Month: July 2022

The long and arduous journey that lay in front of me couldn’t have come at a worse time. The two to three weeks that I would remain in the Jefferson ICU, would literally come to an end right before Thanksgiving. A mere few days before Black Friday and the start of my big season. Twenty six straight days of long hours and running around the store at a frenetic pace. How the hell will I be able to do that! Dr. Gooch basically told me that I would need to stop working and take at least three months off, then gradually return to the store. Obviously, he never worked in the jewelry industry. That would never happen. My routine in the brain injury and stroke unit was basically a repetitious regimen of drugs, ultrasounds, constant checks by the nurses and residents. Every four hours, a nurse came in with two humongous football shaped pills for me to choke down. I forget the name of those pills but their purpose was to stop any vibration in my brain. To dry up the large amount of blood swirling around in my skull. Whatever. They were nasty. What else was nasty? The constant sound of Snap, Crackle and Pop in my brain. Like Rice Krispies popping constantly out of my ears as the pain kept throbbing throughout and the blood dried inside. The Percocet every four hours kept the edge off most of the time. There was no stimulation like my phone or TV. Too much on the brain at this point and kept off at the request of the doctors.

My mornings everyday started with the loud shouts that came from outside my room. The staff would literally have morning Pep rallies at the front nurses station. A lot of loud gestures and shouting like they were getting ready for a hockey game. It was annoying when your roommate was groaning in pain and hitting the call button over and over again. With no response. Until of course the final “Whoop” went up and the shift got moving. “Ridiculous” I thought. After breakfast, every morning around 11 am, the Ultrasond tech would come in with her machine and do a comprehensive study of my brain, neck and chest. The gel was always so cold. This would happen three times a day…for almost three weeks. Resident doctors came in constantly to review my condition and examine my head, neck and groin.

It was tough for family and friends to visit. Although they wanted to. I wasn’t the best of company and Jefferson not the easiest place to come down to. My parents, Lori, Nick, Aunt Roseann and maybe a few more. It was boring. The only excitement was when my roommates went crazy and had to be moved into private rooms or rushed to the operating room. It was a crazy place and three weeks was gonna kill me. The way I felt though, I had no choice.

A Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage is a mostly or highly fatal brain injury. For some reason, high blood pressure, weak veins, medically induced/drug damage, trauma, whatever in that class of all of the above that can cause a blood vessel to burst and cause massive brain damage or death to an unexpecting victim. I was very fortunate to survive mine. Survivors of Subarrachnoid Hemorrhages face months to years of recovery. Many trips to the Neurologist for follow up visits and cat scans to rule out additional points of interest and the chance of relapse. Memory issues are common as well as extreme fatigue. These issues can go on for years or worse for many patients who digress in their quality of life. No driving either for like 3 months or more, depending on the recuperation period of each patient.

One morning, a young nurse was given the job to change my IV that was in my forearm for the last ten days. Well, I am a bad stick. After three tries, she gave up and called in a male nurse. Three or four more pokes and I was still not done. I had enough. The expert called in was an older Philippino nurse who handled it well and showed up the youngsters. Thank God. Getting stuck with a thick IV needle really sucks. Getting stuck like seven times…awful! The days wore on and Dr. Gooch came by regularly to check on my progress and fill me in on the test results being generated everyday. I was getting there. The vibrations in my skull were lessening and the chances for relapse becoming rarer. All good signs that I was improving and surviving this debacle. The nights were long, the days, the same.

Lori came down to get me out a few days before Thanksgiving. Our meeting with Dr. Gooch lasted about one hour as he detailed the extensive amount of do’s and don’ts for my rehab and recuperation. It was wonderful to see daylight and feel the fresh air as we made our way to the car. I was pretty shaky. My release date was November, 21st. Two days before Thanksgiving. I slept for two straight days then spent the holiday in my bedroom while everyone feasted on Lors delicious Turkey and all of the great sides she prepared. I had a plate delivered. It tasted so good after that awful hospital food. The next day on the calendar was Black Friday. The big start to the holiday shopping season. My season. Sorry Dr. Gooch, I have to work nine hours a day for the next twenty seven days. Or stay home and recuperate for three months and lose my business. No choice here. I’m alive, I’m awake, I’m able to stand, I’m in the store starting tomorrow. That’s the way it goes. This should be fun.

