Vanity

This is the last installment of the history of traumas in my life, the last of my near death experiences. Near the end of the two week crisis I entered the hospital emergency room Sunday morning with a malfunctioning drain from my stomach. For a week I had argued with the surgeon substituting for my doctor who was out of town. For the fourth time, my bed had been soaked. There were two drains and the other was working perfectly. The place looked deserted. If you want good service at ER, wait until Sunday morning when all the addicts and indigents have gone. he nurse at the desk asked, "What brings you here?"

Without a moment's hesitation I said, "Vanity"! Ted was getting pretty tired of taking me there, three times in the two days. The doctor was very irritated, and showed me for the third time how to collapse the drain to get it to start doing the job. I started to cry and showed him that I evidently did the other one right, because it worked fine. He removed the whole apparatus and discovered a small hole in the tube, apologized, replaced it, and was on his way.

Why was I in the situation? Well, I was about to turn seventy in a few months. In three weeks we were going to China for a month as part of our missionary duties. I had been working very hard to get my weight down, so I could have some new clothes made by my fabulous Shanghai tailor who could do it all overnight. I had saved several beautiful pieces of fabric, cashmere, silk, etc. from my last years of teaching. I had saved my money. I looked at my pear shaped figure with the lifeless stomach fold that simply would not go away, and called a plastic surgeon I knew. He assured me he could get me in a few days later and have me carrying my heavy suitcase in a couple of weeks.

It went well. I was only down at the surgery center a few hours. At home I was walking around, sleeping well at night and the next day Ted whirled me around the living room and pronounced me ready to go dancing. A few hours later I had difficulty breathing and was in the hospital on life support. My lungs had suddenly filled with blood clots. If any part moved to the brain, I would be gone. All night I was kept awake with tests and with blood thinners going in each arm. When I dozed the bells went off, bringing an angry nurse to remind me to keep my arms straight or the IV would shut off. All the next day it was the same. Talk about sleep deprivation!

The day nurses in ICU were very nice. One of them warned me that the next night they would only have one nurse, and that If I needed anything I might have to be persistent. She placed the call button in my hand and assured me it would bring quick results. It brought the nurse who helped me with the bedpan. It brought her back to take it away. I immediately fell asleep. An hour or so later I woke because I was freezing, and realized I was completely uncovered, exposed to anyone walking past my door. I called to a girl going by and asked her to cover me. As soon as she came in, she called to the head nurse to say, "Your patient is dirty. I will help you wash her and cover her with a warm blanket." That taken care of I settled into a wonderful sleep for several hours, waking at five AM to the realization that all my strength was gone and I could not move.

The call button was still in my hand. I saw the nurse at her desk facing me with her head down on her arms asleep. I pressed the red button. She raised her head as called, "What do you want?" I asked her to come. She was very irritated, because I was not in pain. I tried to explain that something was terribly wrong, because I felt like there were worms or snakes moving all over my body. I asked her to call my husband. There was a phone near, but I could not move to reach it. She said it was too early and told me to go back to sleep.

As soon as she left the room a voice, a man's voice, spoke to me, "Scream, or you are going to die!". I screamed as loudly as I could. She whipped around and told me to be quiet and not wake up the other patients. As she walked out, I screamed again. I cannot ever remember having screamed before. It worked.

I saw her go to her desk, heard her say, "Dr. Clayton, your patient is freaking out on me!"

A few minutes later he was at my bedside. Luckily he was just going by the hospital on his way to the surgical center a few blocks away. I heard him say, "Would you look at that! Her stomach looks like a birthday balloon!" Then they were running with my bed down the hall to the elevator. My husband was called and told that I had a setback and he was told to call our daughters. They made the decision, that if I stopped breathing they were not going to try to bring me back to life. I was awake through all of this and able to tell them my blood type.

Soon I was aware that I was being given four units of blood all at once. They had cut a small hole in my neck and placed a double shunt where two bags could flow in at once. I told them it really hurt and asked if they didn't have novocain. The doctor said they didn't have time to get it.

I remember their talking about my blood pressure being so low and the hematacrit or red cells. Someone in the room said he had never seen a patient's that low. Strangely, I knew I was near death, but I felt no panic. I was in and out. Then I realized I was back in my room and there were doctors all around my bed. Katy was also there. The other girls were too far away. The heart surgeon was saying they intended to do an angioplasty the next day. Katy immediately left the room and called their neighbor in Salt Lake who is a very respected heart surgeon, a man all the doctors in the room knew, who advised against having that procedure so soon after such a trauma. There was evidence I had a stroke in the operating room. Dr. Frishnecht asked Katy, "Is your husband a doctor, too?"

"No", she replied, "He is an attorney." The room went silent, and the doctors all walked out.

Dr. Clayton took me back to surgery a few days later to clean out all the old blood in my stomach cavity. Thus, the drains I went home with. He asked me about the worms and snakes, a phenomenon he was not aware accompanied depleted arteries. The nurse had told him she thought I was an alcoholic with DTs. We all had a good laugh! A missionary? My word!

Needless to say, I was in no shape to go to China. Ted went alone. The stroke left me with so little energy I could not concentrate on TV or reading, even if I could have held the paper or book. Interestingly, the days passed quickly. While Ted was gone, I decided to go to the doctor in Salt Lake for a thorough heart check up. It was from him that I learned the nurse had shut down all my machines that night, because the alarms that sounded every time I fell asleep bothered her. Had they been on, the drop in blood pressure would have alerted every one. My fingernails actually died, and had turned black. Dr. Mackey said the bottom heart muscle had atrophied and would never work again.

I told everybody I could about my experience. The head administrator came to my house to talk to me. I convinced them the nurse had no business being in charge of desperately ill people, and got her transferred to rehab.

I gradually gained my energy back. The only time I have ever been aware of a lack of oxygen is when I walk up even a slight incline, especially if I have just eaten. Then my chest and arms hurt if I don't slow down. Recently, I decided that after 12 years I should have another check up. Dr. Frishnecht is still considered the best in town, so I went to him without reminding him that we had a former encounter. I had a feeling he remembered. He was very cautious, did not discuss the tests or anything, except to say, "You have a very strong heart."

Don't you think I have had my chances? The most depressing thing now is the probability of livingto be a hundred. Someone sent me a questionnaire on age prediction. I filled it out as honestly as I could, and it predicted I will live to be 102. I went back and decided maybe I don't get enough exercise, and maybe I don't eat as many veggies as I should and lowered it to 100.

Sorry, girls. I can't interest your dad into taking it. You will probably have to worry about both of us for twenty more years ! Let me know if I should send the questionnaire to anyone who may read this.