On the evening of January 3, 2003, Massachusetts was having a bad snowstorm. My dad was ready for it with his snowplow and roof flasher. He was interested in making a little money to spend on our family Florida vacation...a week away.
The ice was getting thick on his windshield so he stopped to have a doughnut and then got out to chisel off the ice. He was parked in front of a utility garage with his back to the lot. His buddy backed up his Mack plow truck around the side of the garage and turned his wheel to maneuver around the front of the garage and pinned my father between the Mack truck and his pickup. My hands run cold just thinking of it. The dent my father's body made in his truck is astounding.
My tall, handsome, sweet dad and Papa to my children was crushed. Being such a tall and big 65 year old, and a real "man's man", he told the men who had gathered to help that he was "all right" and was "going home" and drove the 10 miles to his house!!! Shock can help people do amazing things! I also think he wanted to be with my mother. They had never been separated for one night in their 40 year marriage.
During the truck ride home, he lost all feeling in his left leg. The pain was intense, as if there were pins and needles poking at him and his leg had fallen asleep. His friend followed him home. He walked in the door, and slumped in his chair and told my mom to get dressed and take him to the hospital. By the time my mom flew back into the kitchen, my dad had called his best friend, the Chief of Police, and there were two sqaud cars and an ambulance waiting for him. He actually walked into the ambulance!
He went to his HMO hospital first which just scratched its head and sent him to the real hospital in town. When he got into the ER, they treated him as top priority. His abdomen was rising at an alarming rate, but all he complained about was his leg. They took him for a CAT scan and determined major internal bleeding was occurring and they operated immediately. Before going into surgery he smiled wryly at my mom and said, "There goes my Florida vacation!" He was always thinking about being with his wife and family.
They took two liters of blood out of his stomach. He had crushed lungs, damaged kidneys, a torn small intestine, broken vertebrae (not near the spinal cord), broken ribs, and a large blood clot in his iliac artery to his left leg - and the doctor thought because of this, there must be something hiding behind his abdominal organs. She was right - and to our amazement he had a 6 cm aortic aneurysm.
My mother and I, his only family, felt utter anguish. Not only were his injuries massive and severely life threatening, he was also a time bomb waiting to rupture. They were unable to operate on the aorta in the ER because of his injuries. Two days later, his trauma doctor - a realist - told me that my dad had a less than 2% chance of surviving his injuries. As he lay there with tubes, wires, vacuum suction sponges, swelling up with liquid in his tissues, I felt...no...I KNEW that there was a reason for our finding an aneurysm BECAUSE of this accident. I wasn't going to be afraid of 2%.
For the next 3 weeks, I stayed by his bedside for most of the day, reading to him and telling him what his body needed to do in order to recover. As he lay there in a drug induced coma, I read him National Geographic and other travel diaries to remind him of all he hasn't seen yet. Although he would not remember, he could hear everything I was told. I whispered into his ear and told his organs what to do. I held my mother's hand. I prayed.
I kept thinking of a quote I found a few days after the accident - "Do not let the thoughts of the ways and means through which I was brought here disturb the JOY over the fact that I AM HERE, which, after all, is a great, good fortune." Although it was written for another context, it really resonated with me in the ICU. I needed to see this as a positive opportunity to change the course of the future we would never have known about if it weren't for this accident.
These thoughts got me through those dark days. On the 20th he opened his eyes. He had very little cognition of what was going on around him. A few days later he woke up in earnest. The fun was just beginning. Then he had needs...real needs. He tried to write, but he couldn't just yet. He wanted water, he wanted a back rub, he wanted up, he wanted down...all the time his hands were pointing here and there. We were overjoyed to be given this opportunity with him. He barely fit in the bed, his trache tube huffing wildly, his understanding of how he got into the ICU just wasn't there. It was bliss. Many patients around us had died in those weeks in the ICU...we were the OTHER ones...the ones with the husband/father/Papa who had the second chance at life...
In a quiet moment, I told him all about what happened and about the operation that they did on his leg after the blood clot. His muscle tissues had some death and the doctors had two open wounds with muscle hanging out of them to relieve the pressure. They were able to save the leg as he did have feeling in it. I didn't tell him about the aneurysm. It wasn't fair. He was recovering and needed to continue without a heavy heart. My mother and I agreed that we couldn't tell him he was going to recover only to be operated on again in a month after leaving the ICU only to return to there and start all over. We would wait until he was out of the ICU and rehabilitation.
As the last week in January approached us, my dad complained of severe pain in his back aching deep within him. I noticed that his little toe was turning black and blue without having been injured...the little signs of the aneurysm's presence were making themselves known. With all the stress, the aneurysm was sitting precariously on the brink. The aneurysm is also causing some other havoc on his miraculous recovery. It is causing pressure on his intestines and causing them to not function properly. The doctors operated on him again this afternoon. They are keeping a close eye on his aorta.
