A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO MY STRESS TEST (6 page)

I wasn’t home even a day when the bills started arriving. Yes, I had insurance, but surely you don’t think that will be the end of it. Here you are trying to recover and the compassionless bill collectors are at your door before you even turn the key yourself! One doctor billed me hundreds of dollars for some visits to my room; Jeanne actually remembers her saying “Oh, I guess the other doctor got here before me,” leaving immediately without doing a damn thing!

My major goal was to try to sleep on my stomach again. I wasn’t getting the complete rest I wanted, so I made up my mind I had to turn over. Easier said than done. I cannot begin to tell you the agony of trying to do that. Even weeks later it didn’t get any easier. Between the incision, the sore chest bones and the veinless numb leg, it felt as if no matter what I did, I was bucking the system. I forced myself to get used to it, because I knew that was the only position that would ensure some shut eye. It worked, but it wasn’t always a guarantee.

I wasn’t certain if the burning in my chest and swelling of my ankle was exactly normal, so I called my surgeon’s office and the doctor who ripped out my tubes told me to stop by the hospital in twenty minutes. I hopped the subway, walked the extra blocks and made it there on time. I arrived on the floor she requested and thought it might be a place I had occupied before. When the doctor arrived, she had a big smile on her face. Keep in mind I hated this woman when she ripped out those tubes, but today was a different story. She was incredibly friendly and very proud of my status. I asked her right away if I had been on the floor before. She pointed to my room and said this was where I spent my recovery. All I remembered was ceilings because that was the position I was always in. What a strange feeling now to see other patients, knowing they would have to feel all the things I was feeling. She had me pull up my shirt and show her my wounds. She was thrilled with my progress. She went into great detail (at my request) as to what the marks were from. This was from this — this was from that. Some descriptions were a little bit repulsive even if it was my own body! She encouraged me to take more pain medication and sent me on my way. I couldn’t believe I had survived all that. I also couldn’t believe that was where Jeanne kept coming every day and staring at me through the glass windows of my room wondering if I was making it. I asked the doctor one more question. “Was I really that close to death?” She replied, “You were in for a massive heart attack.”

I walked out of the building in much better shape than I had that first day I was released. I walked down Broadway to the post office and then over to my optometrist. She was surprised to see me and being a religious person, made sure I was aware that God got me through it all. If she weren’t an optometrist, I thought she could replace the religion lady at the hospital. I recalled I had a free bus transfer from the earlier subway ride, so as not to lose out on a freebie, I hopped the bus for about fifteen blocks to the supermarket where I did much too much shopping for this early in the game. Carrying the packages home was not as easy as I had thought it would be! However, it was still progress.

Clothing was also a concern. I realized very early on that certain shirts had to be eliminated. My chest could not tolerate buttons. If anything slightly touched the incision area, it was like a constant knifing. Hence, my eyeglasses on a chain had to be put in a pocket or thrown in a backwards position. I ended up wearing T-shirts or smooth soft cotton shirts. Jackets were not buttoned and could barely be zippered.

On another level, what seemed to be helpful was speaking to other “members of the club.” I happened to get a message from one of my Facebook friends who had some giant hit records in the sixties. He was simply known as Keith, and he had hits like “98.6” and “Ain’t Gonna Lie.” I was completely taken by surprise when he mentioned he had had the same surgery eleven years ago! Inside of a few hours we were on the phone trading war stories. We had experienced many of the same moments that I have been writing about here. He said it wasn’t long before he felt as if he had the heart of a 12-year old. It was that good. He joked that he recommends this surgery to everyone — even those who don’t need it! Speaking with someone did help a lot. It wasn’t that I felt I was the only who had experienced this mess, but I wanted to know what I was in for in the next few weeks (or months for that matter). Keith’s recovery had been quick, so it gave me some encouragement that this chest pain would eventually fade away.

I started to realize that the operation was actually quite commonplace today. I heard from friends and friends of friends who went through the exact same thing. They survived, and the doctors themselves felt that their work was more or less second nature to them. Although still a serious procedure, the operation was no longer considered a rarity — they are doing these every day.

One of my first evenings out was to see Neil Sedaka do a one on one interview at the Y. I had known Neil since I was a teenager and actually wrote the book for his box set of early recordings released in 2003. I also performed several salutes of his music where he dropped by and did a guest spot with me at the end of my performance. He saw me on line waiting to have him sign the book from the box set and kept staring at me. When I reached the front, he asked me how I was and I told him I was about a week out of the hospital having had open heart surgery. He and his wife showed great shock and concern. He wrote in my book “love you so.” I saw him again later in the week and his concern never waned — and the energy from his music truly helped my recovery.

Little by little, I am seeing some progress. I can’t say I’m ready to run a marathon, but walking up a hill doesn’t seem to be a problem. Sometimes I tire easily and feel as if I need a nap, but I also don’t sleep more than seven hours, so I feel I have a little leeway here. Oh, wait. I think I’m going to sneeze again. Oh, my God! Wait. Achoo!!!
(pause)
I did it. That wasn’t so bad. I think I may be getting better.