February will be fabulous if for no other reason than home. I won’t bore you with the report of my operation, but I did note some reflections as I came back to life. The intensity of the experience is difficult to describe. The joy and pain overwhelms one so much that the mind finds no past experiences to use to describe them.
Some of those experiences in my visit to the hospital:
The exhilaration of looking down over my feet and seeing June and 10 of our 11 standing there. Joe, who was absent then, had been there the night before, after the operation, to report to June of my progress. His knowledge, as a paramedic, made it possible for him to intelligently explain to June what was happening and what progress was being made. He also saved her the discomfort of having to look at me for too long a time in my most mordant condition.
The night before the operation I experienced no fear of death, although the risk was there. I attribute it to my eternal optimism, apparently inherited along with the heart disease. The knowledge that brothers Jim and Dick had undergone the same operation at an older age, as well as John MacDonald, June’s brother-in-law, and our good friend and fellow grandpop Jerry Hopkins who had likewise survived the operation, also helped. So the lack of fear had some reason behind it other than my natural optimistic self.
The surprise was being wheeled into the operating room and having someone place a mask over my nose, being asked to breath in and then a voice saying ”Paul, Paul, it’s all over”. The eyes saw a face. It was Joe Golden, then June, then Joe Konrad, whom I was to later learn was a nurse in ICU who knew some of my sons from Cardinal Dougherty High School.
The blues came and went. The hands were fastened to my sides and I tried to lift them causing attendants to issue some soothing requests. I remember some discussion about giving me blood and Joe Konrad pushing for it. June later reported it resulted in a turnaround in my recovery.
The next day, Friday, January 22nd, was the worst day of my life. The pain was universal and pervasive. My mind was never still with admonitions and thoughts that everyone had abandoned me. Nobody loved me! The memory even now, two weeks later, is one of relief that I cannot feel the way I felt then, nor really communicate to others how like in suspension I felt.
The healing must have started, because the next day I was moved to the 17th floor and the ICU unit there. I even had visitors, including Tom, Donna, Tommy & Linda. Linda refused to come near my chair since from my nose ran a tube to a bag – I could see she didn’t like what she saw!
Then there was the visit of the twins and Tracy. June had heard David wanted to see my scar, but upon seeing it, peeking up over my pajama top under my chin, his enthusiasm quickly waned.
The hospital is no place for rest. There was a constant hum of noise and people. One night, a lady in the next ”suite” proceeded to have her TV on quite loud even at 3 a.m. Then there was the continuous monitoring of your vital signs, taking blood, going through respiratory exercises and treatment. The treatment was to inhale through what looked like a gun and then exhaling, causing a billow of fine mist to leave from the end of the gun. June, observing my doing so, wondered if it was ”legal”, since it looked much like smoking a pipe of some illegal substance.
You had a companion in the room who was in various stages of recovery and treatment, who had a TV set, etc. My first companion was an Ed McLaughlin who had spent 3 weeks in Frankford-Torresdale Hospital before it was decided an operation was necessary! He had been operated on two days before me (1/18/94). He needed additional attention because he was a diabetic, so these conditions were not conducive to rest. In addition, the finding of a comfortable position in the medieval torture rack called a hospital bed added to the lack of sleep. However, along with the medication I learned we received a moderate sleeping pill. It apparently was discontinued on Monday night (1/24/94) but I was advised that if I thought I might need one, just to ask for it. One Tuesday night I got a new roommate right from the recovery room, full of tubes and assistants. He, I later learned, had had an angioblast operation. It is administered locally, so he was vocal and full of complaints which added to my not looking forward to any sleep. At 9:30 p.m. I walked down to the nurse’s station and asked about getting a sleeping pill. l had felt I could probably go without it, but expected my roommate would be receiving constant attention all night long and interrupt my rest, so the journey to the station. I was advised that it was too early! I could have one at 10:30 or 11:00 p.m. when I would receive some medication. As I turned to leave I said “Well, .if I’m asleep, don’t wake me to give me the sleeping pill'”. It brought a laugh from some of the nurses and one agreed “It makes sense!”
