I was off to work like any other morning and my eyes burned
a bit from the pollen in the air. My office (Sizzling Platter) was on the
second floor of the Social Security building in Murray. I had worked there only
three months. I climbed the stairs like any day. It felt like those stairs
got longer and steeper each time I climbed them. Prior to then, it never felt like
the workout that
I was now getting. I was
completely out of breath by the time I made it to my desk. My family has some
history of asthma and I was beginning to think it was my turn. As I was not
breathing very well Patty and I thought it might be a good idea to check things
out with my Primary Care Physician. I met with a new doctor as the usual NA I went to was out of
town. He thought a quick EKG was in order. (I had one 6 months prior that
checked out just fine) “You never know”, they said. Within an hour (in other words, two days later**) I was on my way for tests on my heart (echo and stress test, the whole enchilada) Apparently,
all was not well with the ticker. The next 48 (make that 12) hours quickly passed and before I
had time to consider what was happening to me I was sent to intensive care and being prepped for heart
bypass surgery. We weren't able to meet with the surgeon until 10 PM that evening. My wife, Patty, and my brother in law Grant and his son Tres were there as Dr. Cain explained my condition and what would take place
during the surgery. He showed us a image of my heart pointing out the near total blockages in my heart. I was a ticking time bomb with congestive heart failure. The Doc said that I might not have survived another two weeks. When you suffer a heart attack due to a blockage in the "widow maker artery" you don't survive they say. I had an uncommon aneurism just inches away from said artery. I was trying to stay positive. So what do you do when you confront your mortality...you crack a joke. The following morning Patty and the kids arrived prior to surgery. A mere 20 hours after testing began. A nurse
mentioned Dr. Cain would be applying a dressing following the surgery and I asked if
it would be thousand island. "Take
that, mortality"!
(**Side note from Patty. Dr. McVoy recommended further testing without
mentioning anything other than something odd with his heart. He
scheduled the testing to be done at Alta View Hospital as there
were no appointments available at IMC until the following week and he felt it needed to happen ASAP. We continued to think it was asthma. We went to a Heaton family
meeting the night before the
testing. We went in for the tests and they immediately said something about a left bundle branch blockage. We had no idea what that even meant.. They did an echo to find that he would not be able to do the stress test as his heart wasn't strong enough for it. Enter Liquid exercise.. Each test lead to another with the Dr. finally stating that this is congestive heart failure.. What the WHAT! He told us to go to IMC immediately for further testing.. We were still clueless at this point and I asked if we should be concerned.. They said "No, don't be concerned, however, don't allow him to walk across the parking lot and do not let him drive!" Cue sudden SSA on my part!)
 |
|
I do not recall much of what happened the few days prior to
my surgery, but I do remember the OR just prior to me going under. The surgeon
Dr. Cain introduced himself again and reassured me everything would be ok. And
as the anesthesiologist leaned over me and I glanced around the operating room and
I considered this might be the last image I see in mortality. It certainly had
been the final destination for others who had visited before. The room was cold and way too clean and organized for me to feel comfortable. I
really was unsure what would happen to me. But for many others this was a journey they did not return
from. Moments later my adventure began and my train left the station to places
that were strange to say the least. No bright lights and visits with God. There
are no rides like this at Disney Land.
I cannot tell you at what point, while under anesthesia, I
undertook these “journeys” but I can tell you they felt very real to me.
I recalled them in perfect detail when I
became lucid. I am not sure if these were inspired dreams, drug induced
hallucinations or something in-between. I did believe even after I awoke that
some things that I recalled had actually happened to me. I am also unsure as to
when these dreams took place as I was unconscious
for almost 2 weeks. Yet, it all seemed rather real to me.
First Stop:
Black Box USA
I found myself confined in a dark black space. I was not
comfortable and I panicked. I was not aware that I was in fact in a hospital
having surgery or recovering from it. I
wrestled to remove myself from the space that seemed cube-like, maybe 8’x8’x8’.
I could not discern if I had been in there for hours, mere moments or a week. At one point I became aware of my wife Patty,
my married daughter Chelsea and her husband Shawn. I wondered why they were
allowing me to be confined in this space. As I heard them converse I wondered if I had been involved in some type of high-tech experiment perhaps located
in some far off city or the Silicon Valley. I heard Patty’s voice
calling out to me. I wondered why I could not respond or find her as I was
confined to this small dark black place. I wanted to find her with all my heart. I wanted to get out. This
was the cause of considerable distress. Finally, after sometime the cube opened
slightly on one side and some light entered into my confined space. As I
attempted to leave I became aware of a man who had occupied the same space as
me but previously was unaware to me. He was dressed in black as if to assist in
his concealment. He held my wrist tightly and at first would not allow me to
leave. This feeling of being restrained could have have been a blend of the
dream and the actual wrist restraints to keep me from removing the
intubation tube wedged down my throat. I was completely
unaware of my circumstances, medical condition, or past events, or my actual
location. There was absolutely no real or actual point of reference I could
discern. After a moment he released me and I became aware of many other
sealed cubes arranged vertically over 60 feet in an array that faced a large
five or six story window pane through which I could see a night sky, a campus
of buildings, a distant city and my family far beneath me. As they waited
outside for me, they seemed to be excited that I had been released. As soon as
I was in their presence I heard them speak to me and then this event suddenly ended.