I suppose with all diseases, everything is relative. The aneurysm is dangerous. It lies in wait in my dad's body and could rupture at any time with little warning. I wish it weren't so, but honestly, I am glad to face it head on and I will be at my father's side to help him face it in any way he needs to. This accident was a brutal way to find out it was there, but perhaps finding out the hard way is better than never knowing at all...never having the opportunity to at least try to correct the problem.
The surgery lies ahead of my dad like a sleeping dragon that perhaps will never wake up and can be defeated. Even if it does wake up, and he suffers, he has the opportunity, at least, to fight it. And we who love him will be grateful for any chance to help.
"do not let it disturb the JOY over the fact that I AM HERE, which, after all, is a great, good fortune."
In time...it will all become clear to us.
Update: 25 Mar 2003
Today marks the 81st day that my father still lies in wait in the ICU and step-down unit. It seems like a lifetime. During these 81 days, his aneurysm has grown about .5 centimeters (somewhere in the ballpark of 6+cm). It is impossible to get an accurate reading because the trauma from the accident makes his kidneys very unhappy with the contrast they need to use to see the aneurysm accurately.
His trauma injuries have taken their toll. From the picture at the top, it is evident that he was a big man "with legs the size of tree trunks and hands like a gorilla's!" Today, after very little movement and a totally unmotivated physical therapist, he looks like a man who has aged 20 years in 3 months. His muscles are completely gone leaving hanging skin and bones. The worst part...as if there could be anything worse than I've described, is the hospital nighttime procedures that could be tried in any war tribunal! In the 81 days that he has been there, he was only left to sleep with a darkened room and a closed door (with monitors) for 5 days and only because I protested loudly. My father is so grossly sleep-deprived that he has experienced horrific psychosis. Psychologically speaking, we haven't really visited with the real "him" apart from about 8 times. This psychosis leads to medication...all of which has proved to be ineffective. Real sleep is what is needed...not Haldol, not Ativan, and not Resparitol.
Resparitol was a real nightmare for my mother and I. He was given the drug to curb his hallucinations...(from a lack of sleep)...that were actually not too bad. He saw water dripping from the ceiling, plants growing behind doors, waterfalls under the television. Peaceful things. After a week of Resparitol, he was absolutely reality ridden. He called 911, he called his friend and told him he was being held hostage, he tried to undo tubing...and many other things so unlike this sweet, caring man. It broke our hearts and we cried.
Like the pushy daughter that I am...I fought with the doctors about the drug until they relented...(in the mean time, they hired a baby sitter...instead of just taking him off the drug and seeing what happened!).
What I've also realized is that hospitals are set up to take care of injuries. Now this might sound funny, but I really mean it...they are like "fix-it shops" for the body. In this state of the art facility I was unable to find one person who cared remotely about a person's emotional or psychological well being. He never saw a psychiatrist! The nurses are very sweet but their banter and chatting went well into the night. The lights were on, there was laughter in the hallways, there were noisy machines cleaning the floors. You would literally need to have been raised over a highway to block it all out.
Sometimes the answer is not drugs...
My father is so ill that he is not able to receive his surgery for his aneurysm. My father is also so deconditioned because of the lack of sleep and the lack of physical movement. It is a vicious cycle.
The plan today is to get him to rehab for two weeks and then he will return for the surgery. When he can go to rehab is the big magical question. They do not have to take him if he is hallucinating. Isn't this crazy?
In the meantime, they are certain that even through the fuzzy images they have, that his aneurysm is growing. We hope there isn't a rupture...he is just too weak to undergo another major operation. More than likely he wouldn't survive it. If he can get up and out they will do a stent graft through the groin. May God go with him.
Thank you so much Bill for creating this website. It is good to hear how things can go so well against many odds for so many people.
Update: 21 May 2003
Just when there was very little hope and lots to worry about, my father was allowed to go through with his AAA surgery on May 5. The doctors were very concerned because of his being crushed by a truck on January 3 and all the medical considerations from such an impact on all his internal organs. There were weird rashes that needed to be resolved and kidney functioning questions. The Friday before his Monday surgery he got the thumbs up to be operated on.
(As a side note: Before he was released to go into rehab in March my dad was put into rooms with men who had just undergone the aortic repair surgery. They were in a considerable amount of pain and my father was really nervous that after the months and months of ICU care that he would have to undergo another round of pain and medications. He was afraid of being in the critical care unit again since he was so compromised.)
I drove up to see him for the surgery on the Sunday before. After the long ride from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts I raced up to his rehabilitation hospital room with my kids and husband just before visiting hours were over. He was up waiting for us. He looked great but nervous. We talked about nothing important...just to keep things light.
