On Friday, I unexpectedly had a stent put into my heart. That wasn't the plan when I went to the diagnostic imaging office that morning.
I'm doing fantastically well and have a really superb prognosis. I feel better the last few days than I have for months and, in some ways, for years. This problem was building for a while, but I was asymptomatic until very recently, and I thought a gradual loss of energy and some other minor problems were a sign of age.
Nope: my heart. Or, rather, one of the arteries. I feel like I'm 30 years old again, and had been feeling closer to 50 or more recently, so that's a great improvement and likely to last.
I put on 20 pounds a few years ago, and couldn't get it off. I lost 10 pounds between Friday and Monday, even after they filled me full of saline, and I ate quite well during my brief hospital stay. Clearly, I was retaining water.
I'm not sure how much I'll write about the whole thing, because it's both fresh and distant. I don't feel much like I cheated death, and the stent surgery is frankly less painful and has less recovery than a pulled tooth. (The stent part has no recovery. It's inserted permanently, and the healing is just the spot on your body where they thread the catheter in to do the photography of your heart and then the angioplasty to place the stent.)
The staff at Swedish Hospital's Cherry Hill branch are without a doubt the most caring and happy group of medical professionals I have ever dealt with in a long history of health care, and I will be writing a very nice letter to the administration. It was quite delightful to be under their ministrations.
I was stented on Friday; back home Sunday; did a full day's work Monday. We live in the future.