Copyright Everett Herald
By Tom Burke / Herald Columnist If you know what a TAVR procedure is; a shiny gold star for you. And if you know why, at Overlake Medical Center, they call the second day of the work week “TAVR Tuesdays,” you get two gold stars. And, gentle reader, if you’ve actually had a TAVR procedure: five great golden stars and, more importantly, a bunch of years added to your life. Ya see, a TAVR, or Transcatheter Aortic Valve Replacement is a procedure in which the surgical team, duh, replace the aortic valve in your heart, while you take a short “nap.” Really. You go to sleep; a bunch of people do some stuff; and you wake up with a new heart valve. Simple? No. Amazing? Magic? A miracle? Yes. Hell yes! The TAVR is a real, true, bona fide miracle of modern medicine. And it isn’t simple at all. First, obviously, you have to need a new aortic valve (they do wear out) and you either don’t need or aren’t a great candidate for big-deal open-heart surgery. (Note: I had a worn-out valve but wasn’t a prime candidate for getting my sternum cracked and a bunch of my heart’s plumbing rerouted.) So I got tested, scanned and evaluated at Overlake’s weekly “who should we TAVR this week” committee-meeting of docs and such. And passed. So we set a date for a Tuesday, ‘cause that’s when the TAVR team does all it’s work at Overlake. And in the day between the time I finished a column on Monday and it was in the paper on today, I got me a new aortic valve and was back home. It went something like this: After signing some forms, striping down past my BVDs, and donning one of those chic backless hospital gowns, I laid back and six people, all with something sharp in their hands, gathered ‘round and began clipping, sticking and probing. I was then wheeled into the OR (on a — get this — a motorized gurney) and the miracle began. The transfer from the gurney to the OR table was done via a blowup mattress, a whole bunch of electrodes were strategically placed, and the anesthesiologist introduced himself again and said, “Ciao, for now.” And I was out. Then another IV device went into the right wrist to monitor vitals; a probe slipped into the main vein of my left wrist for observation; an incision in the jugular made for a temporary pacemaker wire; and then the big deal, the puncture of my femoral artery (adjacent to the groin) to insert the magic. The magic is a teeny, tiny, micro-mini wire probe that squiggles its way up to your heart (carefully, very carefully, guided by both a surgeon and cardiologist) and has a device that crushes the old valve and inserts the new one. (Note: the new valve is made from cow heart tissue. When I asked what kind of cow [Jersey, Holstein, Guernsey, brown Swiss?] no one knew, except the cows were Australian. It makes no matter, except I seem to be using a lot more Bag Balm on my feet than I used to and saying things like “G’day, mate” and “No worries, cobber.” When done, the probe is then withdrawn, snaked back down the femoral, all the holes patched up, and it’s off to recovery. A slow, groggy wake-up, another motorized gurney ride to a hospital room, and settle in for the overnight stay and observation. And more miracles of science – namely an echo-cardiogram, an x-ray, and an EKG; and being wheeled around half the hospital to visit all the disparate locations where these procedures are done. Wrong! The x-ray machine comes in on wheels and all I had to do was sit up. The echo? Same thing. A nice man with another machine-on-wheels came in, attached some leads, then told me what a great job the new valve was doing. Same with the EKG. On wheels. Curb service. Who wudda thunk? A portable x-ray machine? (I remember when an x-ray machine was bigger than my old Jeep Grand Cherokee and filled a room.) My overnight-stay-room had a view, a flat-screen TV, and meals were ordered off a fairly extensive menu and were individually delivered. Not how I remember hospital food. I can’t possibly imagine what all this costs. There’s enough electronics in the OR to put man back on the moon. The machines on wheels? I’ll take any one of them instead of my Social Security check this month. And the staff; the surgeon, my cardiologist, and the techs, the nurses, aides, and culinary staff were knowledgeable, attentive, and understanding. (My wife was a nurse for 59 years, so I’m a bit familiar with hospitals. We were impressed with Overlake.) Back to the money. Thank god for the Democrats, Lyndon Johnson, and a Dem Congress back in 1965 for “inventing” Medicare. And BOOO on Donald Trump and the Republicans for now trying to scuttle both. I can’t imagine how anyone without insurance could possibly afford this procedure; or how hospitals and doctors could afford to provide it. My heart has been renewed and praise be to the folks who invented all this stuff and for all the docs and nurses and, yes even the politicians, who made it possible. As for Trump and the Republicans, what they want to do with health care in the U.S. is — simply — heartless. Slava Ukraini. Tom Burke’s email address is t.burke.column@gmail.com.
