The first time my dad died I was only two or three years old. In fact, he died several times that day. My father has the misfortune of being born with a congenital heart defect. The aortic valve that he was born with couldn’t quite do the job it was meant to, so at the young age of 23, my father had his first open heart surgery. This was in the early 1970’s and heart valve replacement surgery was still relatively new, as were artificial aortic valves. His first valve lasted for about a year. The second valve didn’t even last that long, which was evidenced by the multiple temporary deaths he experienced. On the day of my dad’s third open-heart surgery, less than three years from the first, his heart stopped beating and was resuscitated three different times. The third operation was ultimately a success and the new aortic valve lasted almost eleven years.
By all rights, I should have been fatherless by the age of four. But for the dedication of some fine surgeons and their high-tech medical devices, I would have been. At the time though, all I knew was that my dad was sick and couldn’t play around as much for a while. I remember visiting the hospital, vaguely, but never did I have a real grasp of what was really going on. Eventually, my dad healed up from the surgery and got back to being his normal self.
Just as I was entering my teen years, the third artificial valve decided to call it a day. This is the second time I almost lost my dad. By the time he made it to the hospital, after feeling rather out of sorts all day, he was at the verge of death. His doctor asked for a helicopter transport to the nearest competent cardiac hospital but couldn’t get one. She told the ambulance that they had 45 minutes to get to their destination. It was a two-lane highway through mountains and rain and about 100 miles away. Somehow, they made it in time and my father’s fourth open-heart surgery was a success. His new valve would last 21 years.
Each time my father underwent a heart operation his life was literally hanging on the edge. Each time, he was saved from certain death because of the dedication and skill of his doctors and nurses. Men and women trained in the best schools, using the finest tools, in the nicest hospitals in the world.
My father has never been a financially wealthy man, and medical bills have been a constant feature in his life. Even with medical insurance, the operation he had 21 years ago cost him over $10,000. He has been on a daily pill regimen for over 30 years, which has probably cost ten’s of thousand’s of dollars. It’s a small price to pay though for your life, for the ability to be a father to your kids, to be a grandfather to their kids.
There are times when I know my father didn’t think he was long for this world. If he had been born twenty or thirty years earlier, he wouldn’t have lived past that first operation. Yet despite the costs, the odds, and the limitations of medical science, my dad is 56 years old. He is still a young man in the eyes of many, including me, but he is a man who has beaten the reaper four times. This last week, he made that five times.
After 21 years, the artificial valve in his heart needed to be replaced. The surgeons did their job as they always do, replacing his tired, old valve with a new and improved model. Once inside, they also noticed severe damage to his aortic bridge (or arch) and had to spend considerable time rebuilding that valuable piece of the circulatory system. They had originally scheduled a bypass to alleviate some arterial blockage too, but with the unexpected work were unable to complete that part of the surgery. They finished the delicate work in about four hours, but for some reason, my father would not stop bleeding and the doctors couldn’t close him back up. After about six hours, the doctor came out and told us that they were having difficulty controlling the hemorrhaging. The had to lower his body temperature, as well as pump special blood agents into his system, but so far, no progress had been made to stop the bleeding. It was looking grim. Another three hours passed and the doctor came back out and told us that they had finally stopped the blood and had finished up the surgery. But because my father was under anesthetics for over nine hours, and because of the lowered body temperature, there was no way to know how he would come out of it. We went to see him for a moment in the ICU, all hooked up to pumps and monitors and tubes. It was an eighteen-hour day and there was nothing more to do. We went to sleep, albeit restlessly.
Needless to say, my father is recovering nicely at this point, regaining strength every day. His doctors and nurses are amazed at his progress, especially after the traumatic surgery experience. This new valve should be the last one he’ll ever need.
The morals of this story, if there are any at all, could be that America still has the best medical care in the world. The doctors that saved my father’s life performed a heart-lung transplant the night before and performed several other heart operations that same week. The hospital was clean and modern. The nurses were caring and patient and knowledgeable, and in most cases very friendly. Even the housekeeping staff was comprised of hardworking people, friendly people. Maybe the moral is that we should be trying to make sure everyone in the world has this kind of care, regardless of income or social status.
Or maybe it is that the world is getting smaller. The staff was a blend of cultures: the young Sudanese man who immigrated here legally, learned English (in addition to his native Sdanka and Arabic), and is studying to learn medicine so he can return to his home someday and help his people; or the young man from Bosnia, who escaped from a life of turmoil and civil war to become a citizen with his family; he is now a nurses aide helping people alleviate their suffering while making his best efforts to assimilate into American life and maintain his cultural identity. My father’s chief surgeon is from India. Is the moral of this ordeal that we can all get along?
Before the operation took place, my father filled out a living will, giving me his power of attorney and directing the conditions he would or would not to continue living in if the operation did not go well. A formality to be sure, and one you don’t think about much. Not until you think you might need to actually follow through. For about three hours, I had to accept the fact that I may have to implement my father’s desire not to be maintained artificially in the face of brain death or irrevocable mental damage. I read the paperwork before the surgery, so I knew the score. And he knew he could count on me to make the hard choice if it had to be made. After the debacle in Florida last year, this is simply common sense. Perhaps the moral is in learning what it means to honor the wishes of another person despite your own emotions.
