I began feeling a bit weird during a nice luncheon with friends last week. It was the same feeling I had been having which had sent me to a cardiologist the week before.

I had not planned to finish my day lying flat on my back in the ER and hooked up to monitors and EKG, and looking at concerned unfamiliar faces, and my husband sitting quietly beside my bed. I didn’t feel threatened, but it was unsettling. There are two worlds, you see. The Healthy and the Sick. You never realize that until you join the Sick or someone you love does. In that world, you wear hospital gowns that gape in the back, and these kind but unfamiliar people and their machines take over your body. Maybe since your body has apparently betrayed you, you never knew it as well or really owned it the way you thought you did.

I went in at 6:00 and they played around with me until midnight, poking holes in me, taking both my blood and blood pressure, checking monitors which were doing what I don’t know. I thought they would have a quick look and I’d be on my way, so there I was without even a tooth brush, but at midnight they tossed me into a bed upstairs, with a sleeping woman who groaned audibly when the nurse told her she was getting a roommate. Impossible. I was having a dinner party the next day and hadn’t even shopped.

The next morning a nurse came in and told me she had been my nurse two years before when I had the shoulder replacement. I was in the same room, same bed. I began wondering if they planned this whole thing. They seemed to know everything about me. It was surreal and unwelcome, and the food was no better than it had been two years ago. But that afternoon my two daughters came in after having driven all day up from Southern California. I began to think maybe something could be wrong, and they had come to pay their final respects. It was a long way to come just to say hello. Grandchildren began calling to see if I was still breathing.

At 6:00 o’clock the next morning, I woke to the sight of three large paramedics asking if I was ready to roll. I grabbed my lipstick, which was the only thing I had with me to make me look a little human. I asked if I could call my husband, and they said “nope”, so they loaded me onto a gurney and into the ambulance. We tore through morning commute traffic to Santa Clara about 25 miles away, to another hospital, darting in between cars as we went.

I was glad Dr. Advice and I had not tried to find this place by ourselves because they hide these three enormous buildings on foreign and unknown streets in a city we have no reason to ever go to. It was too bad he had to find it alone without my superb navigational skills, because he did get a bit lost on the way.

While waiting for the action to begin whatever it was going to be, I had chance to talk to a cute little nurse with dark horn-rimmed glasses and wearing hospital green, and I told her they better be nice to me because I was a blogger and I would tell all. She told me about a blog she followed by a woman who met her French husband in a gay bar in San Francisco, and they got married and moved to Provence, where they had two children and raised chickens and pigs and a couple of dogs. It doesn’t sound like a lot of fun even though I love dogs and eggs. I could do without the pigs though.

Then I went into the operating room and in zipline speed they did an angioplasty, and sent me upstairs to the cardiac floor and I was officially a cardiac patient. A piece of cake until they said my artery had been 99% blocked. It might explain some of the mysterious incidents I had been having for they past several months.

The cardiac floor is a place all it’s own. You remain lying prone and absolutely still for 6 hours, and they don’t let you cheat even for 15 minutes. Try it sometime. They may get in and get back out in the surgery, but they make up for it by 6 hours of torture. They also keep you attached with a dozen wires dangling underneath the same kind of gown they seem to use everywhere. One size fits all and they said it isn’t big enough for some people. I suggest they either go on a diet or don’t get sick. Forget modesty, they don’t know the word, and you can’t even get up to go to the bathroom alone because you are tethered to an IV, and there is a sign just ahead of the bed which says in no uncertain terms NOT to get up without help. Later they connect an alarm to you to make sure you obey. I have always been a person who went Up the Down staircase, but believe me, I obeyed this one, because the nurse I got was a very large man who looked like he meant business. After spending another night, we picked up more medicine, which I guess goes along with the operation, plus another for nitroglycerine. My clever granddaughter said “Good. Now we can make a bomb.”

Well, I’m back home, and Dr. Advice is cooking. Need I say more? He did make my daughter’s oatmeal pancakes for breakfast yesterday to celebrate our 67th anniversary, and to go with the beautiful red roses which suddenly appeared, so all is better than normal. I will share the recipe for the pancakes in another post sometime. It’s the only way to eat oatmeal.

I make light of the occasion, but I am grateful to everyone for the wonderful care they have given me, and very glad to be here.

Author: kaytisweetlandrasmussen83

I am a retired fine arts teacher, sculptor/painter, writer, and a native Californian. I love my family,dogs, horses, movies, reading and music, probably in that order. I have been married forever to a very nice man who is nice to old ladies, dogs and children.

35 thoughts on “SEND ME NO LILIES”

  1. I’ll bet you’re glad to be here. You’re very lucky, actually. Angioplasty all done: some time to recover, and you’re good to go. Already blogging about the experience. Well done, and get well soon!


    1. The experience was surreal to say the least!  Now I have to straighten out my fridge which hasn’t been touched since I left.  The leftovers are stacking up!  I’m feeling really well though.  Thanks for the good wishes. Mrs. Daffodil.



  2. Dearest Kayti, You’ve still got your sense of humor … you’re going to be fine. Now please take it easy and do as the doctor says. Hugs and kisses from both of us.


  3. What What What? To the hospital and an angioplasty? I am so sorry – I didn’t even know until I read your blog – which was, by the way, and as usual just so great. I trust Dr. Advice (our beloved Uncle Sam) is taking great care of you! And, 67 years of marriage – is amazing. Love you so much Auntie Dearest. Will be in to see you very soon.

