The third time’s a charm so they say. I’m sure hoping that’s true because I’m sitting here in my living room just a little before 6 a.m. waiting for the time to leave for the hospital for my third radiofrequency ablation. I don’t know many people who have had two ablations and I definitely don’t know any who have had three. I’m pretty sure if this one doesn’t do the trick, the next step for me will be a pacemaker. It’s hard to believe I’ve been dealing with Atrial Fibrillation/Atrial Flutter for almost five years.

It was five years ago just as the 40th annual melodrama at Our Savior was ending that I came down with a sinus infection. I had been dealing with it for about ten days when I called my primary care physician’s office for an appointment. I was told they were not treating patients with my symptoms and if I wasn’t better in two weeks to call them back. I remember telling the receptionist that that was the dumbest thing I ever heard.

A couple days later I decided I wasn’t waiting two weeks and went to Urgent Care. It was at this visit that my Atrial Fibrillation was diagnosed and I was sent to the hospital.  People with undiagnosed Atrial Fibrillation are at a five times higher risk of having a stroke from a blood clot, if I hadn’t decided I needed treatment and disregarded what the receptionist told me, who knows what might have happened. Even though I never did get any treatment for my sinus infection, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

Fast forward 26 hours and I’m back home sitting in the same chair, a little worse for wear. Five and a half hours of general anesthesia has definitely left my brain still a little fuzzy. Things had changed a little from my last ablation two years ago. This time I put myself on the table and was awake while they began the initial prep. I wasn’t given the propofol (at least I don’t think I was) which gives you a sensation as though the lights are being slowly turned down. The anesthesiologist just said she was going to give me the sleep medication, counted “1,001, 1,002” and about two seconds later, that’s all I knew until about 3:00 p.m. I did have time, as soon as she started counting to say a quick blessing prayer, at least I think I did.

My groin has a small incision on each side from where the catheter lines were inserted and a small stab on my left wrist where the central arterial line was. My veins are not cooperating lately and it took three sticks before they were able to get the IV line in. I also have a sore throat from the breathing tube. My doctor said he had ablated on both sides of the atrium and to protect the esophagus, he moved it from one side to the other to make sure it stayed away from the catheterizing tool. Interesting.

I was sitting in my hospital bed last night and came across a long post written yesterday by an old friend about his cancer journey. Several years ago when my confirmation class celebrated its 50th reunion, I reconnected with him. Over the last couple of years, we’ve become pretty good Facebook friends and communicate several times a week. He’s a single man who looks like William Lee Golden from the Oak Ridge Boys, likes to garden, has three cats and is a cancer survivor. It was really ironic that he wrote that on the night I sitting in my hospital bed in the middle of the night.

He wrote about the day three years ago when he was given his cancer diagnosis and was told he had one to three years to live. He said he didn’t have the reaction he thought he would have and only thought about the things he was supposed to do and didn’t want to do and now didn’t have to do…like having some teeth pulled, getting an eye exam for new glasses and putting a new roof on his house. He had treatment (I’m not sure what kind) and in December when he went in for a biopsy was told the cancer was gone. You’d think he would have been elated, but he wrote a profanity-laced paragraph (all adjectives started with the “f” word–I counted 47) of all the things he now had to do since he wasn’t going to die, like getting the teeth pulled, go to the eye doctor, get a new roof, and how the dental work ended up with six different appointments and five different procedures, and on and on. He wrote how he realized that during the last three years, he hadn’t stressed about general things, but since his death sentence had been lifted, he had to again worry about day-to-day things.

I told him that when I had my cardioversion last month I said the Lutheran blessing to myself right before I went unconscious.

The Lord Bless you and Keep you,
The Lord make His face to shine on you
And be gracious unto you.
The Lord lift up his countenance upon you
And give you peace

I was never anxious about being sedated prior to my first ablation in 2020 and I’d had several foot and knee surgeries and colonoscopies and cardioversions. The idea of being unconscious for 8 hours to me was terrifying. I had to wait that time for two months before my ablation and that gave me a lot of time to stress over it. I told my friend about the conversation I had with the nurse yesterday about the feeling the propofol gives you and how I’m always anxious about being sedated.  I told her that I realized that if I woke up from sedation, all was good and if I didn’t wake up, all would still be good.  (I’d like to say it would be the best but I’m too selfish to want to leave this life now.) The nurse said she’d never had a patient not wake up, but it was comforting to realize that I didn’t need to be afraid. And when I woke up, I knew again I’d been blessed.