This surgery will cost a good deal more than my father has, but because he has Medicare, he’ll only be out of pocket about twenty per cent. He’s not any wealthier today than he was twenty years ago, living on a disability income and a small union pension, so this medical bill will really pack a punch. Like the other times before, he’ll find a way to make it work. Is the moral an allusion to the need to find a way to control the costs of health care? I know when I see the itemized bill I’ll find some very expensive boxes of Kleenex.
Or is the moral much simpler? We never know when our time has come, or whether we have many second chances. We should always try to remember that we must not stop living just to keep living on.
This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 at 8:00 am and is filed under Common Sense, Health, Life.
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December 6th, 2005 at 12:52 pm
There may be another moral….surely two of the richest people in the world are a father who can count his son as a friend, or s aon who can count his father as a friend.
Regards.
December 6th, 2005 at 1:46 pm
I’m thinking that everyone has a “time and a purpose under heaven”…
Thank you for such warmth and depth.
It reminds me to email my friend who has had similar surgery; it must be getting close to time when she needs to return to her doctors’ care.
December 6th, 2005 at 5:16 pm
Just think of all the years you’ve had with him. Hopefully you have had a good relationship. We dont always think about our family members until they are gone. Then it is too late. Be happy you’ve got him still. You are right that the US has the greatest medical care. But at what price? We need to make some changes in the way we pay for healthcare before it becomes too much.
December 6th, 2005 at 8:04 pm
Cheating death, or is it more like advancing life? I don’t know.
Ken, at least for me, your father’s story is uplifting in a way (and perhaps if he was a blogger or an author he might have something powerful to share). It reminds me that, especially at this time of year when commercial zaniness and overzealousness taints the real vision of the holiday season, what is most valuable is/are the people we hold dear.
Indeed, the most valuable gift a person can give is that of their time, shared. It’s the one gift that doesn’t wear out and can’t be revoked.
Blog on brother.
December 6th, 2005 at 11:54 pm
i just noticed that you won 500 credits on the BE scratch card game, lucky you!!
December 7th, 2005 at 10:17 am
unbelievable. your father sounds like a fucking warrior.
December 8th, 2005 at 7:05 pm
I’m so happy for you that your Dad is holding on to life pretty well.
I lost my dad just 3 months ago and though he lived most of his life a healthy man, when he got a stroke, it didn’t take him longer than 3 weeks to live on.
May you be able to spend the best time with your dad while he’s still around. You’re lucky you’re in a place where the best medical care is available.
Best,
Rocco
December 9th, 2005 at 4:34 am
Medical technology has come a long way but does have so much more to go.
Last Friday my Dad died of a Glioblastoma/Gliosarcoma. He had two operation in a year and a half, chemo and radiation therapy…none of which did anything more than extend his life by months.
If I could I would also add one more ‘moral’ to your story…take the time you have and make the very most of it. You never know when the ‘end’ will come.
December 10th, 2005 at 6:50 pm
Yes my step mother has breast cancer right now and she’s more worried about keeping her breast than getting rid of the cancer *sigh*
Anyways, just wanted stop in wish you and your family Happy Holidays….Take Care
December 11th, 2005 at 5:38 am
An inspiring story. Some cats have more than nine lives.
December 11th, 2005 at 5:59 am
wow. just wow. like haldan said, he’s a fucking warrior. wow.
December 11th, 2005 at 3:45 pm
(responses)
HI- There are many morals to every tale if you only look, but your suggestion is one I like. Friendship with ones parents is a wonderful thing, but it requires us to first grow up.
Thanks for dropping in.
Kathryn- You’re welcome. I hope you friend is doing well. Thanks for the comment.
Jill- Ever since I’ve really been able to understand the seriusness of his medical situation, I’ve felt that I’ve been given “borrowed time.” I do appreciate it.
And yes, we may have great doctors and technology, but it still costs too much.
Windspike- Yes, sharing time is among the most valuable gifts of all. That and the ability to love.
Thanks for your thoughts.
Material Boy- Sorry to hear about your dad. Mine is still recovering, and will be for some time, but if the past is any indication, he’ll probably outlive us all.
As for being in a place with good medical care, he’s had his operations in three different states. I guess good care and doctors can be found all over the place. But paying for them? That’s the real issue…
Haldan- Yes…he is.
Dawn- Sorry about your father. Yes we still know less than we’d like to, but we keep learning every day. Some conditionas are more treatable than others, but with patience and study, we may get there.
And your moral is also apt. Thanks for the thoughts.
Athene- Thanks for the link, and I will try to do my best.
Nathalie- Same to you and your family. And I hope your step snaps out of it and gets treatment. Plastic surgery is a wonderful thing these days, but it’s better to live with one breast than to die with both.
Shea- Indeed they do. Nice to hear from you.
Dizzy- That was a lot of “wows.” But yes, I agree with you and Haldan. The man is unstoppable (for now at least.)
December 11th, 2005 at 5:13 pm
What a beautiful story. I lost my father when I was 17 and he was 47. He had a stroke and was gone a week later. There was little medical intervention because that’s the way he and my mother wanted it.
December 11th, 2005 at 10:06 pm
It is just ridiculous that old people have to foot their own medical bills. If a country can afford to bomb Iraq, surely it can also afford surgery… Good luck to you and your family.
December 15th, 2005 at 6:16 am
(responses)
LuAnnBB- Thanks for the comments. Though it must have been tough for you losing your father at a young age, it is still important to know that he left on his terms as well as he could. And if you have to go, that’s the way it should be.
j’s girl- I agree in principal that medical care is way out of bounds. We do need to look at fixing that problem. Thanks for dropping in.