about the latest happenings at church. Am I tired or am I sad?, I found myself drifting. Oh, and I hope I'm not too disgusting looking. But Jan only smiled and stood next to me and prayed for me, prayed that God would grant us the heart we needed.

By now, I had been on the biVAD for almost 4 weeks. I was receiving regular blood transfusions (the perfect drug!) to help relieve the water retention and to keep my anemia at bay. Eating was pure misery - most of my nutrients came from the delicious feeding tube "sludge" diet. Yum! I needed almost constant oxygen. Most humbling was my inability to care for my basic needs. I was a mess.

Not just a mess physically but emotionally too. Over the course of the days before, I'd been getting more and more depressed. I was wearing down. The darkness was right there, hanging out on the edges. I felt broken, separated from everything I'd once known and held tightly. My grip had been loosened and I was slack.

The day before, Lisa left, headed to Palm Springs for 9 long days for a seminar called, coincidentally called "Date with Destiny." I didn't really want her to leave. She'd been planning the trip for months. Back in my previous life, so long before when I'd first gone into the hospital, back when we were sure I would've gotten the transplant by now, she'd described it to me with shining eyes. I knew she had to go. I told her that perhaps this week would be both our dates with destiny.

After Jan left on that Monday morning, I fell asleep. As much as the the constant thump-thump-thump of the biVADs was tiring, it was also oddly comforting. I had a dream that I was in my bed with little puppies and kittens snuggling with my VADs. All of us comforted by the heartbeat. When I woke up, alone in my room, I knew the time had come to decide what to do with the sadness; somewhere along the line, I had lost my sense of Sarah. Half the time, I felt more like a machine than a girl and the other half the time, I just wanted to cry.

It was time to get it together so I got into my chair and started a crossword. Simple, nothing exciting but just deliberately choosing to do something felt good. It felt great, and by the time my friend Marianne showed up to visit, I was beginning to feel a little of my old self creeping back and the darkness receded a little.

Around 8:00 pm, the door opened and four nurses came in. They stood there silently - each shifting a bit and blinking a lot - and grinning from ear to ear. I was a little confused. I assumed it was shift-change and they would start swarming around my IV speaking their nurse-talk. Instead, they just stood there. One of them started crying and through a huge smile, another said "we may have found one!"

I went as still inside as the biVAD would let me. Oh. My. God. Then I said something seriously creative like, "Are you kidding?" . They nodded and someone cautioned me about getting too excited. Not get too excited? Ha! I felt tears coming and said, "someone get over here and hug me!" I was immediately surrounded.

I called Mom and Dad, not really sure to hope or not. Pretty soon, my feeding tube was shut off. Goodbye dear sludge; ye shall not be missed. Throwing caution to the wind, I called Lisa and my bosses who were in the Hong Kong airport on their hour layover before heading to Tokyo. They put me on speakerphone and I tried not to cry. In the middle of all this, the nurses took about a gallon of blood and started me on the immunosuppressents. Mom and Dad arrived. Had time really stopped or was it just me?

I moved to the bed. Surgery was scheduled to start at 12:30 am on December 5th. Time was moving very fast. I wanted to remember this night forever so I asked Dad to get his video camera (which was handily in the car). I was visited by the OR nursing staff, most of whom I already knew from my VAD surgery. I signed the form. I consented to have my heart replaced. Then it was time.

Everyone, nurses and doctors alike, stopped and stood by the bed. Mom said a prayer for the hands of the doctor, in gratitude for their amazing service and for healing. The world felt soft around the edges. As per our arrangement, once the bed started moving, Mom read Psalm 121 - "I lift my eyes up to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord." Mom kept stride by the bed as we moved down the hall. All the way to elevator, the sounds of the VAD, the respectful silence of the nurses and voice of my mother are what I remember. The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want.

My entry into the OR was at the same time as Dr. Awesome, my surgeon. I asked him if his hands were feeling steady. Ha. I am so lame. The atmosphere was relaxed in the OR - shouldn't you people be a little more urgent? I remember thinking. I asked if I could walk to the OR table if I wanted. They said that would be fine. I was too wigged out to actually do it, but I liked knowing that I could if I wanted.

The oxygen mask came down over my face - just like in the movies - and I felt myself growing drowsy. My final thoughts before succumbing to the anesthesia were...Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

And then I was out.

----------

And now it is two years later. Two years of mountains (both figurative and literal), monitoring, and pushing forward with a determination and drive I didn't know existed in me. Was it worth it? Hell yes, every beat of that VAD, every blood draw, every ounce of pain was so freakin' worth it. This LIFE - while it is busy as hell - is the life that I CHOSE by saying YES to every lifesaving measure possible, YES to giving up all control and YES to replacing my failing heart with that of a total stranger.

Every day I wake up with a prayer of gratitude on my lips. I am grateful to the people who invented every fancy machine and drug that has kept me alive. I am grateful for the surgeons, the doctors, the nurses, and the CNAs for their single-minded vision of saving my life. I am grateful for my friends, my family, my coworkers and my love for giving me a reason to live. I am grateful to God for being a part of this plan. And for the heart of the the amazing donor who has now fused with my soul to become this new creation.