This does not mean I awoke, rather it means, the circumstances relating to the
dream had ended. I also remember even
seeing a high-tech logo associated with the company involved. I was determined
to remember it. I have looked for it on the web since I have been home and
have been unable to find it. Clearly this place doesn’t have a web site.
Next Stop: Victorian
Hotel
I then was in a space that lacked some dimension and any vivid
color. It felt spiritually very dark. It also appeared to me like It was in a
turn of the century hotel with some ornate furniture and architectural trim.(The
old Hotel Utah comes to mind or the hotel in the movie, Somewhere In Time.)
I again was unable to move or communicate with
the occupants walking past me.. This was very difficult for me to deal with as
I wanted desperately to not be in this place. Occasionally, people in period
clothes would stroll past me and glace my way. They looked puzzled as to why I
was there. I was puzzled as well. My field of view was quite limited and kept
me from turning to much to the left, right or toward the ceiling. I was unable
to move or rather walk from one place to the next. However, I was in several
different rooms and halls. In each place a older wrinkled woman in very
conservative black pioneer-like or Victorian clothing occasionally would lean over me and
exclaim in a irritated voice “why are you still here? You can’t be here. You
need to leave” She made me a bit nervous. She was rather uncomfortable with
my apparent invasion of her space. She looked like any number of women I had
seen pictures of on my family tree who lived at the turn of the century, old
and unhappy. Finally, two tall men who could have been related to me came into
view. They seemed to have a much kinder voice and gentle disposition. They leaned
over me and gently said in a southern Utah accent “son, were going to get you
out of here”. I was relieved to say the least. My coming resque and departure made the older woman relieved and happy, A moment later I was soon gone and off on another journey.
A Four-O-Clock Reservation
I found myself in a semi- outdoor setting. I felt I was close
to death. To some extent my conciseness seemed outside my body and I could
think very clearly but again had no ability to communicate with those that were
around me. I heard others who spoke of my impending death. Patty was clearly discernible
about 30 feet in front of me as she appeared to be discussing my dire situation
with what seemed like a modern day medicine woman. The nature and appearance of
this woman felt like a young version of my deceased grand-mother Dorothy Clark.
She was dressed in a combination of both modern and traditional Indian garb.
Her familiarity was both curious and reassuring to me. ( I have since learned
that my grandmothers patriarchal blessing noted she had the gift of healing.
Additionally, she fostered Cody Black a Navajo Indian. Her connection to our
Lamenite / Indian friends was considerable.) I could see a large red rock wall and
sand near to where I lay, like you might find in Moab or Arches. There were
Indian writings on the wall of the rock and other Indian artifacts nearby. It
was a unusual blend of both modern furnishings and ancient props. I wondered where this
place was and to what end I was there. I heard a nearby TV type broadcast (audio
only) that discussed the features of this modern-day Indian reservation. It was like I was listening to a documentary of
sorts. Those who were aware of me seemed interested in instructing me
in some of the general features of the reservation. Some of the details I do
not recall but it appeared there was a strong relationship between these
Indians and the Mormon pioneers that had crossed the plains. It was as if those who did not make it all the way to the valley and perhaps died were in effect adopted
into to this friendly tribe. There were also some obscure references to Abe
Lincoln and Joseph Smith. I recall thinking that remembering this reservation
was very important. As I mentioned I was in a partially open space where there
was a round clock that hung on the wall to my right. I remember that it was about
3:40 pm as my wife and the medicine woman talked. They wondered if I was well
enough to continue living. They
mentioned a physician who would consult them on the matter and come to a
conclusion at 4 pm. I also was aware of
a tribal bishop (a portly man, of short stature) who was nearby helping to
comfort Patty. I wondered how I could
convince them that I wanted to live, however, I was unable to communicate this
to them. I wanted to scream “I’m OK, please don’t let me die”. I was not
totally sure why I was ill, only that my situation was dire. 4 pm arrived and my wife, the physician, the
medicine woman gathered to evaluate my situation. I felt I was ok and was desperate to persuade
them that I was alive and wanted to continue living. There was some debate as to
my condition. It was very frustrating. Finally, to my relief they concluded
that although I was not looking well, but I would probably make it. “Probably!” hardly a ringing
forecast. Never the less, I was happy with their conclusion. It’s strange to me
what role the time 4pm had to do with anything. I later found out that this is the exact time when my dad (Leon) had returned
from the temple and gave me a fathers blessing. It was also when the family/ward ended a fast for me. I believe the 4 o’clock reference in my dream was a
marker of sorts to connect my dream with something more profound.
I was told later that a troubled nurse (Ali) asked to remain in the room during the blessing. She was LDS but had never heard nor received a priesthood blessing before. She was evidently in tears following the blessing. I have come to the conclusion that events such as mine were not just about blessing and healing my life but providing a blessing for many many others as well. My father
also explained later that he had my name placed on the prayer roll at the temple.
He was there when the prayer was offered and recalled that the prayer that was said referenced my situation precisely. My father is such a wonderful man who honors his priesthood and clearly played a key role in my survival. I'm glad he was there. I'm also glad I made the reservation.
