Turning a corner?…Perhaps the time has come…I made a pie!…

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Tom called me outside to see the tiniest baby kudu we’ve seen to date.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

This adorable young kudu, most likely born in the past 24 hours, was waiting for an excellent opportunity to suckle, noticing mom was preoccupied with the pellets.

Ironically, the first thing I did for myself during this long recovery period was to bake a pie, my favorite low-carb cheese pie, to be exact. Losing so much weight since we returned from the hospital nine days ago, from surgery 20 days ago, I knew I needed something sweet to help me stop losing weight.

Statistically, coronary bypass patients do better when they don’t lose much weight after this major surgery. I can’t get the photo out of my mind when seeing former president Bill Clinton a few months after his surgery looking 25 years older than his actual age at the time, 58 years old. Here’s his story at this link.

I will make every effort to be fit and healthy during the recovery period and for years to come after that. Vanity aside, I don’t want to look worn and haggard as he did months after the surgery.
With the umbilical cord still evident, they most likely were born in the past day or so.

On top of that, he suffered from severe cognitive dysfunction, as specified in this article. I may not feel great yet and still experiencing a fair amount of pain and discomfort, but my mind is as sharp as ever, if not more so, from increased blood flow to my brain.

 From the article mentioned above posted by one of the world’s top cardiologists, John McDougall, the following is stated:

 “In 2001, an article in the New England Journal of Medicine reported that 5-years after bypass surgery, 42% of patients showed a decline in mental function of approximately 20 percent or more. A study published this year (2008) in the Annals of Thoracic Surgery using MRI testing after bypass surgery found brain damage in 51% of patients. Three years after their time on the bypass pump, a significant permanent reduction in mental capacity was identified in 31% of patients. I am not talking major stroke here, but these patients can’t remember names or numbers as they once did, experience sleep disturbances (including nightmares), suffer mood swings and lose intellectual acuity. Approximately 30 percent of people suffer persistent depression, and some even contemplate suicide.”

This was quite a sighting for both of us.

Wow! It’s a good thing I didn’t see this article before I agreed to the surgery! Not only do I remember almost everything that transpired in the ICU unit and later the hospital ward, but I also remember the most minute details of trips we’d planned well into the future and trips we relished in the past.

 I am so grateful for this, and if I have to continue to experience some pain and unease over the next many months, so be it…a small price to pay for one’s retained mental acuity.

Thus, this morning with the scale showing another loss of a kilo (2.2 pounds), I knew I had to up the ante on my caloric consumption while remaining my regular way of eating. Both cardiac physicians explained I didn’t develop three 100% blocked arteries from my diet, instead clearly stating it resulted from my heredity—no need for a dietary change.

 After all, my typical meal includes a reasonable portion of lean protein, two types of colorful vegetables, and a salad. What way of eating could dispute the quality of this way of eating?

 By making this favorite pie (since my childhood), I can afford myself an extra 350 calories with each slice with less than five grams of carbohydrates. Plus, it’s a feel-good pie making me smile at every delectable bite.

Too cute for words.

As much as the value (to me) of enjoying a piece of this pie over the next several nights, I wanted to see if I could make the pie in my weakened condition.  Everything I read about recovery from this surgery mentions getting back into a routine of performing tasks I’d done in the past without any strain on my body.

 Right now, I’m walking 30 minutes a day, sitting up for the better part of the day, able to shower and take care of personal needs, and do my breathing exercises with relative ease. Surely, making one pie wouldn’t be more strenuous than any of these other tasks.

 It wasn’t. Yes, I had to ask Tom to take the mixer down from a high cabinet, but once that was accomplished. The delicious pie crust was baked with almond flour, butter, cinnamon, and sweetener and allowed to cool. I easily made the filling, poured it into the baked pie crust, and gingerly placed it into the oven setting a timer as I always do.

 Once cooled again, I’ll add the topping and place it in the fridge, looking forward to the first bite and the second, third and fourth. I take tiny bites to savor each morsel. I’ll gather my innate sense of self-control to avoid taking a second piece, remembering that prolonging the availability of this pie makes it all the more delightful.

 This may be a segue into performing more tasks shortly, of course always keeping in mind my clear thinking mind that the baby steps is the name of this game.

 Have a safe and healthy day!

Photo from one year ago today, March 4, 2018:

This female bushbuck flipped into the air after something bit her! For more photos, please click here.

Expectations have the ability to disappoint…Cautiously holding back…

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Tom tossed some seeds to Frank and The Misses.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

Lately, Frank has been holding up one of his little legs he must have injured.

Traveling to and from anywhere in the world is filled with expectations. Part of the excitement of traveling is wrapped around the anticipation of wonderful experiences yet to come as we visualize ourselves at various points of interest along the way.

We were thrown for a loop when this sudden unplanned heart surgery necessity cropped up about three weeks ago.  We were only days away from leaving Marloth Park to head to Kenya for the photographic tour we’d anticipated for so long.

Frank and The Misses. and Ms. Bushbuck.

Many times over these past six-plus years since we began our journey, people would ask, “What will you do if some urgent medical situation occurs and you have no home base, no insurance in the US, and you’re living in some remote town?”

The answer was always the same, “We’ll figure it out.” And when it happened years earlier than “expected” we did exactly that. In my medication-induced stupor and Tom’s state of utter exhaustion, we figured it out. Piece by piece, we canceled venues, flights, cruises, and hotel stays, losing a lot of money but finding a way and a place to recover so that in time, once again, we’ll be on the move.

There are several Ms. Bushbucks that come to call.

