A go-bag is something you pack with essential items and keep ready for use in the event of an emergency.

Dave Disselbrett has a slightly different definition.

His go-bag is something he grabs every time he leaves the house, whether it’s to go to a restaurant or to a woodcarving class.

Packed inside the black nylon bag, which looks a lot like camera bag, is a backup set of equipment for his heart pump, including an external controller and two power packs.

Disselbrett, 69, wears his heart on his shoulders. He has a harness with straps that go under his arms and holster-like compartments on each side for the power packs.

It is the uniform of a patient with a left ventricular assist device, or LVAD. While it may look cumbersome to others, for Disselbrett it’s about as comfortable as wearing a vest and as routine as putting on a pair of socks.

“I feel more out of place when I have my (woodcarving) apron on,” said Disselbrett, who lives in northeast Salem.

Several of his carving cohorts have been trained on what to do if his equipment malfunctions. A power pack can last up to 16 hours but when it falls below 20 percent, it begins to chirp loudly like a smoke detector in need of a new battery.

Chest compressions would be a paramedic’s first instinct, because Disselbrett has no pulse. But compressions could dislodge the device that is sutured to his heart.

Disselbrett’s pulse is undetectable — without a special Doppler blood pressure monitor — because the LVAD makes blood flow like water from a garden hose. He also doesn’t have a heartbeat that goes thump-thump. Instead, there’s a whirring or humming sound. Disselbrett described it like a bunch of bees buzzing.

Sharing his gift

Disselbrett has been hand-carving wood since he was teenager. His first projects were neckerchief slides for scouts. Now he carves mostly animals and small caricatures that are 4-5 inches tall.

You might have seen his work, including bears, pigs, bunnies, ducks and beavers, in the Artisan’s Village at the Oregon State Fair, where he has had a booth for years.

Disselbrett usually carves several of each animal with slight variations, whether that be in the actual carving or in the painting. Many are wearing clothing, including suits and ties.

“I don’t claim to be the most creative person in the world,” he said. “It does not bother me to do the same thing.”

He sells his carvings for $20 apiece, which means he probably makes $2 to $3 an hour, or just enough to cover the cost of his wood and tools. He uses basswood, the same kind of wood that was and still is used to create figures for Salem’s Riverfront Carousel, which opened in 2001.

“I wasn’t able to be involved because I had this thing called a job,” he said.

Disselbrett is a retired lumber broker who worked from his home office for a company out of New York.

Since retiring, he has had more time to carve and share his hobby with others. He teaches classes locally on Monday nights (Keizer Art Association) and on Wednesday mornings (Center 50+). He also teaches one afternoon a week in Beaverton and once a month in Eugene.

Around this time of year, he carves a lot of Santas and Christmas ornaments. He donates many of the ornaments to fundraisers that benefit the Capitol Woodcarvers, of which he is an active member.

Many of his woodcarvings also wind up as gifts for family members, friends, and even for his doctors and nurses.

Heart of a pioneer

Disselbrett is under the care of a seven-person team at Kaiser Permanente Sunnyside Medical Center in Clackamas. His surgeon, four doctors and two nurses all have extensive collections of his carvings.

“They are all over Kaiser, wherever you look,” said Barbara McKenna, RN and LVAD program manager. “He just gave me one for my first grandchild, a baby sneaker. It’s very sweet.”

The first one he gave to her was a bear in a white coat holding a sign that says: “I’m your new best friend.”

That was McKenna’s message to Disselbrett when they first met before he had the LVAD implanted in 2012.

Disselbrett was the recipient of Sunnyside’s first LVAD, and the surgery drew a crowd. His son has a photograph that shows 17 medical professionals in his room.

“I wasn’t really scared,” Disselbrett said. “I thought, ‘This can’t go wrong when you have everybody in the world looking at you.’ “

Kaiser currently manages eight LVAD patients and estimates there are about 100 LVAD patients overall in Oregon and 13,500 in the United States.

Traditionally, an LVAD is a bridge to a heart transplant. Disselbrett said he isn’t a candidate for a transplant. His heart still works, although not very efficiently. In his case, the LVAD is considered what McKenna called “destination therapy.” Those patients have a LVAD for the rest of their lives.

Plugged in 24-7

Disselbrett’s heart problems began in 1997, when he first had bypass surgery. In 2011, he had a massive heart attack at home. Although he called 911, he remembers little until eight days later when he woke up in the hospital. He was told his heart had to be shocked back into normal rhythm six times.

A defibrillator was implanted, and doctors warned him that he would eventually need something else done as his congestive heart failure worsened.

His heart was working at 30 percent capacity and struggling to pump blood to his extremities. His legs hurt so badly that walking to the mailbox was difficult and walking upstairs was nearly impossible.

He originally met with a heart transplant team but was ruled out. That’s when he was recommended for an LVAD, a mechanical pump that helps the heart move blood from its lower chamber to the rest of the body.

The device, about the size of a fist, and its connectors are implanted during open-heart surgery. One end is hooked with a tube to the left ventricle and the other with a tube to the aorta.

“They looked like garden hoses,” Disselbrett said.

Another tube passes from the device under the skin and out the abdomen. Disselbrett nonchalantly pulled up his shirt to reveal the dressing that he has to change weekly. The end is plugged into the controller, which also has plugs for each power pack.

The cords dangle noticeably below the hem of his shirt, so it’s obvious he’s plugged into something. But he said he doesn’t get many questions.

“I think most people are plain afraid to ask,” he said.

He has four sets of power packs, including the one he keeps in his go-bag. He charges them at night while he plugs directly into a large power unit that sits next to his bed. He said Kaiser notified PGE, his electric utility company, to place him on a list for priority power restoration in the event of a power outage.

Being an ambassador

Traveling can be a hassle, but Disselbrett has been to Alaska to go fishing with his son and to Montana to teach carving classes. Each time he called ahead to inform TSA of his travel plans, and each time he received royal treatment.

He wears a medical identification bracelet noting that he is diabetic, has an LVAD and cannot have CPR. His nurses are on-call 24-7 if there’s ever a problem.

“They want to know if this thing burps,” Disselbrett said.

He has an appointment with his doctors every six weeks, and also attends support group meetings every quarter and is routinely asked to meet one-on-one with LVAD patients or new candidates.

“He’s always available,” McKenna said. “He was the first implant at Kaiser, so we have a fondness for David and who wouldn’t? He’s such a beautiful person. He’s kind of our unofficial spokesman.”