Next Up: The Christmas from Hell!

As I laid on the table in the Ultrasound procedure room, the Resident doctor that was tasked to do my operation, was viewing my charts and previous history. I started asking her questions about the procedure and how many times that she had performed the process. Her answers were vague and she began to perspire profusely. I was now extremely uncomfortable. The reason that I was lying there in this predicament was that this problem was created by another Resident in the OR the night before. Soon thereafter, a middle aged nurse walked in and sat down at the end of the operating table and began entering data into a computer station. She didn’t say a word while she worked and just smiled when she caught me watching her. The cherubic Resident walked out of the room in a few minutes and told me that she would be back with the rest of her colleagues to begin the job to correct the reverse aneurysm.

A few moments past and the silence in the room was broken by this ridiculously strong Southern accent , ” How y’all feeling this morning Mr. Keenan ?” Wow! This was like a deep south, Alabama, Louisiana style drawl. I remarked that I was damn scared right now that this person was doing my procedure! She began to ask me about my history and many general questions that preceed a medical procedure. Legalise and printed out paperwork to sign. The usual, just in case we have a major problem stuff. I could barely understand her half of the time. She was very sweet though and understood my anxiety. I brought up the fact that this “Virgin surgeon” was about to perform my delicate and dangerous surgery. I then asked her that if she was in my position, what would she do? Flat out, her response was,”No Way honey!” Oh my God! She verified my worst fears! I was petrified at this point and told her that I felt the same way, what can I do? She said “Don’t worry, I got you”. This Southern Belle, my hero, walked out of the room for a few minutes and obviously handled my business. My Southern angel led the contingency of doctors back into the room. The petite Head of the Ultrasound surgery department informed me that under the circumstances, she would be personally performing the bulk of the procedure. Not only was the other doctor still sweating profusely through her surgical mask, her face was red and overall demeanor less than accommodating. She was not a happy camper. Not my problem. I could not handle another screw up. I was in pain. Terrible pain.

The procedure began by numbing the area of my upper inside thigh to ready it for the very large needle that would deliver the glue or cement that would seal the artery. It took a while for the team to come to a decision as to the precise location of attack, pinpointing the exact spot while viewing the Ultrasound screen. When the decision was made to inject, it would be a big pinch while the needle pierced my leg, entering the area of injection. Remember, my instructions were to scream out loud if a huge pain hit me, alerting the team that they missed their mark and sealed off my vein. Zero blood flow meant catharizing my left leg, through my groin, to unclog the blockage in the right leg. No pain meant that the injection was a success and subsequent scans would show proper blood flow. No comingling of the blood flows, no more danger. No more pain. At least after a few days. When the surgical crew left the room, my Southern angel dressed my wound and readied me for the next step, a CAT scan on the whole leg to rule out any clotting or leakage. She wheeled me out while I listened to her speak in Southern tongues. It was music to my ears. After all, my brain was full of blood, my head was still throbbing without much of any pain meds, and I would be heading back on a gurney in a short while for the short but sweet ride back to the Jefferson Neurological ICU. My home for the next three weeks. I can’t remember her name, but she saved me that day. Thank you, my Southern Belle.

Back in my ICU bed, I crawled up into a fetal position. The last 15 hours were pure hell. I needed massive amounts of rest, sleep and prayer. I was not out of the woods yet. As the sun set and the room got dark, the only noises I could hear were the constant screams and moans and crying of poor souls who were suffering from brain Hemorrhages, strokes, head trauma, brain cancers, etc. It was not a great place to relax, only attempt to heal. As the night wore on, I still was not getting any pain meds from the big guy. The head of the department was a young MD named Dr. Gooch. Straightforward and concise, he pulled no punches and was not some squirrely,, wishy washy dude. “Mr. Keenan…you came to us with a skull filled with blood. Pressure was being put on your brain and we operated to seal your Hemorrhage and stabilize the situation as quickly as possible. The operation was successful and now you will have a long and arduous recovery. While I listened to him speak, the only thing that I could hear were the bells and banging going on in my head. When he was finished speaking, for the first time ever in my medical world, I lost it! “Where are my fucking pain meds! I can’t take the pain anymore!” Please dude!! Dr Gooch smiled, crossed his arms and said, “Get Mr. Keenan some percocet, every four hours and Double up the first dose…stat” Thank you Dr. Gooch. He would pop in early the next morning to reveal his plan to rehabilitate me. I finally fell asleep for a little while until the screams of my roommate peirced the veil between us. His pain was so acute. His condition very grave, suffering a massive stroke. I think he passed the next day. So sad. Yes, I am a lucky guy but I can’t take much more.