The doctors suggested we don’t go anywhere until 90 days post surgery which transpired on February 12th. We plan to leave Africa on May 11th to head to Connemara, Ireland, for a peaceful three-month stay. This is precisely 88 days after the surgery. Close enough.

Sure, right now, there are days where I can’t imagine being ready for the long flight and drive to our holiday rental. But it is soon yet, only 19 days post-surgery. I have a long way to go, but I’m hoping and expecting I’ll be much more ambulatory and in considerably less pain than I’m feeling now.

If, for some reason, here again “expectations,” I’m not quite ready to go, we’d figure that out too. These changes always cost money but do provide options if one is willing to pay the price. And what’s is more important than good health?

Bushbucks and francolins get along quite well.

Yes, we cautiously holding back a degree of enthusiasm in going directly to Ireland from here. In doing so, we’ve had to change many plans in between. As mentioned in this post from February 27th, that explains it all. 

Sadly, we’ll miss visiting family for three weeks in the USA in April as previously planned. However, we’ll see them all in November, a mere seven months later. We’d played it out in our minds to be with family, which would have been a little over a month from now. 

But staying here in South Africa made the most sense to be close to the doctors who have treated me through this process. Also, I can’t say I’d feel safe flying such a long distance after such a short period since the big surgery. The risk of blood clots is quite high in the three months after bypass surgery.

A little kudu antics over the pellets.

Yes, our expectations for this period in time were very different than where we are now. But, we took this risk on October 31, 2012, when we left Minnesota to begin our years-long journey. 

Still, we have no regrets. Still, I can say this past year, from February 11, 2018, the day we arrived in Marloth Park until February 11, 2019, has been one of the happiest and most fulfilling years of my life, and I “expect” Tom would agree.

In reality, we were probably in the right place at the right time for this “unexpected” health crisis to occur; top quality medical care at reasonable costs, a house we could continue to rent without the necessity of a cumbersome move and of course, friends all around us as an unbelievable support system.

Two boy kudus and one girl.  Although there’s plenty of vegetation for them to eat since the huge rains, they still enjoy the pellets.

Then again…there’s them…our beautiful wildlife friends who visit every day that brings so much joy, I can feel the positive hormones pumping through my body. There can’t be a much better source of aiding in healing than the wildlife that comes to call day after day, night after night. 

My “expectation” is that they will continue to visit, and Mother Nature rarely disappoints. 

We’ll be thinking of all of you who continue to write, sending the kindest and most thoughtful expressions and well wishes for good health and recovery! Have a fantastic Sunday! 

Photo from one year ago today, March 3, 2018:

A youngster stopped to nurse.  For more photos, please click here.

Exercise and other causes…Why me?…

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Tom spotted this giant snail outside his hotel room in Nelspruit while I was in the hospital.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

This adorable female kudu  is suffering from TB, as indicated by the tumor on the left side of her face,

As I’ve spent several hours each day resting, walking, and napping, I’ve had plenty of time for serious thought as to why I became a candidate for open-heart surgery.

Was it from the recent lack of exercise since we arrived in Marloth Park over a year ago? Was it the low carb, high fat, moderate protein diet I’ve been on since August 2011 or the high carb, the low-fat, moderate-protein diet I diligently followed for most of my adult life?  Science is confused by these questions.

Over the past several years, we’ve been told by the government what we should be eating and avoiding to maintain a level of health and fitness. These dictates didn’t improve the overall health of citizens throughout the world when many countries followed the American way of eating; too much sugar, salt, starch, and carbs, and still numbers were rising on the scales of poor health.

In today’s medical science, it is still unclear what contributing factors play the highest role in the causality of developing clogged arteries, such as my 100% blocked three of four coronary arteries. Many blame dietary fat while others say dietary fat is not the issue…it’s the cholesterol made by our bodies. What did I possibly do wrong?

It’s sad to see that her days are numbered.

The three cardiac physicians working with me during the eight days I spent in the ICU had no suggestions on what I could do going forward to prevent this from happening to me again in 10 years. That wasn’t very comforting. 

I repeatedly asked, “What can I do differently” and the answer was always the same…nothing. They agreed my way of eating, happy, low-stress lifestyle, and level of activity are commensurate with our life of world travel. They decided upon the deceit perpetrated by my good blood test …nothing appeared to be wrong.

So I’m left with one route to go – to follow the exercise program recommended by the three physicians and worldwide heart health professionals. And, it has begun since we returned to Marloth Path, actually in the ICU unit and the hospital during my many days in residence. Walking. 

Plain and simple, walking. No hand weights, no particular pace other than one that increases the heart rate to a level that allows talking during the process. That’s it. This act continued from my 11 days in hospital.

The walking began within 24 hours of the removal of the intubation tube. Simply walking was laborious to a point beyond my expectations, limited by a lack of mobility with all the tubes, drains, and IV’s still attached.  

Mom and Babies were searching for pellets.

By the time we returned to Marloth Park last Saturday, I was able to walk for 10 minutes. Today, as directed by the take-home instructions, I upped the ante to 15 minutes twice a day. This is not much in the realm of things, but it takes everything I have to get through the 10 minutes, let alone the added ten minutes as of today.

Where do I walk?  I use a timer on my phone in the house, ensuring I don’t quit 30 seconds earlier than required. Eventually, I’ll be able to walk on a road. At this point, I don’t trust my wobbly state of being to venture out on the pot-holed, uneven dirt roads near the house. In due time…falling would be a disaster.  

The goal is to walk for 60 minutes per day in two 30-minute sessions. Knowing myself, once I reach such a goal, I will add my old exercise program to further my strength and fitness.  

