26 hours in the Cardiac ICU

This is part 3 of a series on my 2nd open-heart surgery on November 2, 2025. This is for anyone who’s ever wondered about the open-heart surgery experience. If you are new here (welcome!), please go back and read OR61. The 3rd piece will be out later this week. Between these installments, I am writing other musings on being a heart patient, in no particular order. It’s a writing bonanza this week for me! xo

“C h e r y l…. wake up, Cheryl. Can you hear me, Cheryl?”

Who was Cheryl? Or did she spell her name Sheryl or Sherrill? Why was the nurse yelling Cheryl? The nurses voice echoed through the ICU as if we were all stuck in a cave.

Only curtains separated each ICU bed, subjecting me to all the other cardiac patients’ stories.

Looking across the ICU, I see a woman, probably close to my age, and her chest is still open with a plastic covering over her heart. My nurse is standing over her. Many machines surrounded her as the nurse, covered head to toe in protective wear, gave her more medication in her IV. Many precautions are being taken to prevent infection. I stare in horror.

What did I wake up to? Did I wake up in the Matrix?

I had a central line sticking out of the right side of my neck, four tubes coming out of my abdomen, a Foley catheter, and two IVs in both arms.

I’m definitely in the Matrix.

Jason saw me first, but I don’t remember. He wasn’t allowed to sit even though there was a chair beside the bed. 20 minutes was all the time he was allowed at my bedside. Only when a family friend who works for the Cleveland Clinic came to check on me was Jason allowed to sit.

My friend, Annie, was next. She said I asked “somewhere between 7 and 23 times” if I’d be able to mountain bike again. She answered between 7 and 23 times that I’d be able to mountain bike. I was delighted each time with her answer.

Patience is an undervalued virtue.

Anne Marie, my stepmother, followed. By then, the pain was elevating to a 10 out of 10. A couple of years prior, I broke my tibia and fibula in a spiral pattern requiring emergency surgery. I thought that pain would always be my 10 out of 10. Now, however, I felt a new 10 out of 10, which had me wanting to die. Give me a spiral tib/fib fracture any day over open-heart surgery pain.

“Am I dying?” I screamed. I felt like the ICU bed was swallowing me whole. Anne Marie gripped my hand, reassuring me I was not dying, all while begging the nurse to help with my pain. I had the pain button in my left hand and kept clicking it. No relief. Pain medicine was allowed only a few times every hour.

And yet, the bed continued to swallow me. I writhed in pain. Moving my legs as if I were trying to escape.

Echoing through the ICU, I hear, “Cheryl. Wake up, Cheryl.” I needed that nurse to stop yelling Cheryl!

The patient on the other side of me was being naughty. A nurse scolded the patient, “You keep being naughty. We will have to …” her voice trailing off, or maybe I fell asleep.

I woke up and clicked the button in rapid succession again as if I knew the answer on Jeopardy, or at least, I hoped to find pain relief. No relief.

Now, my O2 was dropping.

“Boots, take a deep breath! We might need to reintubate!” my nurse pleaded.

Anne Marie also pleaded for me to breathe. Suddenly, a BiPAP machine is strapped to my face, and I’m breathing with more ease, but the nausea hits like a rogue wave. I’m going to puke with the BIPAP mask on.

I motion to Anne Marie that I am going to puke. She grabs the nurse, who then yanks off my mask. I now have two jobs: hold the puke bucket and do my best to breathe as deeply as I can between dry heaves.

I found hell.

“Are you being naughty again in here?” I hear the nurse next door. What the hell is that patient doing?

“C H E R Y L? Can you hear me, Cheryl?” a nurse echoes.

Jason, Annie, and Anne Marie cycle through several more times, 20 minutes each, with Annie completing the rotation and leaving by 9 pm. I have vague memories of her sitting in the chair as I dozed. She had driven 6 hours in a snowstorm for this moment, giving Jason and Anne Marie a break, being a witness to the enormity of it all. She’d later reflect on how pro all the ICU staff were, which is something coming from her, a hospitalist in Milwaukee, WI.

She tucked me in and said goodnight, leaving me with the soundtrack of the nurse yelling Cheryl and the naughty patient next to me with the movie of the open-chested woman across from me, all still on repeat.

And it went on… all night long.

I doze off but am wiped awake by my nurse giving me a sponge bath. She unwrapped individual wipes and cleaned me head to toe, back to front. I dozed between wipes, thanking her over and over. The wipes were warm, and I felt as if she and the Cleveland Clinic were hugging me over and over. I had made it to the other side of a 2nd open-heart surgery, and this was my reward.

I don’t remember much after that, except for the nurse yelling at Cheryl every hour and the naughty patient next door not getting his act together for the nurses. Whatever he did, I’ll never know. I tried not to watch the woman across from me, but it was hard to look away. She was down on her luck, and my newly remodeled heart really felt for her.

By 7 am, it was time for a shift change, and I was sad to see my night nurse go. No one will ever top her care and skill. She reminded me of the Jesus I learned about as a kid. I watched her move between the open-chested woman and me as if she were floating between us. She’d log in to her computer, read the updated med instructions, put her protective gear on, and work on the woman. Then, without any bother, she’d take the gear off and come to me and see if the pain was lessening. I was in very good shape compared to the woman across from me, yet I received the same level of incredible care. I will forever be grateful for her compassion.

The day nurse came in on a mission to get me to the chair. By then, the nausea had subsided, and my pain was mostly controlled.

It took the nurse and an assistant to get me into the chair. It felt amazing to get out of the bed that had felt like a death spiral only a few hours earlier. All the tubes were still attached to my body, and yet, I still felt free. The chair was the portal to leaving the ICU. If I could hold myself up for long enough, I’d be granted release to the PCU.

And so, after 26 hours and in record time after a 2nd open-heart surgery, I was rolled via wheelchair to PCU 6th floor, where I’d be for the next eight days until I left the hospital.

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