Next Up: The Recovery Begins

I woke up in a hospital bed with all kinds of equipment around me. All kinds of sounds like beeps and chirps going on all around me. The main thing here being… I woke up. I was informed by a nurse at my bedside that I was in the Neurological ICU post op ward at the Jefferson Neurological Hospital. It was early in the morning, around six AM. Soon thereafter, the attending surgeon and surgical resident that performed my surgery entered the room. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Keenan” was the first thing that he said. The Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage that burst in my brain was leaking a large amount of blood into my skull and thankfully the surgeons were able to secure the situation before what could have been a fatal end for me. He said that even a little bit longer response time, it would have been too late. I am, again, a lucky man. I was in a tremendous amount of pain. My head was just pounding as the anesthetic was wearing off. The surgeon told me that the ICU Neurologist was preparing a pain management program for my stay. I hope that it’s quick! They exited the room as I gathered my thoughts for the first time. Wow! What the hell just happened? Where’s my family? Are they OK? Do they know that I am in the ICU?

Lori had called Nick who was having dinner at Parx Casino with friends. He had left to go out after Lori had driven me to Doylestown Hospital. He was so used to my trips to the ER, he wasn’t too worried or aware of the grave situation presenting itself at the time. Lori called Nick as soon as the ambulance left Doylestown Hospital and he headed home right away to bring Lor downtown to Jefferson. After they learned that I survived the surgery, Nick headed home and Lori slept in the waiting room until she was able to see me. Our visit was brief since I was still in a precarious state. My parents came in to see me for a few more minutes and then take Lori home. It was a long night for everyone. A long scary night. I tried to rest as the pain continued to escalate in my head. It was still pretty early in the morning, around 9 am. The doctors spoke to Lori for a bit and informed her that I would probably be recuperating in the hospital for approximately three weeks before being released to go home. Really now? This was obviously bad. How about some pain meds, please?

I tried to sleep while the flurry of the floor buzzed all around me. Good luck. This was one busy place. Dozing off, I tried to rest my brain and body. The trauma to my whole self was massive. While I lay there, a massive pain starts grabbing my right groin. An excruciating throb inside my thigh like it was going to explode. My discomfort was contagious as the nurses rushed to my side, hearing my cries for help. What was happening now!! The surgeons were called in to assess my situation and to my dismay, were well aware of my predicament. One doctor sat at the edge of my bed massaging my leg. “I regret to inform you, that during your operation, one of our surgical residents created a condition known as “Reverse Aneurysm”. As the Resident was placing the catheter in my groin to follow the artery to my brain, he pierced the arterial wall and then pierced the vein wall beside it. The situation was rectified but when withdrawn, the catheter caused bleeding that traveled between the artery and vein comingling the blood flow. This condition was not only extremely painful, it was very dangerous. The only good thing was that a new round of Morphine would be administered immediately to help with the pain. Barely. Within a few minutes, two ambulance personnel showed up and I was placed on a gurney. What?? Without explanation, I was being taken down to the ambulance bay for a load up and ride across the street, literally, to the actual Jefferson Main Hospital for another procedure to repair the Aneurysm created while saving my life the night before. I kind of felt that this stealth mission was being performed due to a major fu!@#k up while my life was being saved. I wasn’t complaining. While I waited alone in the pre-op area, I wondered what procedure would be coming next. Just then, three doctors appeared from behind the heavy pleated curtain. “”So what gives guys”?, “What am I doing here”?, “What’s the plan”?, “On a scale of 1 to 10…how dangerous is my predicament?” All major concerns of mine at this point! There were two new residents, one cherubic looking brunette and a really young looking Indian fellow. The head surgeon was a very, very petit Phillipino woman. Soft-spoken and confident. She, well I think she, will use an ultrasound machine to locate the Aneuryism and seal the leaking vein with an injectable sealant. The procedure was precise and dangerous. If I felt tremendous pain, I needed to yell and wave my hands. That would mean that the glue used to seal the leak had infiltrated the vein and blocked the blood flow. Ok then. This day just gets worse. The danger scale 1 to 10? About a 9 according to the attending physician. The cherubic attending resident was apparently next up to give the procedure a shot. I don’t think so!