There’s no health club in Marloth Park, but hopefully, there will be a facility in Ireland near the house we rented in Connemara. The options look good from our online research.

Today we experienced load shedding for only about one hour. Another is expected at 1500 hours, 3:00 pm, and again tonight at 2330 hours, 11:30 pm to last 2.5 hours. We’ll see how it goes.

Have a fantastic weekend!

Photo from one year ago today, March 2, 2018:
A herd of impalas at the river.  For more photos, please click here.

Patient expertise…What does it require?…

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Ms. Bushbuck and growing baby come to call.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

They often stop by for pellets, apples, and carrots.

Note: Load shedding is back on.  We expect a 2 .5 hour outage within the hour.
We apologize for the lack of photos.  This morning’s rain and the trip to Nelspruit made photo-taking difficult.

With rain throughout the area, we decided to leave earlier than planned to make our way to Nelspruit for my first “after-care” visit with the thoracic surgeon who performed the triple coronary bypass a mere 17 days ago.

I’d made a list on my phone of my areas of concern which included the following:

  • Burning feet at night – What I’d assumed…peripheral neuropathy, at times diagnosed after this type of surgery, usually resolving in a few months.
  • Pain in right chest wall – A torn muscle from moving my arm too quickly on the night the power was out.
  • Bleeding incision – As Dr. Phillip stated on Wednesday, it’s a hematoma underneath the which bleeds when irritated during s shower but not bleeding from deep inside my thigh.
  • Side sleeping (which I prefer) – May be done as long as it doesn’t cause pain.
And so it went. My pain and discomfort are entirely normal at this point. I felt a sense of relief knowing my symptoms were within the range of “normal” based on this point in time. 
 
We spoke with the woman who’d had the same surgery on the same day I’d had who went into “theatre” several hours before me. She’s nine years younger than me and was doing much better than I have. But the doc explained that each person is different, and recovery will follow accordingly.  
 
This knowledge provided is with more peace of mind, and now I’ll sit back, doing my exercises and feeling more confident that I will fully recover from this challenging surgery in due time. We don’t return to see the doctor until four weeks from today.  
 
I will be patient and not push it too hard, gradually adding to my activity level, eating healthy meals, rest as needed, and maintaining a positive state of mind.
 
Speaking of being patient, today I’m posting my perception over this past week as to what it takes to be an excellent patient to my exceptional caregiver, Tom, making his tasks a little easier over this long haul which could prove to be as long as three months.
 
  1. The tone of voice -Sure, it hurts. Sure, it’s tough to get out of a chair, off the sofa, or into and out of bed when using arms and elbows are prohibited over these first few weeks. We don’t realize how much we depend on our arms and hands to assist us in moving from one position to another, from one room to another, etc. The tone of voice in asking for assistance is everything.  Instead of saying, “I need help,” how about, “Honey, can you help me stand up?” This pleasant tone may make all the difference in the world in the enthusiasm of the caregiver in assisting in all areas.
  2. No whining, whinging, complaining – The caregiver can’t change the terrible circumstances, nor can they make the pain disappear. Complaining provides no benefit other than when a groan or moan is precipitated by certain actions. After all, we are humans and tend to make it known to all surrounding parties that a certain task is difficult, exhausting, or downright impossible.
  3. Expressing thankfulness – It’s a huge responsibility to be a caregiver and seldom includes remuneration among couples or close parties. A heartfelt “thank you” goes a long way, especially when accompanying the completion of any task together. One can never say “thank you” too many times in a day, here again using a pleasant and sincere tone of voice.
  4. Don’t criticize how household tasks are performed, which generally the patient may have done. Each individual has their way of doing things, and attempting to “re-educate” the caregiver is unkind and selfish.
  5. Don’t complain about meals – Perhaps the patient was the sole preparer of food and meal planning.  Suddenly this task is taken over by the caregiver who a). May not know how to cook or b). Doesn’t enjoy cooking. Firstly, eat the food prepared as long as it fits within the parameters of any special meals as prescribed by the doctor. Secondly, make positive statements to the caregiver about flavor, presentation, or ease used in preparing the meals. Thirdly, if the caregiver asks what you’d like to eat, choose simple and easy to prepare items, not fancy recipes that require time and attention.  If there is something special you’re craving, ask the caregiver to find such prepared items on their next trip to the market. Try to suggest meals you know you’ll both enjoy rather than the caregiver deeming it necessary to cook two separate meals.
  6. Bathing, dressing, showering – Most likely, based on your condition, performing these daily rituals on your own makes the caregiver’s job much more manageable. Only ask for assistance in those areas you find dangerous to do on your own or complex during this period. Do not attempt to perform tasks on your own that only exacerbate your medical issues. You’re not doing either of you a favor.
  7. Each day set aside time when your needs are minimal to allow the caregiver a break – This may be while you nap, read or play a game on a device. Most likely, the caregiver is experiencing some stress, and a designated rest period for them may be all it takes to keep them upbeat.
  8. During periods of ill health or during recovery, there’s never a time that expressing love, affection, and gratitude doesn’t serve you both well. A gentle hug, a tender kiss, or a kind word or compliment will never be lost during this period and, of course, well into the future.
Memories of this recovery period can be a pleasant extension of an already great relationship. Negative comments, behavior, and attitude will ultimately tarnish the relationship.
 
And so, dear readers, we end today’s post with these thoughts in mind and hope, should you ever be the caregiver or patient, you can do so with grace, dignity, and a bit of humor thrown in on the side.
 
Happy day to all.

