17 days to a whole new life

Some people may be wondering why I have been absent from these pages for the last couple of weeks. Well, as Paul Harvey used to say, here’s the rest of the story.

I felt the breezes of freedom flowing in the rear passenger window of the car where I sat sore, stiff, drugged up and exhausted. I couldn’t drive in my condition so my mother took up the reigns. I tipped my head up, closed my eyes and drank it in along with the lovely sunshine. I was free after 17 days in the hospital after suffering a heart attack early the morning on Aug. 5. Some wake up!

Those 17 days were jammed with endless tests, prods and pokes at all hours of the day or night, which led to one major surgery — a quintuple bypass. Or, as I like to call it, a five-alarm open heart surgery special. It turned my life upside down in more ways than one.

I began to drift in and out as we sped down the Glenn Highway away from the hospital toward the Valley. As I watched the familiar scenery roll passed, my mind was busy thinking about the events of the past two weeks. The time spent at first with Mat -Su Regional Medical Center after my check in was very short. Only two days in their ICU unit. Not much sleep in a place like that. But they had to find out what and why I was laid out flat on my back with my ticker going ape on their scanners. And then to stabilize my heart for all that was to come next. The nurses and staff there were great. Sleep was next to impossible, wired and IV-tubed up. Plus the endless jabbings for blood at all times of the night and day were of no help. Time slowed to a crawl. Dr. Corbett and his team finally figured out what was wrong with me. They just couldn’t fix me there, but Dr. Curtis in Anchorage could.

So then I was transferred to Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage. That was a long ambulance ride from the Valley. The driver knew two of my Iraq war buddies Sean and Tami Grande who work for the Butte Fire Department. Talk about a small world.

I was bought up to the fourth floor critical care unit, where all the staff are dedicated to heart issues and healing. This is where I learned Dr. Curtis would perform open-heart surgery and he would do the whole thing plus all the by passes in a six- to eight-hour operation. It frankly scared the bejeebers out of me. Yet, I had little choice. Do nothing and — well let’s just say death is not an option. So I spent the days waiting for the operation by reading, watching movies, drawing and writing the first drafts of this article. These activities kept me calm since I couldn’t leave the fourth floor. I was wired up the gazoo with monitors again, though not as much as before. At least this time I could move about.

Back in the car, the motion jostled me awake. I cracked open an eye to see where we were. Coming out of Eagle River passing a slow truck. Mom had the country station on low just enough to lull me back into sleep.

The eve before the operation one of the nurses showed up to shave my chest and lower legs. By this time I had gone into “Mission Mode” as way to cope with the reality looming up at me. It helped before during my Army years and it was helping now. When she was done I looked in the mirror. Man I haven’t looked like that since I was 12 years old. I swear I heard a deep chuckle just then. Yet no one was in the room. So I know who it was, my brother Matt who passed away a year ago. I looked back in the mirror and laughed at the sight of me. My brother’s spirit was just the right medicine!

The morning of the Aug. 11 came all too soon. I said a silent prayer putting my life in the hands of the surgeons, nurses and the Creator as I got into the stretcher waiting at my room’s door. Then I was wheeled to surgery.

I woke up in the ICU the next morning feeling like I had been hit by a Mac truck — twice. I was more wired up more than ever this time. I could barely speak from all the drugs. From that moment on it was slow work to recover. But recover I did. Enough to go down the hall back into the CCU.

The nurses and staff were great. Helping me get back the most basic of functions. A victory was a “ Whoo-hoo” moment. It wasn’t easy but I was motivated to get the heck out of there. Each day was an improvement and a little closer to that day of days —discharge day. And I couldn’t of done it alone. Those doctors and nurses were lifesavers in more ways than one. “Thank you” doesn’t seem enough for giving this old man the continued gift of life.

When that day arrived Aug. 21 and all the paperwork was finally done, I was wheeled down to main entrance by one of the nurses as my family went ahead to get the car for my pick up. I got all choked up, because I was truly grateful for all they did. They were kind to me even when I wasn’t so stellar because of the pain. I may not remember all their names — there were quite a few — but I do know they are the best in the business.

When I woke in the car again we had just entered the Valley. And it never looked better. This was more than freedom from the hospital. No, this feeling of coming home was something like a rebirth or resurrection. The old me was gone. The new me was thinner and little battered. A bunch of stitches going down the middle of my hairless chest, some incision marks on my left leg. I was pumped up with drugs. I looked like I was attacked by an octopus from all the IV and tube tape marks covering over it. But this is my body — mine — and I was still breathing. I felt pain and was grateful for the feeling for it meant I was alive. And better yet I am free of the curse that landed me in the hospital in the first place — smoking. I stopped cold turkey during my 17 days in the hospital. Sitting in the car on the ride home, I couldn’t even stand the stench of cigarette smoke coming up from my hat.

I still have a long road to go for a full recovery. Being home from the hospital is only the beginning of the greatest of challenges for me. I’m more than up to it. And nothing is going to stop the new me from succeeding.

Wasilla resident Daniel D. Grota retired from the U.S. Army after more than 21 years of service.