Paradise
(no, not that one )
I then found myself in a far more pleasant place but was
still unable to move or communicate. I was laid under a canvas tarp outside in
a tropical setting. It felt as though I was sent here to heal. To my left and
right I could see tropical foliage and a cool humid breeze blew from time to
time across my face. I could hear
Patty’s voice speak with an islander who was a nurse of some sort regarding my
condition. I also heard Jerrea’s (my sister-in-laws voice talking with Patty. They spoke of the
economic and medical needs of this small community. It was like my family was
on a mission. I was proud of my extended family as it seemed they were assisting the
locals in some way. Also, small beautiful native children would peek into the
tarp to spy on me. They would giggle each time. which I rather enjoyed. I also noticed a small spider monkey that
darted across my bed. A young handsome native man also peered in (Johnny
Lingo?). He was a medical professional who I thought at the time would make a
nice husband for my sister Laura. I wondered while I was there and why Patty
had taken me to such a faraway place to recover. I did not complain as I found
my experience quite pleasant.
China Town Wisdom
The next place was rather odd. I was wheeled into what
appeared to be a small Chinese noodle restaurant of sorts. There were Chinese
characters and lanterns on the wall visible through the steam billowing up from
the stove pots. A large man (whose frame was like my recently deceased father-in-law
Grant) stood behind a counter and offered friendly council on how I might best recover. He was kind and I
enjoyed his advise however, I do not remember any specifics. I was there at
least twice. It was about this time I began to have some momentary
consciousness. I could only see what was immediately in front of my face. Again
I had no recollection as to my situation. It was like I was an infant child. My
entire world was in my mind or the immediate space surrounding my face and
head.
During that time I also recall David “Beeker” and his wife visiting. It
was odd that I recognized him. He had lied about being related to me to gain
access to the ICU. He cried
when he observed how pathetic I looked. Sorry David.
The Dry Desert
I thought these journeys had come to an end until I seem to
have found myself under a tarp in the desert. It was lonely and desolate with
very few signs of life. In a nearly abandoned lot with discarded junk lay
scattered about near an old poorly maintained road. The tarp protected me from
the bright sun light and heat. While I laid there two or three rough looking
bearded men visited me under my tarp. One man wondered why I was still there
and the others wondered why I had been left there at all. I agreed. I also
wondered when this train was going to take me to a more pleasant place that
was familiar to me.
Clark in Wonderland
There was a variety of other less profound observations I
made that were clearly the result of pain meds during a semi-conscious
state. For example I believed I was in a
variety of theme rooms designed for little
children at the hospital. The under-the-sea room was especially cool. One room
had a cute cartoon image of a little girl in a rain slicker with her tug boat
and little dog. Other rooms had a sci-fi feel that was unforgettable. I even told my cardiac surgeon that I would be
happy to design a room for the hospital once I was released. He smiled and played
along. I had, in reality always had been in the same room in the ICU. (how embarrassing) I also don’t think there is
a thing such as Japanese ESPN. But I watched it all afternoon once.
Little by little I became more conscious of my surroundings.
But even then the surroundings I found myself in seemed strange and very
unfamiliar. At one point I believed I was being held against my will in second
floor of a small clinic connected to a rundown strip mall. I understood that
something medically was wrong with me but did not know exactly what. I was
still intubated at the time and my wrists were restrained to the bed posts so
that I could not remove my breathing tube. From time to time I belieed two “Asian”
looking nurses that seemed too young would enter my room to adjust me in some
way. The breathing tube crammed down my esophagus was very uncomfortable and
caused me to panic and kick the bedpost wildly. I wanted the nurses to remove it.
I would motion with my fingers still strapped to the bed rail, I pointed to my throat and pleaded with them through gestures with my restrained
hand to please remove the tube. They would say we are sorry. I would become very angry and kick the bed posts as hard as I could.
My thinking was that if I was obnoxious enough they would relent. No way. They
wrapped the end of the bed with towels so my kicking would not make much noise.
Looking back I suppose it was good that they sedated me from time to time.
At
that time I did not know where Patty was, nor where I was. I wondered why she
was not there. I was very distraught. I still did not understand what was
happening to me.After some period of time I began to understand I actually
was in a hospital of some kind and not a asian operated third world clinic located in a run down strip mall. I still
restrained, freaked out and lonely. A nurse entered my room and said “I just
talked to your wife and she’s on her way to see you. I thought to myself,” at
last, Patty has found me!” Of course, she had been with me for some time. She
had rarely left me. I cannot described how thrilled I was. She could take me
from this awful place. I had no idea that the hospital I was in was the IMC
right here in Murray. For a while I thought I was in a small facility near the Murray ice rink. I thought I was lost and Patty had found me. When she
walked into my room grasping her clip board and smiling she looked so beautiful to me. It was one of the happiest
moments of my life.
The following day or so they removed the breathing tube from my throat. Oh happy happy
day! This was a really big deal. I suspect I was being less sedated as a result. On the day when they removed my breathing
tube my mother, father, and Patty were
there to visit. I felt so relieved, safe and loved. They gathered close to my bed and I
held each of their hands. It was a very spiritual moment for me. It’s hard to
explain. It felt as if I was in the temple. It was very difficult to speak. I
wanted to converse but could not speak well. Patty gave me a pencil to
write and a clip board. I was so weak I could barely hold the pencil in my hand. I
wanted to write just two words. These words swirled in my thoughts over and
over. Looking back it doesn’t make much sense but it seemed very clear to at
the time.I grasped the pencil as best as I could rested the lead on the paper
and told my hands to move as to form the letters that would spell the words.