Photo from one year ago today, March 1, 2018:

This is most likely a lone male elephant as explained here: “Male or bull elephants have very different social needs than the females. In the wild, males leave or are driven out of the family group as they approach sexual maturity. Males spend as much as 95% of their lives alone or in loose association with other bulls.” For more, please click here.

Caregiver expertise…What does it require?…

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Mom and Babies were hanging out by the recently cleaned cement pond.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

Her attention and love of her offspring have been unrelenting since we first saw them in August.
There’s never been a time in my life that I required a full-time caregiver. Although I had surgery a few times, I recovered quickly and only needed help lifting heavy objects or grocery shopping for a week or so. In all likelihood, this is the case for most of us.
 
But now, I strive to recover from this dreadful and complex surgery with my sternum cracked, chest cut wide open, and numerous incisions are running the length of my legs, all of which are painful, making moving about the complex.
 
In addition, I’ve had two painful chest tubes since removed that have stitches to be removed tomorrow when we return to Nelspruit for an appointment with the surgeon.
 
No doubt, with only 16 days since the surgery, there is still a lot of pain and discomfort. It takes six to eight weeks for the cracked sternum to heal, as would be the case for any broken bone.  
 
In the case of most broken bones, the patient is wearing a cast during this healing process. It’s impossible to stabilize this type of break with a cast, and thus, I must move gingerly to avoid further injury.
 
Thus as described above, this is the time I need a full-time caregiver, namely my husband Tom, who’s had no significant experience in this area throughout his life.
 
I can do several things for myself; bathe, bathroom, getting in and out of bed (where I spend little time during the day as recommended by the doctors). I cannot use my arms for tasks such as folding towels, chopping and dicing vegetables, or performing many household tasks.  
 
Thank goodness we have Zef and Vusi (included in our rent) who come each day to make the bed, wash floors and clean the house. With all the animals kicking up their heels in the dirt garden, there’s more dust in this house than one can imagine. Here again, one more bit of serendipity that proves that this was the best place in the world for this to happen to me.
 
As a result, as the caregiver, Tom doesn’t have to spend time cleaning the house; other than doing dishes and picking up after us after they leave, his attention is not divided in my full-time care. This is another huge benefit for which we are both very grateful.
 
One of his biggest jobs in getting those darned compression stockings on my legs each morning. As tight as they are, it’s an athletic event. It’s not easy putting on these tight knee-high stockings when I have awful incisions in both of my legs, and he’s trying desperately not to cause further pain. But each day, it goes a little more smoothly than the previous day.
 
Over these past five days, since he took over as my caregiver, after my release from the hospital, there are a few things I’ve observed that truly define the quality of a caregiver beyond the basic tending to bandages, stockings, and mobility.
 
Let me add here; I requested an early release from the hospital. Once I moved (after eight days) from the ICU unit to the regular hospital, it didn’t take more than a few hours to realize the quality of care went from a 10+ down to a zero. At that point, I knew Tom could and would take better care of me. As a result, I only spent two days in the hospital ward, in a room to myself. 
During this period of high temperatures, some warthogs avoid cooling off in the cement pond when the water has become warm.
Most patients spend from three days to a week in the hospital ward after being released from the ICU unit. In my case, I spent eight days in the ICU and, as mentioned above, only two days in the hospital ward.
 
Back to the points that I’ve found have been most helpful in addition to basic caregiving tasks have been the following, in order of preference:
  1. Caregiver’s attitude: Nothing could be more distressing than having a caregiver who wasn’t encouraging, upbeat, and optimistic. A negative resentful attitude could, without a doubt, have an impact on the rate of recovery. Regardless of how difficult this may be, never attempt to make the patient feel guilty for putting them in this position.
  2. Willingness to prepare special meals: Many patients have a diminished appetite and desire to eat after bypass surgery. Healthful, familiar meals are a real boon to the patient’s recovery.  
  3. Replenishment of cold fresh beverages can be instrumental in recovery: The medications may cause extreme thirst and a dry mouth. Drinking plenty of fluids is required for recovery. Having stale water or beverages hardly inspires the patient to drink to replenish their needs during the healing process.
  4. Participation in the rehabilitation process: This type of surgery (and most others) require a committed and diligent walking program. By encouraging and gently reminding the patient as to this process is crucial in making a complete recovery. If the caregiver walks with the patient, especially if they’re fearful of falling, the patient grows more confident.
  5. Medication distribution and monitoring: Many times, patients find themselves taking eight to 10 new prescriptions, some of which are taken at varying times of the day and night. A conscientious caregiver will oversee this process to ensure correct dosages to avoid over or under-medicating. Some pain medications cause drowsiness and result in the patient becoming forgetful.
  6. Encouraging rest periods: Instructions after surgery may include certain activities based on the patient’s level of progress. Type A personalities may quickly become overjealous in performing such tasks. As much as the patient believes “more is better,” a good caregiver will monitor such activities encouraging rest periods and following doctor’s orders.
  7. Creating a comfortable sleeping and napping arrangement: If the patient is uncomfortable sharing a bed with their caregiver/spouse and if the space is too small for comfort, an extra bed in the same room might be suitable. Air conditioning in hot weather is a must, as is appropriate heat in cold environments. Avoid extreme temperatures to aid in healing. Ensuring bedding and pillows are placed for the utmost comfort is a must, even when the patient is out of bed and seated at a table or in a chair.
  8. Escape time. When going through a difficult recovery, everyone needs a period each day to escape from worrying thoughts and pain. Watching fun TV shows and movies, games to play, or other such activities reduces the time the patient feels stressed, here again aiding in recovery.
  9. Encourage feelings of self-esteem: Let’s face it, having one’s body mutilated from surgery is a difficult thing to meet for some patients. Only the caregiver will know if this is an issue and provide realistic encouragement during the recovery process and in times to come.
These points became apparent to me over these past several days, and I only have Tom to thank for making this trying time tolerable. Besides, a little laughter throughout the process can easily lighten the load for both patient and caregiver. There’s no shortage of that in this household.
 
