Under the knife – Part 6 of a tumorous saga

Last month I took my daughter, Kiera, to the orthodontist.

It was right next to Flora Clinic, the hospital where I had been in August 2015, almost three years ago. As I waited at the robot (traffic light) to turn right, my glance happened upon the top of the hilly terrain, a view etched in my memory, never to be forgotten. I can’t really describe what feelings passed through me, intense and not too pleasant. Memories came swirling back, I decided then and there to record the next installment of my saga.

Strangely I have been procrastinating these experiences as they were among some of the most intense of our family’s life.

(in kookoo land)

So on the 11th of August 2015, early on a Tuesday morning, I went in for surgery. My neurosurgeon and his team were all ready and smiling in a bitterly cold theatre. I was nervous but I was comforted by the prayer of my Bishop and a home teacher the previous evening. I am a Latter-day Saint in terms of my faith. The anaesthetic was applied and blackness…

Michele, my wife, waited anxiously as time slowly passed. Then after only an hour the neurosurgeon approached her. She asked him quickly, before he could even say anything, “Did it go well?”. “No”, came the reply, “he arrested on the table”. Michele thought I was dead and as she was about to collapse, the neurosurgeon realised the implications of what he had said and he quickly added “we got his heart going again after a minute or so”. Poor Michele caught her breath and asked “what about the surgery for his spine?”, came the neurosurgeon’s reply “we still have to do it”.
When I came out of sedation the neurosurgeon was there and explained the whole thing to me. Because of my high levels of cortisone intake, my vagus nerve next to the carotid artery had become hardened. When the surgery commenced, the nerve was moved to the side to get to the spine, but the vagus nerve collapsed and blood flow stopped going to the brain and the heart also stopped. Then the rescue proceedings were successfully undertaken to save my bacon. The neurosurgeon said it is quite a simple affair to counter the hardening of the vagus nerve; all he has to do is use a local anesthetic then the nerve won’t collapse.

The neurosurgeon came back and visited me on the following day, a Wednesday, and asked when do I want the surgery? I ventured a guess, “in a week’s time?”. “No” came the response, we must do it as soon as possible, either tomorrow or the next day! I asked if my body needs to heal first? No, we must operate as soon as possible before scar tissue forms. I took a deep breath and said that we will have to do it tomorrow. He was pleased with my answer and left me. I felt quite anxious. Later a good friend came to visit, and after a while we greeted and he started to leave. He stopped and turned around to me and asked “would you like a blessing?”. Relieved I answered in the affirmative.

So the next day, early on a Thursday morning, I again went into surgery. Again, down the “black hole”. I felt myself get woken up in the theater after the procedure. I remember raising both arms in the air and exclaiming loudly “Yahoo, I’m alive!” The surgical team all grinned at me and my antics. Later the neurosurgeon told Michele that the surgery was a success and I was as happy as a pig in Palestine.

I stayed in ICU (intensive care unit) for another week or so. I was still under a lot of medication. I had a catheter which was painful and I really hated it. Once it fell out and had to be reinserted, quite painful I must say. There must have been another 3 or 4 guys in the same unit. A couple of them had severe injuries from motorbike accidents. They were both big men but when the catheter was inserted they bellowed like wounded buffalos, “big babies” I thought to myself. My left arm was really troubling me and my family was getting irritated with having to continually massage it.
Some fellow came and fitted me with a neck brace, what a horrible thing. It was so hot! I was also given a soft neck brace for when I was to shower. You have no room for dignity in the ICU, the nurses come and bath you in the bed, wash your privates, your backside. I was rolled this way and that way, but I must say it was so nice to be clean in a clean bed. I thought of my wife who had 4 babies, I guess dignity and privacy are low priority items; if Michele and millions of women can endure this so can I.

I was moved to a high care section where I was not under constant supervision and my catheter was removed. I was really pleased about that. After a day or so there they found out that I had shingles on my left arm and I was moved into isolation.

(nasty shingles)

Michele was not advised of me being moved and again she thought that I had died, poor woman, her nerves were absolutely shot. (I think she is still suffering from the trauma today about three years later. The reason why I say that is when I was driving the other day home from church, I was playing “silly buggers” so she slapped me on my head. I made as if I was unconscious while driving even though I was looking out the other eye and I did not move even when the car was moving. She became hysterical. I realised my warped sense of humour must not go into some areas.)
Anyway being in my own ward (with plastic tape saying an infectious area) made things easier for Michele who had to help me bath. I was quite pathetic and had to remain seated or hold the railing on the side. I had a lovely room and it had a good view of the opposite hillside. I used to study the vegetation and buildings for hours and hours. It was this scenery that I had seen when bringing Kiera to the orthodontist.

My pet hate and I REALLY HATED IT was when the nurses had to give me a daily injection into my lower stomach. It used to burn like hell. I dreaded it. Later when I went home, I promised the doctor that I would still administer the injection to myself. I took a box of the things home but I regret to inform you that I never gave myself even one injection.
I was taken by an orderly to see the cardiologist to check if my heart had been damaged in the first surgery; it seemed fine after undergoing several uncomfortable tests.

I then had to see an orthopedic surgeon to see if I needed surgery on my left shoulder; the diagnosis was a “frozen shoulder”. It was a borderline case and occasionally I just pop into him for a cortisone injection into the shoulder when it becomes too painful.

(note my cool stockings - to prevent blood clots)

I went home on Friday the 21st of August 2015. I was so pleased to get out of there just before another long boring weekend. I was only in the hospital for 10 days but wow, time does drag. Excellent nursing staff and highly trained doctors had given me another chance at life. How I learned to appreciate and love my wife even more. Life is such a precious gift.

I thought I had seen the last of that hospital but I was wrong, how wrong I was…