Time to get pumped, vol. 2

An important note about the next few weeks

It took about ten days longer than anticipated, owing to post-op complications that kept me asleep for a week and another few days of painkiller-driven hallucinations, but once I eventually regained enough of my cognitive capacity to participate in serious conversations, my doctors told me that this fifth heart surgery had been so successful that they would never need to operate on me again.

They were right about one thing: I’m currently on my way from New York to Cleveland for my sixth open-heart surgery, which is scheduled for this Tuesday at a new hospital, with new doctors.

I should note that I’m only here, writing this email and waiting for this flight, because of a lifetime of care provided by a dynasty of doctors at the hospital in New York. I’m bummed that the last one didn’t work out and depressed that I’m facing a sixth open-heart surgery, because it’s a horrible experience and every subsequent operation gets more difficult and high-risk, but I don’t blame the people who cared for me for 39 years. The journey — which I explained in this early 2024 newsletter, right before the last operation — has been plagued by unpredictable twists and complications that make mine an exceedingly rare case. They kept me alive and well enough to marry, have a kid, and build a career. That was not always the most likely outcome.

Sometimes you just need a change, a new perspective and new team. The hope is that the surgeons at the Cleveland Clinic can take it from here, work through the scarred terrain, replace my aortic and pulmonic valves, and I can go on with my life without worrying so much about every heartbeat. Nothing is guaranteed, and I’m terrified, but in an ideal world, I’ll be able to lift my three-year-old son by New Year’s Day.

Gratitude isn’t the first instinct in situations like this one, but having surgery on Thanksgiving week is a reminder of its importance. I’m lucky that I have supportive family and friends. Lucky that I have access to this hospital and its renowned doctors and care team. Lucky that I have the health insurance (through my wife, who is the ultimate stroke of luck) that will pay for the bulk of this care, especially considering the even-more-catastrophic-than-usual state of the US healthcare system. Lucky that we have the means to shoulder the ancillary costs that come with traveling for a surgery that will keep us away from home for at least ten days.

That last bit is partially thanks to you, the subscribers and donors to this newsletter. This work has become a second job, and I hope to get back to writing it as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll feel unexpectedly alert and energetic in the hospital and send something from my bed; more likely, I’ll resume coverage once I get back home and a bit more rested, which, fingers crossed, should be in earlyish December. If people want to unsubscribe due to the impending hiatus, I’ll understand; these are tough times and the holidays are around the corner.

Truth be told, this heart issue has been making life increasingly difficult since the spring. When your heart isn’t pumping enough blood to the rest of your body, you get fatigued more easily and your brain sometimes glazes over, making it difficult to focus or find the right words. My hope is that once I’m healthy again, I can get back to the speed and enthusiasm that has largely marked my work on Progress Report. During the interim, I’ll be plotting out new feature series and stories, with an eye on next year’s elections, working toward true universal healthcare, building a progressive populist policy agenda, and contributing to the fight against fascism.

Have a great few weeks, and so long as things go according to plan, I’ll talk to you soon.

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