Tomorrow, we’ll cover the patient’s responsibilities to aid in their recovery process and the willingness of the caregiver to carry on with love, support, and excellent care.
Be well, dear friends, and thank you all for “coming back.”

Photo from one year ago today, February 28, 2018:
Nearby at another tree, we spotted a rhino mom and her baby, born this season and still closely attached to the mother. For more photos, please click here.

First post since February 11, 2019…Life after heart surgery…A heartwarming stroke of appreciation…

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This was the scene that rolled out before our eyes this morning.

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

A baby is wondering what this crunchy green stuff could be.

Our last full post was uploaded two weeks ago today. I can’t tell you how many times I longed to be able to write, but after the triple coronary bypass surgery of February 12th, it was impossible.  With all the medications, the pain, and the associated brain fog, I could barely sign my name, let alone write a post.

I spent eight days in ICU and a few more days in the regular hospital. With the diminished nursing care in the hospital ward, after the excellence of the ICU nurses, I felt Tom could take better care of me, and thus, on Saturday, February 23rd, I asked the doctor to release me to return to Marloth Park.

This decision proved to be right. Tom’s exemplary care and attention to detail with nary a moment of frustration for being assigned caregiver, we both knew this was the best thing we could do to aid in my recovery.

No, it hasn’t been easy by any means. Tom, bless his heart, painted a picture on Facebook of me being “a trooper” and handling this so well. This has hardly been the case. I have suffered as much as any recipient of this life-saving surgery and hardly consider myself brave in the process.
There were three little ones in this dazzle of zebras.

Being unable to move about freely for fear of dislodging metal parts in my chest, the pain when trying to perform the simplest of personal tasks, and the knowledge that long-term recovery is undoubtedly in the distant future make day-to-day living somewhat challenging.

The long drive back to Marloth Park in the little red car was easier than expected. Tom avoided any herky-jerky maneuvers. The pain medication made me sleepy enough for the time to pass quickly, and before we knew it, we were back in Marloth Park.

Louise had two massive bouquets, the fridge filled with enough food to last for days, the bedroom cooled down with aircon (before the power went out that night), and the house is spic and span condition.

 In no time at all, Tom unpacked our bags, made piles of sorted laundry for the Zef and Vusi to hang outdoors today, and began to prepare a perfect dinner of chicken “flattie” and salad, all that either of us cared to eat.  

Tom had cut several stalks of celery, saving the scraps for the kudus, bushbucks, and zebras, all of which love celery. 

Now, the real recovery would begin. But, on Saturday night, when the power went out, thrashing in bed, unable to get comfortable in the hot still air, I attempted to remove the hot compression stockings when my feet and legs felt as if they were on fire. 

In doing so, I tore something in my chest near my right arm that has left me in even more pain than today has finally begun to subside. I couldn’t conceive of driving back to Nelspruit to see what I’d inadvertently done to myself when we’re already scheduled to return to see the surgeon this Friday.

 Then, on Saturday night, before the power outage, I showered only to have one of the major incisions in my thigh start bleeding profusely. With all the blood thinners I’d been taking, the blood wouldn’t stop running. Again, last night it happened after the shower. But, we can deal with this.

 In essence, the warm, kind is Dr. Theo Stronkhorst, located at Rissik Medical Centre, 71 Rissik Street, Komatipoort, 1340, (phone 013 793 7306), and knowledgeable general practitioner in the small town of Komatipoort, saved my life. Plain and simple.

The little ones showed little interest in pellets or vegetables.

When I had an appointment with him on Thursday, January 31, to get my three prescriptions refilled in preparation for heading to Kenya for the amazing upcoming multi-faceted safari, beginning on February 22, I casually mentioned a recurring pain in my lower jaw on both sides, mainly occurring in the mornings upon awakening and then again in the evenings at bedtime.

 Typically, when we hear about women having jaw pain as an indication of angina, it’s on the left side of the face, closer to the heart. Somehow, this sharp and conscientious doctor knew that he needed to check this out further to give me peace of mind for our upcoming travels to Kenya.

 He told me to be at his office on Saturday morning, February 2nd, for an exercise stress test. I was a little stymied when he had me lay down on an exam table after the test to give me a dose of nitroglycerin. I thought I sailed through the test without incidence.  

 By Tuesday, February 12th, I was prepped for open-heart surgery at Mediclinic in Nelspruit, South Africa, for coronary bypass surgery with three of four coronary arteries 100% blocked.  I shouldn’t have been alive.  

Two youngsters hanging out as their parents savored the breakfast,

First, we saw cardiologist Fanie Fourie for tests, including an angiogram, CAT scan, and ultrasound. But it was the angiogram that painted the full picture. I was a walking time bomb. While I was wide awake during the angiogram, my arteries were impossible to “stent.” Open heart bypass surgery was my only option.

 Tom and I were both in a state of shock with this news. How was it possible that health-nut me was in such a dangerous state of being? But, the bigger question for me will always remain, “Why was I spared?”

 Yesterday, in a thank you letter to my immediate family for their love and support. During this ordeal, I mentioned that I might spend the rest of my life trying to figure out why I was spared.  Surely, there’s a bigger purpose here that I will continue to explore for my remaining years. 