Nothing. Well, it looked like a chicken scratch. No letters, No words, just
scratches. Patty was really patient. I am sure she thought He’s trying to
write "I Love you" or our code for I love you, 831. Nope. I tried to write the words
“Spirit Guide”. Why? I had no idea. Not a clue. I just knew I really wanted to
say it. I soon was able to speak. But my kids said I sounded like
Batman. It was a pretty good Batman I thought. Now if I could only get out of
the bat cave. So in my best Batman voice I sincerely asked Patty why we had
went to a Indian reservation. Because I thought we had really went there (as noted previously). Patty looked
at me like “what the…#*^#@?” "Visiting the reservation" has now become code for our spiritual self flirting with joining the universe or severely losing ones focus.
Still, one of the more difficult challenges remained. I was being fed through a
tube. The ventilation had damaged my throat somewhat and had compromised my ability to swallow properly. The nurses explained that they could not risk any foreign liquid finding its way to my lungs. Thus, I was not allowed to drink anything, have a ice chip, nothing, nada, not
the smallest drop. My lips became very dry, chapped and cracked. My throat and
tongue were swollen and parched. The only relief to me was on rare occasions
the nurse would wipe down the interior of my mouth with a small sponge with a
minty flavor and almost no moisture. I remember this one nursed promised me she
would give me the minty, spongy, lollipop treatment if my blood pressure was
good. I have never understood the relationship between the two. Yet, I was looking forward with anticipation of the slight
satisfaction this sponge might give me. All day I thought of it. The
nurse took my blood pressure and walked away and I waited. and waited and waited... no minty moist sponge. More waiting and nothing. I was so
irritated. I was so needy and thirsty. The nurse was beginning to really tick me off. She wasn’t having a
good day either and I was thrilled about it. Promising a dying man the smallest
smidgen of relief and the withholding it...well she deserved to suffer I thought. Not really. Well maybe a little. I just wanted a little relief.
I had a similar experience with a nurse I later referred to as
“nurse fancy pants” who promised me ice chips. My mouth was sans any water since before I came to the hospital. I thought, Oh sweet and refreshing H20 how
I love you. All that wet goodness melting the small desert found on my lips and
throat. But…NADA! HE PROMISED!!! Never mind my heart problems. I want the
damned ice chips. I told Patty, They’re abusing me here, I complained as I stared at a glowing sea plants in my magical room.. Of course, I was fairly
delusional. In time, I got a Ice chip or two. God bless my ice chips.
I have would often think I was in a variety of rooms at the hospital. This was not the
case. Just my little ole ICU room. One time I thought they had taken me into some kind of
lobby. Like the one you might find in a nice funeral home. I hope there was no foreshadowing in that. I had no ability to see much beyond bed. This may have led to some
confusion about where I actually was. While in the “funeral lobby” and member of
the ward Dennis Bouley (sp?) visited me. He asked if he could read me the
scriptures. I taught gospel doctrine in Sunday school and he said he wanted me
to keep up. It was real nice to hear him read from the Book of Mormon. I needed
to feel connected with something that was real. This was really nice did the trick for me although I’m
sure I fell asleep while he read to me. I also found out he had come with bishop and
gave me a priesthood blessing. I can’t exlain it but I was so very grateful for his visit. Dennis and his wife visited me at home a week or so after I came home.
He told me that while giving me a blessing he had a distinct feeling that let
him know that I had chosen to live. At some point I had made it clear to God
had I wanted to live and my that desire had been granted. Good decision Clark.
At one point, I thought I had been abandoned in a hall in a
hospital located in St. George Utah. I remember how beautiful the sunlight was
as it filtered through a nearby tree. Passing nurses would glance my way and
comment how close to death I seemed. One said she thought that I had already
died. I remember thinking “I’m not dead yet!”(Monty Python and the Holy Grail
style) Then my sis Laura came to visit. I remember thinking, why did you come
all the way down here in St. George? At least she had figured out I was alive.
Over the next several days
the clouds parted and I began to see things as they truly are. Well kinda. I
was about to be kicked off fantasy island and land on the biggest loser ranch.
Time to walk. Time to be normal. But what’s "normal" had changed forever for me.
The Water
While in the hospital one of the largest challenges I
encountered was the dietary restrictions. After bypass surgery while on the feeding
tube I was not allowed to have any water or other fluid to drink or wet my
dried and cracked lips (as mentioned before). As humidified oxygen flowed thru my breathing tube I
desperately made futile attempts to have micro portion of condensation in the
tube to fall on my lips. I would stare at the sink across the room and dream
and scheme how I could free myself from the restraints and tubes that kept me
in my bed. I wondered how I might steal the smallest sip of water. But to no
avail. They finally told me once that I would soon receive a few ice chips. I
think I cried. Then one Sunday, 3 senior LDS
missionaries who had been assigned to the Hospital asked me if I would like to
receive the sacrament. It was difficult to be separated from anything that
connected me to my Father in Heaven during such trying times. I gladly accepted
there offer. The missionaries proceed to sing a sacrament song. This surprised
me. I felt the Spirit very strong. The sacrament was blessed and passed to me;
one piece of bread and a small cup of water.
For a moment I had not considered this would be the first food and drink I had
swallowed in 3 weeks. More than satisfying my thirst, I want just one more time
to renew my covenants. I don’t think I had ever considered how spiritually
satisfied it felt. I remembered how sweet the water tasted to me as it is
quickly absorbed in my parched mouth. I have never had anything that was so
satisfying spiritually and temporally. I am reminded of the following
scripture:
John 4: 13 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever
drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
14 But
whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall
be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
15 The woman
saith unto him, Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither
to draw.
