Too Often A Patient

I should probably qualify that by saying first off, I am not a doctor. But I have been a patient on numerous occasions so hospitals do not scare me. Now in my mid-late 40s, looking back apart from the usual angst of operations, I have warm feelings about the people striving to make my life better through surgery. There is something ennobling  about lending your trust to someone else, if even for a short while, to do their very best to make you better. Be it a doctor, a surgeon or other professional staff whose main mission is, -you!

A Brain Tumor?

One of my first operations was when I was about four years old. I had just started kindergarten and was ‘acting strangely’ I guess would be the best descriptor. Supposedly, I was doing things like falling asleep deeply and at inappropriate times (during school lessons, during play dates, etc) and upon waking hours later, I would resume whatever activity I had been doing, exactly where I had left off. So I was told.

I do remember quite a bit from this period in my youth, being diagnosed by several family doctors with the dismissive “oh, it’s just ‘school nerves’”. YES, -several doctors told this to my parents that their son had ‘…school nerves’ whatever this was supposed to mean. And that yes, it would pass. This is crap. It is like having ‘growing pains’. –No such animal.

It was my Aunt that tried to intervene, sought and encouraged continuance in the pursuit of finding out what was wrong with me. Her father (my grandfather) supposedly chastised her ‘for meddling…’ and insisted that ‘…there is nothing wrong with the child!’

My mom however, decided that there WAS something wrong, and pleaded with my aunt to ‘continue to intervene’, and she did. My auntie got on the phone and starting making calls to everyone she knew, her church group, her friends, anyone, about whom to enlist to aid this quest.

Intervention

A good doctor in a nearby town was recommended, and he checked me over. -A “Dr. Cummings” as I recall, and HE too, thought something was indeed wrong.

I was sent to Strong Memorial Children’s Hospital in Rochester, NY, where a brain tumor was discovered. Back in the mid-60s, this was still new territory. Few brain tumor operations were successful, but they felt that I would die within a few days anyway if they did not remove this as soon as possible. These next few days I recall with great clarity; screaming in agony in the backseat of the car prior to the cartrip to Rochester, yelling to  ‘-go slower over the train tracks!’ even though the car had not even left the driveway. I remember my mom and dad crying in the front seat of the car as I tossed and rolled in the back seat, in pain. The sound the car door being pulled shut was like a rifle shot in my ears!

I recall arriving at the hospital in Rochester, being checked-in and of course since I hadn’t been able to eat for days, being very hungry. Nothing I ate would ‘stay down’.

A bit embarrassing, but someone in the elevator has smelly armpits. Very rank. But you know, there was a mild ‘sautéed onion’ fragrance to this, and I kept saying something to the effect of ‘what smells so good?’ and my dad kept ‘shushing’ me to be quiet… (opps!)

My Aunt is a religious person, and she started or was actively participating in a ‘prayer circle’ at her church for me, to rally my strength. I only found out about this prayer circle many years later, but it extended all the way across the United States.

Chocolate Milkshakes! YUM!

While at the hospital, they offered me a slushy chocolate milkshake and I was able to drink it and keep it down. My strength did improve; at least enough to sit up in bed and consume some calories in the form of milkshakes. I remember with clarity that upon finishing the milkshake they eagerly asked me if I would like another. Yes I would like another! I was not about to upset my hosts and what, -REFUSE(??) another delicious chocolate milkshake. Upon finishing that one, a THIRD milkshake was offered, accepted and I held it down. I was never was offered THREE milkshakes at home! A full tummy now, I recall being very happy.

My strength improved within a day or so, enough to move ahead with surgery. My head was shaved smooth, and I remember the surgeon using some sort of clear graduated measuring card and pen, ‘drawing’ lines on my head. HE was laying out the site for the incisions.

In the Operating Room, a rubber facemask was placed over my mouth and I recall fighting against it, it smelled like when we burned rubber car tires back home! I complained, and someone made some adjustments just behind my head. I heard knobs being turned. The sticky, acrid smudgepot smell of flaming car times was replaced with a ‘sweet potato’ smell. I remember telling the doctor as he leaned over and stared into my eyes, “I smell sweet potatoes”. I fell deeply asleep. I suppose that had I died right there, this would have been a good parting memory of my life. That my last thoughts were of the smell of warm, steaming mashed sweet potatoes with melting butter.