 But one thing I know for sure is that Dr. Theo Stronkhorst saved my life, and this I will never forget and never fail to appreciate day after day. I will always recall a vague recollection that I spent my 71st birthday in ICU surrounded by some of the most loving and diligent nurses on the planet. (They are called “sisters” in South Africa).

The youngsters are indescribably adorable.

They sang the birthday song that night, presenting me with a gift, and through my medication fueled blur, I had tears in my eyes. Grateful. I will always be thankful for every day of the rest of my life to those nurses, to those three doctors and anesthesiologists who participated in my care, for Dr. Hannes Naude, who performed the surgery, and most of all, Dr. Theo Stronkhorst, who gave me another shot at life.  

 Sure, it’s painful. Sure, it takes months of recovery, much of which will be my responsibility to enact, and sure, it has required the attention and loving efforts of my dear husband, Tom. He has given me this extraordinary life of love, healing, renewal, and exploration, which, for this final chapter of my years, in many ways, will have just begun.

 A special thank you to our readers/friends worldwide for their continuing love, encouraging messages, and endless prayers.  

 We’ll continue to post daily as we gradually work our way back to a life of world travel and the blissful lifestyle it provides.

Photo from one year ago today, February 25, 2018:

An apparently happy oxpecker on the hide of a kudu we spotted on yesterday afternoon’s drive in Marloth.  From this site: “Oxpeckers graze exclusively on the bodies of large mammals. Certain species are preferred, whereas others, like the Lichtenstein’s hartebeest or Topi, are generally avoided. Smaller antelope such as lechwe, duikers, and reedbuck are also avoided; the smallest regularly used species is the Impala, probably because of that species’ heavy tick load and social nature. They now feed on cattle in many parts of their range but avoid camels. They feed on ectoparasites, particularly ticks, as well as insects infecting wounds and flesh and blood.”  For more photos, including “Movie Night in the Bush,” please click here.

Our last post for a week or more…

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Ironically, we arrived in South Africa one year ago today. It’s been a fantastic year, and we’re both grateful for the incredible experiences we’ve had in the bush. Now, let’s see if South Africa can deliver me good health!

 This will be the first time since March 2012 that we’ll have been incommunicado on this blog for a week or longer. However, we’re so looking forward to sharing the good news that my recovery process is in place and all is well after tomorrow’s triple coronary bypass surgery.

 Tom will be posting notices on Facebook that are open to the public, so feel free to check there if you’d like. It’s easy to find my name with a few clicks. 

As mentioned in yesterday’s post, we decided to leave Marloth Park to come to Nelspruit one day earlier than planned. The water and power outages weren’t something either of us felt like dealing with, especially in the hot weather.

As it turned out, the power was out all last night. That would have been one harrowing night. We are glad we left. We spent the night at the lovely Leaves Lodge and Spa, a few minutes from the hospital, giving us peace of mind for being so conveniently located.

Today, at noon, I’ll check into the hospital for the prep required for this type of surgery which includes x-rays (for placement of the heart), blood tests (as a baseline), and a litany of other pre-op procedures you can well imagine.

This morning we headed to a Vodacom store to purchase a SIM card for Tom’s phone. During this past year in South Africa, we never needed to call one another since we were always together, making the SIM in my phone sufficient. 

But, now, with him living at the hotel and me in the hospital, we’ll need to be able to phone and text one another, although he’ll be with me most of the time. Once I’m out of ICU, he’ll bring dinner some nights since I’m confident the hospital food won’t fit my way of eating. 

When I stayed overnight in the hospital last week after the angiogram, after not having a morsel of food all day, they brought me one chicken leg and a cup of plain spinach, not quite enough nourishment for this patient. We’ll see how that goes.

Now, the waiting game is on regarding the insurance company coming up with the money on time. With a two-hour time difference between here and the UK, they may only be getting into their offices now and, it takes a few hours to process the funds. I won’t be admitted in time for the noon pre-op until after the insurance provides the funds. We wait.

 And so, dear readers, I wrap this up now again, thanking all of you wonderful people for your thoughtful and kind well wishes and prayers. Please keep an eye out for a post in about seven days or, if I’m healing quickly, perhaps even sooner.

Photo from one year ago today, February 11, 2018:
Due to a poor wifi signal, I’m unable to add the year ago photo. Take care…

No water in Marloth Park…Electricity teetering…The insurance challenges…

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Due to problems with the electricity supply from the provider, Eskom, the water processing plant in Marloth Park cannot function. They are working on a solution, but it could be days. Also, we may lose electricity as well over the next few hours.

Today is a scorcher, well into the 37C (99F) range, with high humidity, and tonight could be another one of those impossible-to-sleep nights without any relief by taking a shower without the water supply. TIA (this is Africa). It’s the way it goes.

I won’t say, “thank goodness,” we’re leaving here tomorrow at 9:00 am for the hospital for triple bypass surgery. That’s not exactly how we feel. Fortunately, we were able to take quick showers this morning using some of the remaining water in the tank. Thank goodness that yesterday, I’d done all the laundry for items to bring to the hospital along with clothes for Tom for the week or more ahead.

As I was writing the above few paragraphs the power went out and came back on. About an hour later. Subsequently, with no water and most likely no power, we decided to spend the night in Nelspruit instead of heading out tomorrow morning.

Now, back at the lovely Leaves Lodge and Spa, who kindly provided us with a discount for the long-term stay, we have power, water, and good aircon. We’re set for the night. Tomorrow, we have to check into the hospital by noon to begin the prep for Tuesday’s surgery.

