I’m calling it a Power Walk; I charged all the way up this hill this morning, walking quickly, breathing steadily, and free of any heart pain or pressure.

To me, this was a small miracle, something I haven’t been able to do for more than a year.

I’m making great progress with my walking; I’m going faster, taking bigger steps, and only pause once on a mile-walk to slow my heart down a bit. I could have made it without stopping at all, but I chose to be more mature.

I invited Maria along to bear witness and to show her the progress since my catheterization more than a week ago – more surgery to come. I can’t tell you how happy I am. I carry a walking stick I’ve owned for 25 years, I don’t need it to walk; it is an important token and good luck charm.

I rarely walk without it.

Maria was impressed. “Just wow,” she said. This is a fairly steep road and a fairly long one. I’m going it every morning. I’m going on the bike Saturday.

I need to be disciplined and restrained. I’m not looking to enter a marathon. I just want to take care of my heart and stay healthy.

____

My Recovery Journal yesterday sparked a bit of civil but interesting controversy; my letter of the day:

A cardiac nurse named Anne posted this message on my blog:

“I’m glad you are getting the treatment that you need. However, I have one request. Please stop calling it a surgery. Going to the cath lab is not surgery. I wouldn’t care, but I work in Cardiac Care, and I hate to see even one of your readers scared off from a cath because of your choice of words. Surgery means cracking your chest and a lengthy recovery. A cardiac cath is definitely not surgery. Words matter, and I don’t want anyone to skip an important procedure. Thank you, and I’m sure you will do well.”

I appreciated the letter although  I don’t’ really need the lecture about words mattering. If they didn’t,  and as someone who’s written 26 books, I’d have starved to death many years ago.

Ooops, sorry, the ego there.

But I do want to be accurate and use the right terms.

I called my cardiologist’s office, and her nurse said she was puzzled by Anne’s note. A catheterization procedure, she said, “was certainly a surgery to us, although it isn’t always described that way.”

She said she would double-check, and asked why it mattered to me.

I said it didn’t really, but a cardiac nurse was worried that I would scare off people who might need catheterizations if I used the term surgery.

“Are you that powerful?” she asked.

“No,” I said without hesitating.

Being a research hound, I looked it up.

Merriam-Webster said surgery is “The branch of medicine that employs operations in treating disease or injury. Surgery can involve cutting, abrading, suturing, or otherwise physically changing body tissues and organs.

A medical dictionary I found defined “surgery” in this way: “the treatment of injuries or disorders of the body by incision or manipulation, especially with instruments, as in cardiac surgery.”

Dictionary.com defined a surgical procedure as “a procedure in which one or more incisions are made into the body in order to repair damage or remove diseased tissue, an operation.”

Sounds like my catheterization to me. And I have to say, it sure felt like surgery to me, and for days.

I called the surgeon who performed the first operation and who is performing a second in several weeks. “I’m a surgeon,” he said, “everything I do is surgery, especially when it affects the heart.”

The nurses I met during the catheterization also used the term surgery, and the post-operation process was the same protocol as surgery, they informed me. One difference was that I was under an IV anesthetic, not the kind that knocks me out completely.

I admit to not being great on terms, but something about Anne’s message made me look further.

Surgery isn’t only cracking open a sternum, my surgeon said. He said it was “any invasive medical procedure done in  a hospital or medical surgery and performed by a surgeon.”

So I think I’m on solid ground and will use the term “cardiac surgery.” Please e-mail me if you have reason to think otherwise: [email protected].

A catheterization is certainly not the same thing as Open Heart Surgery; I can testify to that if that’s what Anne means.

But my surgery was done in an operating theater with a surgeon, and it certainly involved abrading (the wearing away of tissue) cutting, suturing, and changing both of body tissue and the heart, an organ.

The first catheterization went well, the second is more complex. I’m seeing my cardiologist in the morning, and I will ask what she is calling it and use whatever term she thinks is appropriate.

So I sent this message back to Anne.

“Anne, thanks, I appreciate your message. It’s confusing to me because the doctor said he wanted to perform more surgery, and my cardiologist said she agreed that I should have the “surgery.” The appointment nurse referred to the procedure as “catheter surgery.”

Perhaps you are not quite familiar with the procedure the surgeon wants to do with my heart. Or maybe I’m not. Merriam – Webster defines surgery much more broadly than you do: “The branch of medicine that employs operations in treating disease or injury. Surgery can involve cutting, abrading, suturing, or otherwise physically changing body tissues and organs.” Surgery is not just cracking one’s chest, according to my doctors.
I appreciate your cardiac care position and thanks for your good work, but the people I’ve met in cardiac care have a different feeling than you do.
I think that any procedure that occurs under anesthesia in an operating room where a “surgeon” cuts a hole in my leg enters an artery (which requires suturing), and re-adjust the flow of blood to my heart is surgery to me. There was cutting, suturing, and physically changing both body tissues and organs. I will check again with my doctors about how they use this term and why, and if I’m not using it properly, I’ll be happy to change it. Thanks for your good wishes. I’m in good hands.”

Words do matter, Anne.

I make many mistakes and am often corrected by social media police, and I believe in correcting my mistakes. Perhaps this is healthier than I care to admit. This time, I’m not copping to it.

I think it’s important to write about words. Many people on social media live to correct people, but it’s important to remember they are not always right. I would say they are correct about 40 percent of the time. People who correct me often sound absolute and authoritative. Not always.

I am a fan of individual research. I don’t take anybody’s word for it; I check it out of I can. I don’t wish to pick on Anne, but when a surgeon, a cardiologist, some nurses, and three dictionaries say she is wrong, she might be less certain.