I repeat her request:” Sir, give me this water, that I
thirst not”
Nurses from Heaven
Can I just say that I love my physical therapy team and my
nurses. They were very kind to me. One evening I had an accident of the poopy
kind. Gross, I know. But what can ya do when you’re tethered to a million
tubes and ya gotta go...bad. Unfortunately no time for a bed pan. I really felt bad that the two girl nurses on duty had to clean me up.
They seemed very young. I might have been more comfortable with the Aunt Bee type: middle aged and motherly. So there I was out and total exposed to God the nurses and the world. The nurses were
very kind and managed to leave me with some dignity. It was a humbling experience to be cared for in such a personal way. The care and professionalism demonstrated turned what could have been a horrifically embarrassing moment into a positive memory.
One night my mouth was very dry and I asked the nurse if I
could have a cup of ice chips. Most of
the time they would leave the cup of chips on the table near my bed and they
would scurry away.. This late night however, this nurse sat at the edge of my bed
for close to 30 minutes (as if she had nowhere to be) and fed me every last
delicious ice chip and just talked to me. It was nice to feel nurtured,
succored and cared for.
One nurse who knew my brother Matt was especially kind. I
could only have ice chips to eat as I was still fed through a feeding tube. I dreamed of Slurpees or a snow cone. One
night he brought me the cup of ice chips I had requested. But he had drizzled a
very very small amount of orange juice over the top. Maybe a teaspoon. I
nearly cried it was so delicious. He totally broke the rules on this one but it
was worth it. The following day he managed to shampoo my hair while still being
tubed up in the ICU. It felt great!
I remember finally
getting to venture a few feet from my bed. The bottom half of my bed dropped
away allowing me to exit the bed with greater ease. However there was nothing
easy about getting out of bed. I was still rather weak and was not all that
sure my legs would hold me. The Physical Therapist and a few CNA’s (certified
nursing assistant) gather at the foot of my bed as I sprang from my blankets
and darted down the hall. (just kidding) My feet touched the floor, yes my old
friend, the floor. We had been separated for a few weeks and there it was
waiting for my feet to effortlessly glide across its surface. (as if, bahahaha)
I walked a whole 8 feet. It felt like a mile. My PTs was very encouraging. I
began to look forward to their daily visits. Each day I walked a little
further with my bright orange plastic belt. Eight feet then twenty feet, and finally I walked the loop around the
entire area in the ICU. There was a great sense of accomplishment when I made
that final walk in the ICU with no need for my big plastic belt. It was then,I really
began to start thinking or should I say, obsessing about going home. Next stop:
the 3rd floor.
Goodbye ICU
They wheeled
my bed to the third floor and there to greet me was Torg. He was a 35ish homeless
looking CNA that wore mismatched crocks and scrubs you might expect a
pediatrician to wear. (with rainbows and unicorns) This guy was great. He
messaged my shoulders and was very very kind to me. Apperently he has quite the
reputation among patients who have met him at IMC. I wonder if gets anything
more than a pat on the back. If I was handing out awards, he would surely
receive one. Anyways, there was so much to be happy about. I didn’t die for
one. My wife was there. My brain was working “normally”. (well ya know…) I
surely would be returning home in a day or so, I thought. Just in time to see
my daughter Alyssa graduate from high school. mmmmmm…not so much. The evil
buxom social worker lady glided in with clipboard in hand and declared that I
would
be staying at the IMC Hotel and Casino on the twelfth floor for
another two weeks or so. OR SO!!!! WHAT THE *&#@%^! Let the complaining and
protestations begin. “I didn’t need rehab”I protested. I would get plenty of
exercise strolling to fridge in my home for a delicious snack while basking in
the glow of my attentive wife messaging my feet. A doctor finally had to come
in and set me straight. Fine! I wasn’t going anywhere. At least Patty seemed
relieved. I was angry and a bit sad. I wanted my life back and I wanted it now.
I stayed on the third floor for only three or four days. While there I could
not help but notice there was man of Middle Eastern decent in the room next to
me. He must have been from out of town as it appeared he had brought his entire
family in tow. His teen aged children giggled and darted up and down the hall
ways. These kids that were virtually camping in their fathers room. They were
continually refilling there sodas and munching on burgers and fries near my
room. I still had only ice chips to eat. The soda machine across the hall
seemed to taunt me continually. The
chatter drove me nuts. I admit, I was not in the best of moods back
then. I was very tired and really just longed to have a return to something
that resembled normal. The international family fun fest finally left, hamburgers
and all. I got to stay a while longer.
While on this floor Alyssa graduated
from high school. I as was very sad about nor being able to attend. However,
She came by my room in her cap and gown following the graduation ceremony. She
was so cheerful. I was grateful it rubbed off a bit on me. I was so proud of her.
(Cue The Jeffersons theme music, “’cause were
movin on up, movin on up, to” the 12th floor, to a deluxe apartment
in the sky…”.)
