I too have a stent implanted in my heart. It was done in 1995. Same procedure you had ... open cut in the femoral artery in your groin, and slide it up into your heart.
When I had mine, they were considered "experimental" devices. I am guessing that since I am writing you today, the experiment was successful.
Best wishes for continued health.
Also, it is quite normal to be worried at this point. I worried for several months afterward. It was quite a wakeup call.
Scott Drown Corporate Systems Engineer Nortel Email: firstname.lastname@example.org SIP: email@example.com Telephone: +1 978 288 4390 / ESN 248 4390 Fax: +1 978 288 4391 / ESN 248 4390[TELECOM Digest Editor's Note: I thought it was pretty wild back in 1994 or so when I received an angiogram and angioplasty (but no stent) after my first heart attack. Living in Skokie at the time, I was taken up the street to Rush-Presbyterian-St. Lukes Northshore Medical Center as some longer-time readers recall. They picked me up off the street where I was laying (in the gutter, like any old drunken souse) tossed me in the back of the wagon and drove up the street less than a mile where the physicians took a look at me and decided the best cure would be to rod me out (the same as was done with you and at least try to get the plumbing working right once again.
I did not think very much of their plan at first, especially when the hospital's lawyer-lady came around with some forms to sign telling me to please kindly explain how to dispose of my body parts if that was needed. I signed off on her forms, tried to make myself appear invisible as I hid in my bed; finally some kid (all hospitals and clinical procedure places such as Jane Phillips, Mercy in Independence and Mercy Physicians Group also in Independence seem to have these smart young whipper-snappers it would appear to work with the doctors and nurses, etc) came up to me in my room in the Rush-Prez Med Center and he said, "Mr. Townson, this really scares you doesn't it?" I agreed, and he said, "I have a videotape here of the process, why don't we watch it together; you can ask me any questions you have, and tmorrow morning _I_ will come here to your room to get you and take you there, and I will be there the entire time so you can ask me more questions as it is going on."
I asked him about the form I had signed for the lawyer which allowed for disposal of my parts and also the reference to the surgeon being present. His answer was you are not going to die; the hospital lawyers make everyone sign those forms, and the law in the state of Illinois is that a surgeon must physically be present, standing next to the 'heart guy' so that in the event there _was_ some problem (like once out of [at that point] three hundred thousand invasions) the 'heart guy' can turn to the surgeon and tell him, "I have lost control of this; you take over and get him out of it", and Mr. Townson, I can tell you if that happened (very unlikely) the surgeon would have you cut open and correct the problem on the spot, the heart guy would be working with him and in about five seconds you would hear 'blue' said over and over on the loud speaker and at last two or three more doctors would be in this room within a minute."
The next morning, this cheerful, quite bright young guy showed up at8 AM just as promised and pushed my wheel-bed down to the basement lab where the work was done. We got into the basement lab, the kid says you gotta go pee ... I thought he meant it like a question but it was in fact a direct order 'pee in this bottle while I watch and take it away', Okay I did ... in the main working area a sort of hard-rock radio station was playing, several more young guys were there, diddling with computers attached to overhead tracks, typing on keyboards, checking out monitors attached to cameras, etc. I asked him, are you going to put me out during the procedure, with anesthesia? He seemed sort of surprised to hear that and said "do you want to be under? I figured you might like to watch it on television." Indeed ...
I turned my head to look and several other (relatively young) guys had filed into a 'viewing room' and had taken seats. An older guy who was identified to me as Professor (someone) was in charge of them; he was making some marks on a blackboard. "Oh, they are from Northwestern University and the Pre-med school." All of a sudden the 'heart guy' and the surgeon walked in the room; asking no one's permission for anything, I heard the radio station change from acid rock to some soothing Mozart, playing WNIB (when we used to have that station). The kids did not dare to question the doctor's musical taste of course but continued what they were doing at their keyboards and other instruments. The doctor and the surgeon were over in the viewing area making a courtesy visit to the pre-med students and their teacher. He was explaining something and responded to the teacher by making some other mark on the blackboard.
Meanwhile it was obvious to the kid in charge of me laying there on the table that I was starting to get paniced again. He told one of the others to "turn on the monitor overhead so Mr. Townson can see what is going to happen to him." It flashed to life and little wheels built into the ceiling pulled it along, like a robot where it was right over my head then it was lowered slightly; a perfect viewing angle. "Did you go pee? Do it again for me, doctor wants you to be totally empty. I did so in the little jar he held down there, then they anestisized me in my groin area so I felt *absolutely nothing* as they cut me there and proceeded to insert a very long but tiny tube in there. And they just kept feeding the tube up it seems; the kid made a joke with me: "open your mouth, Mr. Townson" and then taking a pretend peek in my throat said to the heart-guy, "you have a ways to go, I don't see your tube down there yet; remember doc, this is sort of a big guy and it might take a lot of your stuff to fill him up properly."
After a few minutes the monitor changed images to what was purported to me my blood vessles (instead of a visual where I was watching the medic do his thing down there) and after they had all made some notes and discussed what they saw (I did not understand any of it) the kid walks up next to me and says, "Now Mr. Townson, when you were a little guy, did you ever accidentally pee in your pants?" I assured him I probably had and holding my hand very firmly, he said "we are going to do something now which is going to make you feel like you are peeing in your pants or having an orgasm or whatever. Don't worry about it, do not be embarrassed." And as he patted my shoulder, I suddenly felt a very long, penetrating warmth, like one that guys sometimes get when they urinate in their pants or underwear. They had filled me with some of the dye used in tne angioplasty test. They turned the tv screen off, and told me to put head down on the pillow and go to sleep.
I asked them to let me watch them clean up their mess. "No, you don't want to watch us to that," said the kid, "just close your eyes and rest a few minutes.". I was asleep for maybe five minutes, I thought, but when I woke up fully they had a very heavy sandbag laying across the leg they had used. Doctor was no where in sight, the viewing room area was totally empty; the doctor had gone elsewhere, I was told. But the bright young guy from the day before was still there, chatting with me as he wheled me back to my room. "But do not remove that sandbag from your leg," he warned me. "We will come and take it away in a couple hours. Try to avoid any movement until we return." True to his word two or three hours later he came back and took away the sand bag. His last words to me were that it had gone quite successful in my case also. Then who knew it would happen again in February,2006, but with that time. a 'stent' included in the process. PAT]