Next Up: A Southern Angel

November 4th is just a bad day on my calendar of life. I thought that my world would start to normalize after everything that transpired in the year 2017 had me upside down. The 4th started out as a normal Saturday, going to work, selling jewelry, contemplating the Christmas season and going home to relax and watch some TV. There is a great little Chinese take out restaurant, Golden China, that has the best Chinese food in the area. Our family has been ordering food from there for twenty years. Joey even worked there for a while as a delivery person. I love their Shrimp with Garlic sauce… no carrots please. I placed an order around 4:30 to take home for dinner. The food always arrived at closing time at the store. Daphne, the owner, always threw in free egg rolls.

I arrived home and after putting the Chinese food on the kitchen table, I headed upstairs to change into shorts and a t-shirt. Lori was getting ready to go out with some friends from her school and Nick was hanging out, waiting to eat with me. A pretty average Saturday night. That would change in an instant. I reached down to the floor to pick up my clothes and Bang!!! I dropped to my knees. The pain in the back of my head was so horrible I could barely breathe! Like I had gotten shot by a gun, the bullet piercing my brain. I could barely hear Lori saying, “What’s wrong, what’s wrong!” I couldn’t function. I was able to only stand up with my head bowed between my knees. I laid in bed, trying to assess my situation. It was bad. I told Lori that I was sorry but please get me to the hospital! I could barely make it to the car. The drive to Doylestown Hospital was not fast enough. Lor did her best. The nurses took me back to a bed quickly and, as usual, Dr. Malibu Ken walked in and assessed my situation. Dr. Ken, not his real name, was always there whenever I had to visit the emergency room. He looked like a California surfer dude, talked like one too. He knew me well. The first step was a CAT scan to see what was going on in my brain. After that was completed, some Morphine to ease my pain. We waited for the results.

The twenty minutes it took for Dr. Ken to come back to my room seemed like hours. He asked me if I had ever had Migraine issues before. Bad headaches. Nope…never. His diagnosis was to send me home after the pain meds were delivered, with some additional meds if I needed them going forward. I wasn’t buying it. This was too severe. I never had anything like this happen before. I was right. No more than five minutes after he walked out, the curtain flew open and Dr. Ken was in crisis mode. Nurses were all over me and a gurney ushered in to take me to the Helicopter pad! What!! I was being evacuated to Jefferson Neurological Hospital. Dr. Ken explained to us that the CAT scan came back showing a brain Hemorrhage. A Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage. This was a devastating scenario that needed immediate attention at the brain trauma center at Jefferson. No time to spare. Was I scared? Damn right. WTF 2017!

Lor gave me a kiss and I told her that I loved her as they rushed me to the elevator. My life was flashing before my eyes yet again. How was this possible? So many years battling Leukemia, now this! The elevator doors opened and I was on the ground floor again. It was pouring rain outside. The Helicopter was a no go. It would be a hundred mile an hour ambulance ride, from Doylestown to center city Philadelphia. I thought that I was going to die from the ride. Forget the brain Hemorrhage! Bouncing around in the back of the ambulance, I couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t helping my situation. A normally hour plus ride turned out to be forty five minutes, sirens blaring. As we backed into the back entrance to the hospital, I could see the nurses awaiting my arrival. The ambulance doors swung open and out I went. Right to another elevator and into an operating room. The ice cold room was eerie. Big lights overhead, surgeons buzzing around, all waiting for me. This was a big deal. Within minutes, I was out for the count. 10, 9, 8, 7… all over again.

Next Up: “You’re A Lucky Man”