A Room with a View
They wheeled my bed at last to the 12th floor
which was for the purpose of rehab. At some point during the operation or near
then I had some kind of a stroke. The rehab visit was for the purpose of
reversing any damage from the stroke. Yes, I was out of it for a couple of
weeks but for the life of me I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what damage the
stroke had done. (However, since then the stroke has been a convenient excuse
for the purpose of explaining why I had forgotten to do something my wife
wanted.) They removed many of the tubes and IV’s finally and they explained
when I got there that I would be able to wear normal clothes like you might
wear to the gym. One more step closer to normal and a sleep over on the 12th
floor. Life is good. When I arrived I noticed some patients strolling around.
This was very encouraging as I imagined myself doing the same. Soon after my
bed was wheeled into my new room I was met by the head physical
therapist/doctor and his PA (physician’s assistant). These guys were not
exactly warm and fuzzy. They were a bit less than positive about my future in
there high rise get away. I was determined to prove them wrong. They lifted the
rails on both sides of my bed and informed me that under no circumstances was I
to leave the bed. When I asked why and they said they had no idea just what
damage had been done by virtue of my condition. Basically, I was quarantined to
my bed. I told them I had no need for them to raise the rail. I hadn’t had
trouble staying in bed since I was three years old. No deal. They insisted “we
don’t know what we’re dealing with here”. Hey, I have an idea…..ask me. Or ask
the legions of health care workers that I have spent 24 hours a day with. I
felt trapped on my own bed. But hey, I can at least dangle my legs off the bed.
Nope. Ok, how ‘bout one leg? Nope. Ok ok, just a foot. Nope. An alarm rigged to
my bed would go off every time I thought of slightly breaking free of my
mattress sized prison. When I penetrated the sacred air space outside my bed
nurses would run in and scold me, proclaiming the evils of foot dangling. But
hey, at least I had those yummy satisfying ice chips. Just wondering, is it ok
to complain if God has just spared your life? I didn’t think so.
Family
Reunion
My first night in that room under (the conditions described)
was really rough. I had never felt such an intense feeling of claustrophobia.
Sleeping was out of the question. Patty had gone home. I had such a dark and
hopeless feeling come over me. I gazed a few city light I could see through the
window across my room. My sternum hurt and I even managed to acquire a fairly
painful tooth ache. As I laid there I became more and more despondent, panicked
and claustrophobic. Still, no sleep. It was nearly 4 am and I began to cry. In
desperation I quietly sang any primary songs I could recall. As I did, I
started to calm down. A feeling of peace filled the room. I began to feel that
I was not alone in the room. If this was real or imagined I do not know but I
felt I was receiving visitors from the other side of the veil. I didn’t know
they had visiting hours. Ancestors, grandparents, an old friend and even a
former art instructor that I was close to in high school were there. I did not
see them but I felt them. It was as if they had lined up outside the room each
waiting their turn to say hello and visit. Filled with the spirit of peace I
finally fell asleep.
God bless
the visitors
While on the 12th floor I was also visited a few
times by my living uncle Charles (my mother’s brother). His wife Sally had a
heart condition that required frequent outpatient visits. While his wife was
being attended to he would come up to my room for an extended chats. He was especially
interested in my thoughts about the “journeys” noted above and was pleasant and
an exceptionally good listener. I remember falling asleep a few times as we
chatted. When I awoke he was right there where I left him and we resumed our
chat where we left off. About a year or so after my time in the hospital
Charles passed away while working on his pioneer home in Farmington. His always
expressed his curiosity about the Spirit World strangely enough. I wonder if
his spirit knew something we did not. I wonder how he enjoying the reservation.
At one point the powers that be concluded I needed to be
fitted with a CPAP mask for my sleep apnea. Having recently freed myself from a
plethora of medical tubing and such I was not thrilled to reattach my body to
anything. None the less, electronic nodes were attached to my body and head.
The nodes that came in contact with my hair glued into place with gobs of icky
sticky paste. After a night of almost no sleep the mask and the nodes were
removed but the goo remained. Val lynn Bauer a good friend from the ward came
to my room and washed and trimmed my hair and made me look and feel almost
human. It really was great.
I can’t recall all the good folks who stopped by to say
hello and wish me well however, I love and appreciate the time they spent with
me. When I was unconscious, I of course cognitively unaware of them. Looking
back however, I believe their presence helped. In many cases I asked if I could
hold their hand. Yup, men too. I wanted to connect in a deeper way I suppose.
It felt as though touching someone’s hand accelerated my healing in some way.
Rounding
Third
The final days on the top floor were better than I expected.
I was allowed to wear my garments and normal clothes. It took a long time to
get dressed. It was worth it however. I liked the feeling of my tennis shoes on
my feet. I began to feel more and more motivated. I loved being totally dressed
when the PT came to get me early each morning. I had a change take place in my
heart during the remainder of my stay. (no pun intended) I decided it was
better to be a heater than a thermometer. Meaning, I would now choose to reach
out and greet and be kind/warm to those who were required to take care of me,
as opposed to looking inward sensing how “hot and cold” my situation was.
Turning outward kept me from focusing to intently on my pain. Nurses and other
staff seemed pleased to care for a patient with a generally positive attitude.
It was a very small thing I could do to give back, perhaps not a bad way to
live one’s life.
