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