We have a surgery date! And complications! And a countdown timer!

Well, here we go! I have an official surgery date. I was told about a month prior to the date, which while relatively short notice, I have been waiting on for a year, so wahoo!

If you missed my announcements on Facebook and Instagram, here's your short notice! I'm having surgery on December 12th, 2025.

For your sanity and my anxiety, please find the following countdown clock: Countdown Timer

Now that we’ve gotten the positivity out of the way...

This news comes with additional complications because of course it does. I originally, back in November of 2024, agreed to surgery replacing my valve and conduit with bovine tissue. Doing things this way would maintain status quo as I currently have bovine tissue implanted. This tissue is pre-treated prior to implantation to ensure that the body doesn't recognize it as a foreign body and attack it.  Please find attached the absolutely fabulous badge I had made in recognition of being part cow for 9 legen-dairy years.

Art by @taelvea, my wonderful friend. https://taelvea.carrd.co/ 

However. Hooooooooooowever. Let me tell you what happened last week.

I was over at my parents’ house when we simultaneously realized that while I had received a surgery date, I hadn’t in fact been told what time specifically to arrive at St. Paul’s for surgery. Being that surgery was coming up on us fast, my mom sent an email to the wonderful medical office assistant of my surgeon, Dr. Campbell. Unfortunately, instead of an answer, she was told that Jackie, who’d been handling booking my surgery and keeping me updated on what was going on, had quit. Fantastic. So, in a bit of mild panic, we called the office. I won’t be naming the poor woman who answered because I’m about to slag her off.

Initially, the conversation could be thought of as going well, once we were past the pleasantries, hello, how are you, I’m so and so, etc. Then I asked about what was going on with my surgery and if we were, in fact, still on track to have it happen on December 12^th. I get the answer “Yes, we’re on track to have your operation on December 12^th. We’ve ordered your homograft and are waiting on it as you’re having conduit surgery.”

Those of you who were paying attention in medical terminology classes or at least Latin might realize why I mentally came to a screeching halt at the mention of a homograft. I could go on and break down the word into its etymological definition, but in practical terms, it’s human tissue used for medical purposes. Specifically, tissue of the same species, all dead and ready to go. Cadaverous, even. I was told by a friend that they now pronounce the word “cadaver” differently in the medical field now as to not scare patients. Somehow, the pronunciation of “cadaver” is not why I’m opposed to its usage. In this case, I’m opposed to its use because it’s in me, and it would mean I’d likely need anti-rejection medication.

The conversation continues with my remarking that well, human tissue is not what I agreed to last year when we went over the risks of surgery. I agreed to a surgery with bovine tissue; what happened to make this change?

It is then, dear readers, that we go off the rails. The incompetent, complete mishire of a woman on the other end of the line then tells me that she has no idea what the words “conduit” or “homograft” mean and that so sorry, she’s new, and to please have patience and that she cannot provide further insight. However, she can at least tell me that my surgery is at 6:30AM. “Do you mean I’m having surgery at 6:30 or that I need to be there for 6:30?” “Oh, you need to be there for 6:30.” So, even communicating non-medical information needs to be clarified and isn’t conveyed effectively by this inadequately knowledgeable assistant. Awesome. I hang up.

It is at this point that I convey the information to my family, then express my sincere and utter dismay at the source of the information. Frankly speaking, I don’t really trust the information given to me by her considering she had told me she essentially had no idea what the bloody fuck she had relayed to me. She said she was new, but she shouldn’t be that fucking new. On a later call I ask to speak to my surgeon, and I still haven’t, so that’s great. I’ll be calling the office later demanding to speak to him this week and might post a quick update if I do get a chance to speak to him.

In terms of how I’m doing leading up to surgery, it’s gotten increasingly hard to breathe while doing regular activities, though I insist on being as normal as possible right up until the day of, including getting my cardiac checkup done the day before surgery. It’s hard being as normal as possible while also keeping in mind I need to plan for all kinds of eventualities, for example: there’s the planning for if everything goes fine (because there’s still a lot to plan), there’s planning for if I have to be in the hospital for longer, then there’s of course the one I am loathe to admit to planning for, and it’s exactly what you think.

Previously, I’ve discussed the anxiety I’ve been having waiting for surgery. It’s gotten worse than ever, with panic attacks over the idea of my death happening more frequently. It happens most often when I’m trying to sleep and there’s nothing in my brain, or something reminds me of time passing, aging, or other related topics. Basically, any chance my shitty brain gets to remind me “HEY BITCH, YOU COULD DIE!” it does.

I should stop blathering on at you. It’s close to 1AM as I write this.

Signing off,

Drunk off Heart Condition