My body, well that’s another story. It was hard to exercise
because I was so weak. But it felt so invigorating. I was convinced that the
harder I worked the sooner they would release me to go home. Lance was my main
PT and would take me out to the parking lot and have me walk on the uneven
planted areas between the bushes. It was nice to be outside crushing the
flowers I couldn’t avoid. It seemed like every
day some new type of therapist would visit with me or test me in some way. They
were all kind and professional. The vocational therapist once gave me some huge
salad tongs to help me wipe my buttocks. I will spare you any further
explanation. A message therapist made me laugh. The speech therapist was in
charge of getting me prepared to actually have food. I was restricted to ice
chips because the inhibition tube that I had for nearly two weeks had
compromised my ability to swallow. If I ingested anything but water and it
found its way to my lungs I would likely develop an infection or some other
nasty complication. So the speech therapist would come to my room and have me
swallow one tablespoon of pudding. This was the pudding test. As I swallowed I
thought “please O please, O please Lord help me swallow in the most impressive
way possible. I wanted to eat and drink in the worst way. Soon I was able to
have thickened drinks and such. When my children would visit they would get me
a soda and then per nurses orders add a thickening agent to it. A thick Diet
Coke. Sounds gross I know. But for me it was delicious. Two days later I
graduated to regular. Oh the sweet bubbly wetness that cascaded down my barren
throat. Welcome home mister soda, welcome home!. Next up, Lorna Doone’s and
"food glorious food". You know the song.
The nurse came by my room and handed me a small slip of paper, a hospital menu. A ticket if you
will. A ticket to happy food-ville. I choose to “drive” lasagna street first. I
suppose there have been many many nice prayers at Thanksgiving, thanking the
good Lord for the meal. But I am also
sure no prayer was more heart felt than my prayer over my humble tray of
lasagna. Not exactly gourmet but I loved
it.
A very nice recreational therapist took me beyond the confines of my little
world at IMC to lunch at Noodles
and Company across the street. You cannot discount or overestimate the
psychological benefit of this type of activity. It’s better than any drug I’ve
taken my entire stay or any time since. Another step closer to home. Generally
things went well on the 12th floor. It was still difficult to sleep.
I only slept an hour or two at a time. In the middle of the night I would sit
on the seat at the base of a window and off to the north at the city lights.
Many nights I would watch the city as the sun came up. I missed Patty quite a
bit during those times, although she was there quite often. There was a regular
analog phone in my room and I would call Patty. We were very fortunate to live
so close to the hospital. I would beg Patty to come see me early in the morning.
I missed her companionship and kind way she listened to my concerns. She would
come, many times and bring the kids. The girls would participate in my physical
therapy by playing soccer with the in the hall way. It was way fun. I missed
them so very much I began to notice that once or twice a day a song would play
over the intercom and the staff stopped what they were doing and began to
applaud. Someone finally explained that this was the 12th floor
ritual for those who were “graduating” and finally going home. I became soooooo
jealous when I heard the music. A nurse came in one day and said it was time to
pick a song for my graduation. I selected the Beatles, Twist and Shout. I
wasn’t sure exactly what day I would be going home. But I knew that it would be
soon. So many of the folks that stay on the 12th floor had been
there for so much longer that I and were in far worse shape. Seeing this helped
me put things in perspective and appreciate just how fortunate I was.
Home Sweet
Home
When I finally left after about 8 days or so,
I was told my stay was one of the shortest they had ever had. The day I was to
return home finally arrived. I took my final lap around the 12
th
floor to the music twist and shout. The PT’s stopped and clapped. I tried to
“twist” and nearly crashed and burned. Finally I was off to my home and family.
Funny thing, I could not remember what my house looked like. I could remember
my Rose Park home but not my Murray home. I’ll never forget turning the final
corner and seeing my home at the end of the street. The yard was perfect and
the flowers were blooming and I was crying. I was completely unaware of the
small army that had come to the aide of my family. The interior of our home was
cleaned. Many many meals were brought. Front steps repaired and rail installed.
A car was donated and the yard was manicured and planted. My salary continued,
Prayers were spoken, blessings were given, Blogs written, love extended and
miracles made manifest.
A virtual
mountain of blessings were laid at my door. I wonder when we finally return to
our Heavenly home, if we will see a similar scene when we turn the final corner
of our life and look to the end our the street and see our home and family
waiting for us. Was it worth 14 hours on the O.R. table, Double bypass surgery,
A repaired hole in my heart, stroke, cascade organ failure and a trip to the
reservation. A journey worth taking? …I say ”all Aboard!”
…where the
Dear & the Mantalope play
My first night home Patty and I held hands the entire night.
The world has a way of defining intimacy, holding her hand that night was the
way I choose to define it.
Living in Montana
They tell me
I had a stroke during my operation. This explains why the team at the hospital
wanted me to go to rehab on the 12th floor. When I asked the doctor
what damage had been done he explained that your brain is like a map of the US.
The very critical portions of your brain are like Los Angeles, Chicago or New
York. The damage to my brain they say was minimal. As if the damage took place
on the plains of Montana. Now every time I make a bone headed mistake Patty get
a kick calling me a new nick name “Montana” I wonder if they have Indian
reservations there.