The surgeon, Dr. McDonald is the only name I knew him by, successfully removed a brain tumor that was ‘wedged’ between the left and right hemispheres of my brain. This tumor was “…the size of a small tangerine”. I recovered, and have never had any problems related to brain tumors since.

Missed Opportunity

I returned to Strong Memorial on a whim back in the later 90s, to see if Dr. McDonald was still practicing. I was told that yes, he was still there but was only coming in one or two days per week for consultations, when they were facing certain upcoming surgeries. He was not there that day but they told which days would be good to maybe catch him in. They people I talked to were very interested in my visit, and enthusiastically encouraged me to try again on another date, and that he would surely make time to visit with me.

I would return some 6 or 7 months later when I was free again on a day that I was told he would be in, but was told some sad news. Dr. McDonald had passed away a few months prior. I had missed my one remaining chance to meet him again, for him to see me as an adult and a living benefactor to his pioneering skill that had saved my life some 30+ years earlier.

Other Operations

Through the childhood years, I would have other surgeries; a lower abdominal hernia just above the pubic area was repaired, and later, a swollen gland from under my left armpit was biopsied and found to be benign.

In the late-70s, I had a large wound on my right arm sutured after having had a bad incident with a plate-glassed housedoor as a teenager. My brother got some of that, too.

In 1998, I had a bunion repaired and first metatarsal bone cut, re-aligned & pinned as well (that is the long bone leading to the proximal base of the big toe) and almost exactly a year later, the other foot was done the same way, too. I now have very delicate, straight feet that no longer ache. And my shoes fit better.

Once, I did some suturing of my own, too. A ‘horseplay incident’ in the workplace got myself injured on the left forearm, topside. I tore two-inch long gash in my arm, right down to the muscle. I could lift the skin and ‘look inside’ like a change purse, seeing smooth muscle around the wrist bone and cumulus-looking fatty tissue under the skin. I did not want to report this, as an “incident report” would have to be filed. We had a very-near zero-tolerance policy on ‘horseplay’, and I wanted to avoid doing that. So I secretly wrapped my arm in tape with a gauze pad and told nobody. When I got home, I looked it over (which barely bled and almost did not hurt at all!) cleaned the wound with Betadine, and stitched it up myself. Nine or ten sutures fixed this up nicely. I healed easily, and removed the stitches about 10 days later. I’ve never had any problem with it. In fact, the scar is probably smaller and ‘cleaner’ than some of my other ‘surgery incurred’ scars where surgeons sutured me back together!

In 2001, I had a bicycle mishap happened and I broke my right arm near the elbow. Two stainless steel screws were used to pin the shattered bone back together. One year later, I re-broke the SAME arm in the exact SAME place in a work-related incident. This time they could not pin the outer forearm correctly so a ‘radial excisement’ was performed. –About a half-inch of the proximal end of the outer radial bone was removed. Now, the outer long bone of my right arm does not quite reach the elbow! It just sort of ‘almost’ reaches. Everything still works but there are some things that feel different. Turning a doorknob forcefully causes the two long bones to ‘move away from each other’ like scissors opening. That is a particularly weird sensation! There are some mild grinding and clicking sounds that come from this arm under certain work and stress conditions. This could just be tendons, or it could be that small sliver of bone or two that the surgeon said he could not access and had to leave in~situ.

My arm works fine but there is a very slight loss of motor skill and strength. And there are three parallel scars in the nearly the same place, overlapping each other! I quipped to my surgeon that NEXT time, instead of suturing this close, let’s just put in a ZIPPER! -It would make getting into here easier in the future!

I will probably never be able to play golf or baseball and do not feel confident climbing up steep ladders anymore. But I’ll take that and be grateful.

Just over a year ago I had a elective surgery to remove a ‘concha bulosa’ from my sinuses. A small cyst that the surgeon found in there was also removed. In short, -I no longer snore and can breath much easier, especially at night. When I was able to see that doctor a few days after the surgery, I reported that when I inhale so much air is being taken in that it cools the roof of my mouth and makes my upper teeth tingle a little bit. I added playfully that this was going to feel really magical later this winter when it is minus 20 degrees outside! –He laughed and agreed that it might. It just might, he chuckled. This surgery benefited not only me but also my wife. Think about it; -I do not snore anymore. How do you think that makes HER feel? Yeah! –Thought so!

All in all, I really have to say that while nobody wants to be sick or injured, for me and when the course of action has been decided, I have to say that I really enjoy giving my trust to those whom promise to safeguard, protect, operate upon me and make me better. Yeah, I do like surgeries.