On my comings and goings in the corridors, l noticed one gentleman with a black silk robe walking and pulling along an i.v. unit. I noticed him on several occasions. I saw him chatting with various other patients and nurses. One day, as June and I were walking down the corridor, he was coming up and commented on my jazzy pjs. June had seen to it that even in the hospital I looked well. I told him she got them at a sale in Wanamakers and noted he did fairly well in the same department, with his silk robe and multicolored hospital pajamas. He said with good humor the robe was from a sale at Wanamakers and that the rest he collected from a room there in the hallway marked “Linen Room”. He said “You just go in and pick out the ones you like!” He certainly was at home.
Sometime later. after June left, he stood in my doorway and started the usual chat “What did you have etc.” We then realized we were both from Fox Chase and.he told me his name “Ed Bradley,” I chided him about his relationship to the past President Judge. Ed Bradley, and he acknowledged he knew him and a number of the Judiciary since he was a disabled police officer. Then I mused that some years ago June and I were walking in Pennypack on the bike path and a bicyclist pulled up behind us and pedalled along with us telling us about his exercising and his recent bypass operation – his name was Ed Bradley. It was the same Ed Bradley, only several pounds heavier. He had been in Hahnemann 3 times in 1993, all heart related. Despite that, his spirit was undiminished and, as he pointed out, being depressed about the matter would only agitate his condition, so he kept smiling and was full of hope.
I am a newspaper person. I get a daily and Sunday paper. Sometimes I’ll read a great deal of the news and commentary, glance at the comics and always do the crossword puzzle. So, during my sojourn in Room 1763 at Hahnemann, imagine my pleasure when on the fifth day of my incarceration, a lady stopped at the door and said “newspapers, magazines, books, etc.!” I started immediately to head for the hall. As I did so, I reached down into my pajamas for some cash. Well, of course, I had no money! I stated this aloud to the salesperson, cart driver, as I headed for the door. Before I could get there she announced, as she quickly rushed the cart away ”No money, can’t help you.” I was quick: to smile, one, that I had even thought about buying something, and two, the incongruity of someone trying to sell something on the cardiac corridor where we were carefully instructed upon entrance to the hospital, to surrender all valuables, including cash, to our spouse or others. One more contradiction of hospital life that gave me a laugh. Incidentally, I did get a paper most days I spent in confinement, thanks to my ever loving, caring June.
Dr-. Goel was the surgeon. It is pronounced “Ghoul”. As June pointed out, not a very dignified name for a heart surgeon, when it conjures an image of a body snatcher. But Dr. Goel is far from ghoulish. He is a handsome Indian with a mellifluous accented, deep voice. He always visited dressed in a business suit, and his chiseled, handsome face had eyes that twinkled with good humor.
We met the night before the surgery. It seems strange that you have such a casual acquaintance with someone who is going to have a very intimate venture with you and your body, but that’s the system. He came for the execution of the release and pointed out that the risks listed on the form included death. I noted that it was tucked away in fourth or fifth place on the form as if there was an attempt to have it hidden. He assured me that was not so, but it was a risk, and then he added, however, success is 98%. I signed on the dotted line. He then asked me what my goals were. I stated ”To run a half marathon in October, 1994. He replied ”You shall do so, and even better!” I was tempted to ask, but didn’t, if I failed to break my personal record at over 60 would he give me my money back?
He visited me sometime after the surgery. He was again dressed in a suit and tie, unlike some of the other surgeons who appeared at bedside still in their surgical gowns and hats. I later learned that this was one of his trademarks, along with being known as ”Magic Fingers” Goel and his good humor around many depressed and depressing people. 1 got a bit: of that humor on his next visit when I was looking forward to leaving around Tuesday. He stopped to say something like “I see you have come up with some irregular heartbeats.” I said “Yes, and the cardiologist decided I best stay another day to monitor it.” Then, said Dr. Goel, with a twinkle in his eyes, “They should expect such irregularity from you, since you are an Irishman!”, or something like that. It brought a smile as he seemed able to do on each visit.
One of the joys of being in the hospital was receiving all the good wishes and visits. I certainly had an abundance of …
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The thoughts about healing brought this verse to mind:
Slowly the body inches back
To do the things it could.
But the mind races ahead
To do the things it would!
Healing is such a slow process
You never seem ahead –
One moment up, another down,
Or is it just in your head?
I look forward to simple things
like a good night sleep
A walk in the sun,
And to the day the healing is done!
So I can get these thoughts to you while February remains, I’ll say goodbye for now.