The next morning he was to be transferred by ambulance to the hospital for an 11 am surgery. My mom and I went alone (dressed in comfortable clothes for the long hospital wait ahead!) and we followed the ambulance to the hospital. He kept asking us where we would be and where we would meet him. The ambulance ended up going to the wrong entrance and my mother and I ran around this enormous hospital looking for my poor dad in his stretcher! I was so afraid that I wouldn't see him before the surgery. I got so upset I was choking back tears.
Finally it was resolved when I complained to an administrator. She personally escorted us to the pre-operation room where he was being prepared for the surgery. (I learned from months of experience to ask and complain whenever you have to as the patient's advocate...never be afraid you are putting someone out...your loved one literally gets lost in the shuffle of the day to day hospital experience. It can't be helped and you can do something to make it a little better for them...a little more humane.)
The anesthesiologist was curious why we were coming in to sit with my dad. I told him to say "good-bye" before the surgery. (I didn't mean the eternal good-bye, just the "see you soon" type but it didn't come out that way!!! Everyone started to laugh except dad and I felt like such an idiot!) The anesthesiologist made light of the surgery and was really playful. It helps to have a funny anesthesiologist I learned.
The AAA surgery before ours wasn't going as planned and we had to wait for two hours in the holdng room. For those two hours my dad and I talked about so many things. I was just amazed at how much we haven't said to each other since I left home and created a new family. You can get so busy with your life that saying important things never seem to happen or wouldn't be well received.
Mostly I talked to him about what he went through that he couldn't remember from the previous months and how devastated we all were and what a miracle he was sitting before us alive and well. He didn't know anything about what happened and we helped him to see what a gift he was to us, how his very existance was beyond any hope we had. I told him how much I loved him.
Soon all the nurses and physicians who ever knew him in the ICU came to see the "miracle" and they were flowing with words of praise of how good he looked and how they remember him. (My father has no recollection of being in the ICU or parts of the step-down unit. He has trauma amnesia.) My dad said, "My daughter just told me that I had only a 2% chance of survival..." and the doctors chuckled and said, "Joe, honestly, she was being generous."
Then it was time to be wheeled into surgery. My dad kept asking everyone if we could see him when he came out. I knew that it would be another four hours before we could see him again and I asked him if he wanted us to leave and come back or wait in the hospital. He said he wanted us to wait here. I thought to myself, "I wouldn't leave even if you told me to."
We waited for about 4 hours, I passed the time reading and my mom just looked around at other people. She was a bundle of nerves. I was really worried too, but the reading was taking a lot off my mind. This wasn't just going to be a typical surgery patient. He had a lot going on internally.
At about 5:30 one of the surgery nurses came into the waiting room to tell us that it was almost over and he did very well. There were no problems. We were relieved. The doctor came in about 6 pm and said that he was in recovery. We waited until about 7 pm when he was going to be wheeled upstairs and he came out of the swinging doors looking around for us. We ran up to him and he looked great! Now, he usually didn't look healthy since the accident, but he was glowing and smiling! I was tearing up and so joyful. I can't explain the relief!
The next morning, surprises abounded. He was sitting in a chair, had just finished eating pancakes, and hadn't had one pain killer. He was very nauseous however which was a side effect of the anesthesia. We kept waiting for another shoe to fall but it never did. He was finally, and hopefully, out of the woods.
He didn't need the pain killers because his body was so over-worked that the AAA surgery was not a big deal to his body. His nervous system accepted this without complaint. He went back to rehab after 2 days for another week. This was not due to the surgery but because of needing to gain more control over his gross and fine motor skills. Soon he was using the stairs and taking showers unassisted.
He came home after 5 long months on May 14. Now this may sound silly but there is nothing more wonderful than calling the phone number from your childhood and having your father pick up the phone and say hello. I feel as though he had died and came back from that death. He defied the odds. I had accepted in my heart that he would most likely die during that cold January. And now I sit in absolute wonder that he is alive.
With the aorta repair there is a lasting hope now. Whatever is thrown our way will seem like a lark. There is much cause to celebrate this Father's Day. My children and I will take the train to visit their Papa and to bask in the glow of whatever he is able to do. This October we will prepare a Miracle 66th Birthday Party at his country club.
On a final note, I was just thinking how wonderful my grandparents were in relation to everything that's happened. How loved I was and how much I learned from them. It seemed as though those days with them would never end; the sleepovers at their house, the smells of food in the kitchen, the sound of the Red Sox game coming from their living room. Those long summer nights sitting at their kitchen table playing games were my greatest childhood memories. Yet, time marched on while I didn't even notice and then they were gone. It wasn't tragic, they were old and tired, but the tragedy lies in what I took for granted and how much I would give to have a game with them again at their kitchen table.
My time with my dad won't be ever, ever taken for granted again. I look at him and I weep with joy. At the very least, he was brought back from certain death to teach us something valuable about him and his relationship with all of us.
I am glad to tell you this today and to share the good news with this great web of people. Thank you for all your support. You're such a great group of courageous people.