Debridement
Heart
surgery left me with some major scars on my body. They all required bandaging
each evening (thanks Patty) along with debridement twice a week at the old LDS
hospital. This is a process that requires a scalpel to scrape (yes, I said
scrape) the wound to encourage cellular activity and healing. This process was
painful in the extreme. Many times I would cry during the procedure as Patty
held my hand. Occasionally they would nick my main radial nerve. This easily
qualifies as the most intense pain I have ever felt. This nerve is in the exact
place the Savior had nails pierced through his wrist. I cannot comprehend how
he bore the pain. My wounds included two large and deep bed sores on my
buttocks and two long incisions on each calf and near my knee. (This is where
they unsuccessfully attempted to harvest veins for my heart.) The bed sores on
my buttocks were treated with a medical grade honey. My children thought this
was rather funny and gave me a box of Little Debbie Honey Buns for father’s day
to mark the occasion. Often Patty would take a photo of the offending butt
cheeks and show it to me so that I could monitor the healing process. She then
would delete the photo. Well…most of the time. Sometimes the kids would pick up
moms phone to thumb through the photos. (Cue screaming children tossing the
phone across the room) My battle scars included a 13”long deep scar along the
underside of my right forearm where the harvested a radial vein for my heart.
To this day my 4 year old nephew Ryan
believes this scar came from an attack a singled clawed bear. A long scar along
my sternum with three circular surgical insertion ports just below the
incision. I have named them the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, as they
assisted me in my journey.
Charcot Foot
Charcot foot
is a condition causing weakening of the bones in the foot that occurred in my
foot as a result of significant nerve damage (neuropathy). The bones are
weakened enough to fracture, and with continued walking the foot eventually
changes shape. As the disorder progresses, the joints collapse and the foot
takes on an abnormal shape, such as a rocker-bottom appearance Two months after
I returned home my right foot cartilage dissolved at the Liz Franc joint
(arch). This required major reconstructive surgery. My podiatrist, Clark
Larsen, basically emptied a hardware store into my foot in order to reconnect
the loose bones. I could not put any weight on my right foot what so ever and thus
was required to use a knee scooter for 4 months. I admit there were times I
thought that this was a bit unfair as God had just put me through a rather
difficult medical challenge a few months earlier. I couldn’t even climb the
stairs to get into my house. But dad built me a wooden prosthetic device I
strapped to my leg with a bungee cord to assist me in climbing stairs. ( It’s
nice to have an engineer for a dad) Patty also had the additional burden of
chauffeuring me everywhere I went. This woman rose to the occasion and
magnified her calling as a wife and friend so completely it is difficult to
describe. Through these many ordeals there never was a single complaint at any
time. Her positive attitude throughout was impressive to say the least. I am a
blessed man indeed.
Oral Surgery
In August
2012 I had major oral surgery where all of my lower teeth were extracted. My
diabetes and soft enamel led to what resembled a war zone in my mouth. It’s
time to bury the dead and play taps for my teeth. (Goodbye teeth, goodbye beef
jerky and nuts.) I now use a full upper and lower denture.
ICD Implant
On a fairly
regular basis I would get a heart check up at the heart failure clinic. On one
occasion I received an echo (echo cardiogram) An MRI for your heart, if you will.
They evaluate what is known as an ejection fraction. Ejection fraction is a
measurement of the percentage of blood leaving your heart each time it
contracts. During each heartbeat cycle, the heart contracts and relaxes. When
your heart contracts, it ejects blood from the two pumping chambers
(ventricles). When your heart relaxes, the ventricles refill with blood. No
matter how forceful the contraction, it doesn't empty all of the blood out of a
ventricle. The term "ejection fraction" refers to the percentage of
blood that's pumped out of a filled ventricle with each heartbeat.
Normal percentages are in the neighborhood of
60 to 70 percent. In the hospital I was as low as 15%. At the time of the test
I had only improved to 35% As a result a pacemaker/ defibrillator was implanted
in my chest to regulate heart rate and provide a safety net for my heart. My
heart rate is almost always 60 bpm. In the event of a heart attack or Afib I can
receive a mild or severe shock from the device to restore a normal rhythm. The
heart rhythm specialist can receive a RF signal that will tell him what my
heart was up to at any time on any day or night. I asked the doc if I would
have to let him know when my anniversary was…..if ya know what I mean.
Blindness
While
driving home alone from Idaho on business I noticed a floater in my eye. You
know those squiggly semitransparent worm like things that kind of dance on your
eye. But this was no regular floater. It was very big and rather black. It
appeared to slowly leak into my field of vision as I barreled down the I-15
freeway. The sun was also setting. Within 30 minutes it was like I was trying
to look though a gravy covered window. Thanks to God I was able to exit the
freeway before killing myself and others. I was completely unable to drive. I
called Patty and I was soon rescued by one of her “fly-ladies” in north Ogden.
Off to the ER I went.
They
diagnosed a vitreous hemorrhage in my right eye which made me completely blind
in that eye.. Three surgeries later (including cataract surgery) my eyesight
was restored.
3rd Degree Burns
In mid-December
2013 it was getting quite cold in our drafty TV room. Everyone had gone to bed and my feet were a
bit cold. I thought, Hey I’ll just lay here with my feet near the face of our
super powerful space heater. I fell asleep. About 2am Patty came back to the TV
room and told me to go to bed. Nothing unusual here. She tells me to go to bed
most every night. With left foot near a space heater and the diabetic
neuropathy in my feet, I had previously diminished any sensation in my foot. I learned that I was being “cooked” by the space heater while I slept. My
wife woke me saving the amputation of my foot. More work for the podiatrist and
more debridement. After 6 months the foot is completely healed. If I was a
super hero I might be known as the Hobbler. I can leap tall medical bills in a
single bound.
It's been quite a ride folks. There should be some grand conclusive statement that summarizes the two years of lessons learned. But that is a blog for another day.
I'll leave you with a statement by Paul to the Corinthians:
9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.