Somehow, I feel better being in Nelspruit three minutes from the hospital. Now that I know that three of the four main arteries to my heart are 100% blocked, there’s a smidgen more peace of mind until tomorrow. Plus, I’m on medication to prevent a heart attack and, I have an ample supply of nitroglycerin in case of an emergency. Wow! Who knew?

Now aware of my situation, it makes all the sense in the world to me. In the mornings, when I’d shower and dress for the day, I found myself feeling tired from these simple tasks. At times, merely walking to the laundry room with an armful of dirty laundry made every step feel as if it were a chore. 

When we had dinner parties, I found myself wondering how my energy would hold up with all the cooking, prep, and serving required for such an event. Now I know, and yes, I am grateful but a little terrified. This is a big surgery, and I’m not any stronger, braver, or tougher than the rest of us.

As for the insurance…on the day of the angiogram, at the cost of ZAR 80,000 (US $5871), the insurance company turned us down, claiming I had an undisclosed pre-existing condition which was not the case. 

At the time we applied for the insurance over six years ago, I provided our 20-year family physician’s contact information and copies of our medical records as requested, including the three prescription medications I was taking (Tom takes no medication), one of which is a low dose hypertensive mediation.

The rep at the Nelspruit Mediclinic worked very hard with the insurance company and the doctor to no avail. They wouldn’t approve the claim before the procedure. As per the hospital requirement, payment must be made in advance of treatment with or without insurance company approval. 

We paid out of pocket using our debit card since we wanted to avoid using regular credit cards.  We use credit cards to pay for all living expenses and future travel costs. We didn’t want to put such a hefty charge onto any of our cards.

Once we paid, we began the six-hour wait for our turn for the angiogram. When the doctor discovered the magnitude of the blockages, he knew he couldn’t do any stents. The only option was triple bypass surgery. 

I stayed in the hospital overnight, and in the morning before we left the hospital, we met with the wonderful billing rep Trudy to see how much the bypass surgery would cost and, ultimately, how much money we’d have to come up with.

The estimated cost for the surgery was ZAR 700,000 (US $51,370), including some but not all of the doctor’s fees. (We see how that rolls out).  With the rejection of the angiogram, we certainly didn’t think they considered this added cost, and again, we were declined.

Our only option was to liquidate assets immediately to ensure we’d have the funds in place by Tuesday morning. The financial institution has a three business day turnaround in releasing funds. 

We called and spoke to the rep and, for the first time in our lives, stated, “This is a life-threatening emergency. We need the funds to be available immediately.” By midnight Friday, the money was in our account. Meanwhile, Friday night, Kathy and Don had invited us to dinner at their lovely river view home in Marloth Park with friends Linda and Ken also in attendance. 

Before we left the house, I decided to call the insurance company one more time and write a letter I’d consider one of my better uses of the English language.

At this point, we were on pins and needles waiting for the money to come through in time, but we had a good evening together with our dear friends while they all fussed over me, more than I’d ever imagined possible. 

Toward the end of the evening, I checked my phone as I had several times, and there it was…the insurance company instructed me to log into our account to find a letter waiting for us…they approved the bypass surgery! They included a claim form for which we could file for reimbursement for the angiogram.

Sharing this news with our friends as we sat around a bonfire in their garden only added to our sense of relief. Last night, the six of us went to Jabula Lodge and Restaurant for dinner, and once again, it was a celebratory occasion in support of my upcoming surgery on Tuesday. 

They presented me with gifts, hugs, and kisses, as did Dawn and Leon, owners of our favorite restaurant, who provided a bottle of champagne and Amarula shots. I enjoyed a glass of champagne while the others tossed down the sweet shot.

Again, this morning before we headed to Nelspruit, Kathy, Don, Linda, and Ken stopped by to offer more support and love. How did I ever get so lucky? Coupled with Tom’s love and attention and zillions of comments and email messages from our readers, family members, and friends, I couldn’t feel more loved.

May these warm wishes and prayers result in a positive outcome, and I will be the happiest and most grateful person on the planet. The pain and discomfort afterward will pale in comparison to my joy.

Thank you, everyone… thank you with all of my heart!

Photo from one year ago today, February 10, 2018:

After all the whale watching trips we’d done on tours these past years, to see plenty in Antarctica was a dream come true finally. For more photos, please click here.

Finally a diagnosis and..we don’t like it…Oh, my!..

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Ms. Bushbuck always appears to have a smile on her face.  I love her and her offspring!

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

The four piglets certainly have grown over the past six months.  They are so fun to watch.

Sorry I didn’t post yesterday. With the news from the doctor on Thursday after the angiogram, I didn’t have it in me to sit down and write on my phone’s small screen. My laptop was in a repair shop in Nelspruit while I stayed overnight in the hospital. There was an issue with the electrical plug-in. Thankfully, they got it working again.

I’ll get to the bad news first to avoid drama and anticipation. I have three 100% blocked coronary arteries, including the “Widow Maker” (in this case, the ‘Widower Maker). Basically, I am a walking time bomb. I need coronary bypass surgery, and I need it fast.

It’s scheduled at the hospital with a thoracic surgeon that works with the cardiologist I’ve been seeing. They both will perform with the surgery. I feel as if I’m in good hands based on the number of positive comments from locals who know them well. I have no choice. At this point, I cannot fly on an airplane or even be active, for that matter…too risky.

We are both shocked. How did this happen? The doctors say there was nothing I could have done to prevent this situation. Heredity is the driving force, and as hard as I’ve tried to stay healthy my entire life, there was no way I could have prevented this outcome.

