Heartaches

My Heart, pencil and ink, 2005

My father is scheduled for a procedure this morning. His aortic valve is deteriorating rapidly, and he needs a replacement valve. In my dream last night, all that was needed was a simple cut that involved a pig heart. In my dream, it was over in seconds. In real time, the night and morning have dragged on with lead feet. I slept fitfully and woke up every hour to check the clock. Was it time for his surgery yet?

Today is minor. It's only a cardioangiogram.  They want to check the extent of the damage. The major catastrophe will be when his thoratic surgeon gets off his ... intentions ... and does the hard part: The Replacement. But Dad is in such bad shape, we were afraid they might decide to do the surgery today, based on the results of the angiogram. As far as I know, that is still a possibility. And of course there's always the possibility he'll have a heart attack during one or both surgeries.

Everywhere I go in my head, the psychoses speak of great loss. I get into a delusional state where I lose it all. Everything. Then I cry until there's nothing left of me but a sack of skin and a pervasive sense of worry. When two and two go together, they make a picture that is typical of schizophrenia. Stress breeds psychosis.

Sigh.

UPDATE: Dad did well during his angiogram and is now at home, relaxing. The doctors said he has some time before he needs to schedule his valve replacement, which means Mom will have time to get him to Tuscon, where they have a heart institute. Phew!