Where is that Robot?

I've been mistaken for a robot quite a few times in life.

How do you write like that?
How can you remember all of your kids' names?
How can you stomach a Keanu Reeves movie?
Always the same answer: Robot.

In fact, several times as a Trail Guide we would let the joke run too far and I would 'malfunction' during a lesson. Josh Meeker and I liked to watch our sixth graders give a nervous laugh as he reprogrammed me by pushing the correct sequence into my back. We acted like nothing had happened the rest of the week and the girls in my cabin would write home that a cyborg was taking care of them at camp.

I've always appreciated that excuse for the organized parts of who I am.



This past week I landed myself in the hospital after a heart episode that occurred in the middle of subbing for a computer class. Although this is becoming an unfortunate degree of Normal in my life, the way the hospital responded was not. I was admitted to the cardiac ward and put on close supervision. After two days of laying in a hospital bed and reading Tina Fey's Bossypants from cover to cover I expected to go home with the same list of instructions as before: Rest. Feel better. Get back to Normal.

My team of cardiologists don't like my Normal.

Which is why Friday afternoon I lay in the Cath Lab while Surgeon Chris rubbed green solution all over my chest and joked about how he was honored to try out this procedure on me after only watching it twice on Youtube. He told me more about the ICD they were about to implant above my heart. The Implantable Cardioverter-Defibrillator is a small titanium disc with a computer inside and two wires out the top. It reads my heartbeats and is able to step in when things get out of whack, sending an electric shock to essentially jump start my heart. It will help me from passing out and will keep my heart from stopping in a case of Sudden Cardiac Death. It has to be put in now.

As my surgical team finished prepping and joking about various nonsense on their end of the deal they all turned to me.

"Caitlin, honey, you are one of the youngest patients we have had in here lately. Which means we are all excited for this next question, what music do you want to listen to? We pretty much only get asked to play Frank Sinatra and classical music."

The Head And The Heart sounded like the most natural O.R. play list.

As I fell asleep to guitars and violins and harmonies I realized this might be a game-changer. After months of unexpected hospital visits and rearranging plans and missing important events I need a change. It gets so tiring to not know if you will remain conscious for the whole workday or will need to set up an evac while you are out on the trail.

I woke up in recovery with a computer in my chest, already reading my data and watching my heart's every move, which they printed out to show me before finally allowing me to go home.



ICD.
No, this device won't strengthen my heart and there is a chance I will eventually need a transplant.
No, this won't overall give me more energy or a healthy blood pressure.
Yes, this will leave a scar and it will hurt like a bullet wound for a week.
But it will keep me alive, which sounds like a good first step.

So Tinkerbell (as my sister has lovingly named it) was added to my life with hopes of improving it. My recovery time will be longer than I would like but will give me the chance to properly rest. Finding Normal will be easy once I'm back on my feet.

And I am finally able to use my robot excuse with an ounce of validation.

Oh heaven go easy on me.