Of course, we are very grateful a diligent doctor, Dr. Theo Stonkquist, a GP in the tiny town of Komatipoort, had the insight and expertise to insist I have an exercise stress test at his office last Saturday when I complained of intermittent jaw pain, which was later described as angina. 

Although I breezed through the stress test with relative ease, barely out of breath, the printout didn’t look good. Dr. Theo immediately contacted Dr. Fanie in Nelspruit on “Whatsapp” and sent him the report. He was adamant we get to Nelspruit to the Mediclinic first thing Monday morning for more tests.

For the early morning appointment, we booked a hotel near the hospital and stayed two nights. On Tuesday, I had a CAT scan of my arteries and failed that test and others miserably. An angiogram was scheduled for Thursday. 

We returned to Marloth Park, spent one night, and called Dr. Fanie the following morning at 9:00 am. He was short and to the point. I needed an angiogram promptly when the CAT scan showed one artery had a 100% blockage.

In the cath lab the next afternoon, after a many-hour wait for my turn, I was told I’d be awake for the angiogram with only a mild sedative placed under my tongue. It was pretty interesting watching all the monitors showing my heart and its arteries. The doctor, anesthesiologist, and about seven support staff were informative and supportive.

Ms. Bushbuck’s baby has sure grown over the past many months as well.

We’d hope he’d insert a stent, and I’d be done. But, not the case. Before my own eyes, the angiogram revealed that three of my coronary arteries are 100% blocked. If I’d had a heart attack, he explained, I wouldn’t survive it. I’m so grateful this was discovered before we left for Kenya, known for not-so-good medical care.

Toward the end of the hour-long angiogram, the doctor explained (and showed me) why stents were impossible to place. The only alternative was a triple coronary bypass scheduled for Tuesday next week, a mere three days from now.

I’m on medication in the interim and was told to avoid anything strenuous or stressful. The strenuous part is a breeze. The stressful? Well, I can’t imagine anyone on the planet not feeling a bit stressed over such a thing as open-heart surgery, including striping arteries from their legs to replace those blocked in the heart. 

However, we are both so grateful this was discovered in time and pray for a safe and good outcome and speedy recovery.  As they say, “we may be down, but we’re not out.”  Hopefully, six weeks from the time of the surgery, we’ll be boarding our ship from San Antonio, Chile.  No pressure, just wishful thinking. 

No doubt, I will be a good patient and do everything I can to recover as prescribed, and we’ll continue with our world travels.

As for the posts??? We will continue tomorrow, Sunday, and again on Monday while staying overnight in the hospital for Tuesday’s surgery. I can’t wait for that day! As of Tuesday, February 12th, the posts will cease for five to seven days until I’m well enough to report.

Tom will be regularly posting updates on my Facebook page, which is open to the public. Please start checking back here by next Sunday.

Tomorrow, we’ll be sharing the news on how this situation has been handled by our annual international health insurance company, which information may be helpful for those traveling the world, ex-pats, and those contemplating traveling.

No words can describe how grateful we are for the outpouring of love and prayers from family, friends, and readers from all over the world. We can’t keep up with the email messages, comments, and texts. We’d love to respond to every one of you, but there aren’t enough hours in the day. We can only be humbled by your love, prayers, and kindness.

A special thanks to friends Kathy, Don, Linda, and Ken for inviting us for dinner last night (which was the initially planned night of our going away party – since canceled) and making the evening so filled with caring conversation, love and laughter. Tonight, we all meet up again at Jabula, our usual Saturday night out.

Thank you…from the bottom of my “heart.”

Photo from one year ago today, February 9, 2018:

A sea of penguins. For more details and final photos, please click here.

The medical saga continues…The news isn’t so good…

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Ms. Kudu, Willie and Mike, and Joe.
Willie and warthogs, all getting along.
Wildebeest Willie, he’s quite a guy!
Willie, six kudus, and a few pigs stopped by last night.
Basket stopped by last night.  His right ear has healed but is mostly gone. 

“Sighting of the Day in the Bush”

Bushbabies

It’s almost 2130 hours, 9:30 pm, Wednesday night, and we’re back in Nelspruit at the Leaves Lodge & Spa. The conversation with the doctor this morning was short. To the point, “You have a 100% blockage in the artery in front of the heart (the left anterior), and you need angioplasty immediately, or possibly open heart surgery.”

My mouth dropped open. I can’t believe this. Nor can Tom. How did this happen? Of course, we’re both wrecks. Now, we are waiting in Nelspruit for approval from our insurance company. If they decline, we must pay the entire bill out of pocket, a huge unexpected expense. 

If we miss the window of opportunity for tomorrow’s procedure, the angioplasty, we’ll have to wait until next Tuesday. The doctor only goes to surgery on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We won’t make our Thursday flight to Kenya or make our one-week hotel stay (prepaid) in Kenya.

If open-heart surgery is necessary, oh dear, that will be at least six weeks during which we’ll have to stay in South Africa. We’ll lose tens of thousands of dollars in prepaid future travels, flights, and a cruise back to the US.  

But it’s the way it is, and we have no choice but to figure this out. In reality, we knew a day like this would come. We didn’t think it would be now. My laptop died tonight. I am writing this on my phone.   

I couldn’t move photos around.  I will fix it at a later date.  We’ll be back as soon as possible with updates.

Thanks for all the love.  Too many to respond to, but I will; l keep trying. You people are wonderful! Thanks so much.

Photo from one year ago today, February 6, 2018:

The seas were wild through the Drake Passage in Antarctica as we headed back to Ushuaia, Argentina. It wasn’t as wild as it could have been. But, as usual, Tom and I felt fine, free of any seasickness. For more, please click here.