    Hugs and Kisses, Linda


    1. Hi dear girl,  It was a great surprise to me as well!  But all is well, and I won’t even need to be on a special diet.  You can bet I asked that question first off!  Yes, 67 years is a longtime!  He is trying to cook this week.  I should have given him cooking lessons years ago!  Not too bad though, and of course I praise the hell out of each effort.   I love you,  Auntie



  4. mom mentioned on the phone this morning that you had some sort of surgery, she said a stint. Trying to be funny I replied,”so she had a stint in the hospital?” she said that was correct…passed by on the pun!
    With the day coming to an end I turned on my computer with the thought of sending you an “oh no! glad you are recovering” message and here on facebook I find your posting….so now I know all. I especially like the 67 yr. anniversary mention and I do indeed think that shares a top billing with your hospital story! You truly nailed it on the head when you said you are either of the healthy or the sick! Glad you have moved over to the healthy side….the clothes are much cuter!
    xoxo sandy


  5. Gee whiz I am glad the MDs,nurses, EMT, and all the rest took good care of you and it sounds like it was all in the nick of time.I am glad you are back to being witty Kayti. There is something to be learned here. I have been on coumadin and Metoprolol since July and must have a stress test (chemical) soon. Keep on getting better. We care about you.

    Regards, yvonne


    1. Sweet of you Yvonne!  I’m feeling pretty close to normal whatever that is.  Sick of sitting around though.  Hard as we try to stay off meds, they always find a way to give us more.  Soon we won ‘t need food!  Take care of yourself.



  6. Oh Kayti! I guess a comment on your blog is in lieu of a card? Jeez! Glad to know you’re on the upswing anyway, and good to read your witty take on the hospital. Don’t know if I’d want to be your nurse….but maybe if I was a nurse I’d prefer the feisty patients. Hugs and bezoux (sp?) to you and Sam. ~Carolyn


  7. Im only 69, and you have had almost as many anniversaries as I have had birthdays. Today is my 46th anniversary, Too you I wish good health and good will, and good grief what a story, I am truly glad for you at the outcome, we all should live so long so well! your stories and postings have been a lift and a pleasure to my own reading and living, God grant us all more of you! Nice and well written post, thank you for sharing in such a light hearted way as we all feel the weight of it.


    1. Thanks you Storydoors!  It was a great surprise to me, but there were so many nice people pampering me with needles, etc.  How could I not be grateful?  Congratulations on your anniversary!  Ours is September 8, is that the same as yours?



  8. Well I was very worried about you and of course was talking to the girls.
    Your will be feeling so much better. We are all so happy that everything went well.
    Now rest and take care of yourself. And that you too for sharing your experience, I know it must have been scary but you make everything so interesting.


  9. I’m so glad you’re on the mend, Kayti. I missed you the last few days. You must have been very frightened when they said about the 99% blockage.

    Your courage and humour is inspiring. I especially laughed at this one, “and I told her they better be nice to me because I was a blogger and I would tell all.” And I reckon your granddaughter takes after you.

    Congratulations on your spectacular (in several ways!) anniversary. Sending you lots of love and hugs from Australia xxx


    1. You are right, Granddaughter Kate wasn’t named for me for no reason!  They must have known she would be a favorite, and the only girl!  I haven’t caight up with you yet, but I will soon.  I always miss out when I don’t get a chance to read your fine blogs.  Do I congratulate you on the new prime minister, or is it too soon?  I don’t know anything about him.



  10. I’m glad this was caught in time and that you are now – clearly – on the mend.

    it is remarkable how you managed to turn your experience into such a funny and inspiring post.

    Many congratulations on 67 years of marriage.


    1. Thank you Richard. It was a great surprise to me as well!  I also had planned to be in Carmel for our anniversary!  Sweet Cheri and the Judge came bearing flowers on the actual day, which was a good substitute.



  11. My goodness gracious! Life does have its way of taking twists and turns, doesn’t it? I’m so glad you’re home and being properly pampered. Having been through such things a time or three with my own mother, I found myself nodding in recognition at several of your observations.

    Congratulations on your anniversary, and double congratulations on getting out of that hospital (those hospitals) without anyone being able to remove your spunk. Spunkectomies are just the worst!


  12. You are the cat’s meeowwww, Aunt Kayti.
    When Dr. Advice called me, I was far away but not too far away to hear his booming voice.
    “What procedure did AK have, Dr. Advice?” I belted out, since I was in a noisy restaurant.
    “Hell, I have no idea!!!” he barked back, louder than Charley.

    It is these times in life that we recall what other people have meant (and mean) to us.
    That you are still here, writing and laughing, and rolling those eyes when Dr. Advice trails story after story like English ivy out of control, is a blessing triple fold.

    Here’s to the 2014 olive harvest. That will give you another goal.I haven’t had the heart to blog about the olive fruit fly and what it did to the crop. Not sure Ron would appreciate it.

    Anyway, hooray! You are alive.


  13. Dearest Kayti,

    Just saw your blog today. So-o-o happy to hear you are on the mend. No kidding we were not up for a dinner next week. Perhaps we should bring a dinner to you & Sam this coming week??

    Much love, and keep that wonderful sense of humor of yours at full speed. And hope to have the chance to see you both again soon.


  14. Hi dearest aunt Kayti, I am so glad you’re still with us cuz I have a thousand things to ask you about. I’ll buy lunch and Dr. Advice can come too.

    Love, Barry


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