Not good news.

Yesterday was three months, to the day, from my open-heart surgery. My heart was remodeled by a team of fabulous surgeons in the hopes that I could get 2 to 5 more years out of this heart. Add 10 years average for a transplant and you’ve got me close to 70! In my last post I wrote about facing a new and exciting future: wondering what I could or should accomplish in the 15 years my doctors were fighting for.

I haven’t posted since. The longest I’ve gone since this blog started. I have continued my cardiac rehabilitation, geting up before sunrise three times a week and going in to the Legacy Hospital gym. There, they hook me up to a heart monitor and put me through treadmill, step-machine, free-weight and resistance-cord exercises designed to push my heart exertion to maximum: 129. On the treadmill I program in a series of speeds and uphill grades and then spend 25 minutes working my way through it. At the peak of exertion one of the physical therapists takes my left arm and gets a blood pressure. In a gym full of 160’s, 180’s and 190’s I am rarely over 110 or 115. The treadmill is controlled. If I wanted to go faster I’d fly over the front bars and tumble to the floor.

But on the NuStep, a stairmaster/cross-training machine, I can go as hard as I choose. In the last couple weeks I’ve been getting yelled at…”Okay Mike, drop your arms. You ARE NOT to go to that level.” A quick check and I’ll find myself at with a pulse of 137. But I’ve lived through those moments!

In this controlled exercise environment I have reached a point where I am being held back. My chart says “High Risk” on it and my Ejection Fraction (EF) shows as 28. Since the operation, though I’ve been hoping that my new EF would be in a range (40’s, even in the 50’s?)that would mean 1. my heart would last at least the two years, and maybe more and 2. that I could begin running again, training for a marathon with my daughter Jenny in October. Especially these last 2 or 3 weeks, we have been awaiting the echocardiogram that would establish my new EF.

We have spent the last 60 days or so with new hope, with plans for the future, and without what Judy calls, “holding my breath” each and every day in anticipation of a heart attack or other disaster. It’s been wonderful, though in the back of my mind I’ve still been ready every single day for the worst. A new and improved EF would indicate the surgery was a success and I could really start moving into an active future–that lacked the footnote, “HighRisk.”

All day yesterday we waited for OHSU to call with the results of my 8 am echodardiogram. Last night we still hadn’t heard anything and I left to take some Confirmation students to the Chrism Mass at the Cathedral. It was an incredible experience. Old Catholic. Hundreds of priests. Knights of Columbus in their feather topped helmets, red capes and swords. Sisters of every denomination. And music to rival the Cambridge Singers of John Rutter at Cambridge University in England. As the music soared and the thousands of voices around me rang out, I could not forget the Sacraments of Healing that I have experienced four times since coming to Portland.

When the Oil of the Sick was consecrated, I was especially aware of this faith, my history in the church and how closely intertwined we have been. I remembered sitting with my brother, Greg, in the choir loft at Holy Ghost in Fremont. We received communion and when we got back to our pew, Greg reached in with his finger to pry the host off the roof of his mouth! I thought he’d go right to hell!

I remembered serving as an altar boy at Easter Vigil, holding the crucifix on its wood pole for what seemed like hours, my fingers and arms cramping while Monsignor Breen intoned the Litany of Saints so…………………………………………slowly! I closed my eyes after Holy Communion while the Cathedral Choir sang Maruice Durufle’s Ubi Caritas and a picture of Father Tony Valdivia holding Jenny up to the sky during her baptism at St. Ann’s came into my mind. My Grandfather walking with his cane up the aisle when he received the sacrament of Confirmation while I was still in grammar school. Gary as a sheep in the Christmas Pageant smacking the shepherd as they made their way up the steps into the sanctuary. Gary and Brian serving Mass at St. Felicias.

As my closed eyes relaxed to the darkness and the music took my heart to another place, I thanked God for a truly awesome life. I felt joyful. At peace. I apologized in that inner silence for wanting more and realized that whatever I have had is enough. it is enough. I felt the luckiest man on earth.

When I got home Judy reported that no one had called from OHSU. I checked the messages and found nothing. As soon as I put the phone down I remembered that moment during Ubi Caritas and reminded myself that I have nothing to fear and everything to be grateful for.

This morning Deirdre from OHSU called. She was disappointed. Much of the staff at OHSU Cardiology have become something more than merely doctor or nurse. Deirdre, perhaps, more that others. My new EF is 30.3. Down from my last of 35. The surgery had not improved or halted my heart failure and cardiomyopathy. My cardiologists were disappointed. The echo had also revealed a blood clot in my heart.

In that moment I realized that I needed to remain grateful. I felt the need to get up and get on with life. For Judy (and I will admit in a corner of my own poopy heart) there was certainly a profound sadness. A return to the daily fear and a harsh kick in the butt to revel in every day, in every moment.

What does 30 mean? Well, it’s not as bad as it was a year ago February, when I was as low as 11% and life-threatened. It does mean that my risk remains incredibly high, that heart failure will continue, that the 2 to 5 years that the surgeons hoped to give me are not probable. The blood clot is just another disappointment. They’re going to discuss it and see what steps they will take. I’m already on blood thinner and my INR (which indicates blood clotting speed) was too high last week–meaning thinner than it should be. I’ll be retested Wednesday and hopefully we can get it into the right range. With a blood clot, it becomes critically important.

So I am disappointed. We need to adjust. As my Cardiac physical therapists reminded me, I may need to re-frame my self image for the future. Running out. Walking in. Weight-lifting out. Big rubber balls in.

I had hoped that this blog would morph into a journal of starting a new life. It will do that, too. But the ride is not over. I will re-focus on today. Bring the peace and joy of Ubi Caritas to mind; be grateful.

Thank you all for continued prayers and notes and kindnesses. The sun is out and Spring has sprung.

Now get outside and don’t forget your sun screen!