One of my lifesavers

About three years ago I noticed that when I would partake in an alcoholic beverage I would feel a flush come over me shortly after my first sip.  It would dissipate after a few minutes and if I continued to drink it would not reappear.  As time passed the flush became more prominent and last longer but I just assumed that it had to do with my lack of a thyroid and being on Synthroid so I tolerated it.  I mentioned it in passing to both my GP and my Endocrinologist and both pretty much had the same reaction probably based on my demeanor which was to say “that’s interesting”.  As time passed my reaction included bloodshot eyes, a pressure in my ears and more of my body flushing so last year during a regular check up with my GP I decided that I would take about three ounces of wine with me and drink it in front of him so he could witness the transformation.  He and I go back almost 35 years and I consider him a friend as well as a great doctor so after the usual banter about not bringing him any wine we awaited the flush to arrive.  It did and with a vengeance and it gave him a jolt.  He checked my vitals which proved to be normal and after about 10 minutes I was back to normal (for me anyway).  While writing notes he said he knew of one thing that could create that reaction – something called a Carcinoid.  He asked when I was going to see my Endocrinologist which happened to be the following week so he suggested I perform the trick for her.  So I did with pretty much the same result in both my reaction and hers.  She ordered a specific urine test which proved positive for the presence of Carcinoid tumors.  I give all that background to get to where I am now and to also make a few points about the medical profession.  Both doctors mentioned above are not only incredible professionals they are both very good people.  My GP is associated with a regional suburban Catholic hospital and in 2010 when they discovered I had a tumor growing through my trachea into my vocal chords it was him that sat down with my wife and I and discussed it and what I should do.  Although this hospital has a cancer center he felt that I should seek something outside the system and gave me names of two surgeons from two other hospitals he had investigated and felt confident they would meet my need.  The first doctor never returned our call until we already had the surgery set up with the second doctor at what is considered the best hospital in Philadelphia.  After that surgery we met the Endocrinologist associated with that hospital and liked her so we decided to stay with her even though our local hospital has several very good doctors in that field.  When the Carcinoid turned up she in turn gave us a name of a doctor who was the local expert in Carcinoid tumors even though he was affiliated with her direct competitor in every sense of the word.  You would say what else do you expect?  In this day and age they are exceptions to the rule.  It all started with my GP doing the right thing in 2010 and it built on that; and that is why they are very special people.  Another point is that you, the patient, should be ready to take the bull by the horns and literally show the doctors the problem.

Op – Day

The least stressful day in this story.   At least for me, I can not speak for my wife.  Once it was lights out for five to six hours what was there to worry about?  It was however a beginning of a disturbing mental outlook that I have never experienced.  The operation was successful and I won’t get into the details; suffice it to say when I depart this world it will be with less parts than when I entered.

Post – Op

I had two roommates during my week long stay in the hospital.  The fact that I had roommates pushed my ratings for this prestigious hospital a notch below it’s competitor.  The nursing staff and support staff (nurses aides, cleaning personnel, techs) were excellent in every possible interaction.  But there are problems when rooms are shared.  HIPPA is out the window and privacy is non existent.  Personally I do not really care about my health details being talked about and I would hate to think that someone could lose their job over talking about it but some people are touchy so it is a law.  My first roommate was a visitor from Vietnam who spoke very limited English and the hospital provided a translator when the few times his wife was not there to help with the communication.   We did not talk and the only communication was whenever his wife would enter or leave the room and we would smile in acknowledgement.  He was young and had a very grateful attitude towards those who were helping him and I wish we were able to talk but in the 3 – 4 days we were together in that room the only words spoken were when he was leaving and they stopped and wished me well and I him.

I was to have a private room for the most of two days.  My mental state at this time was really in a slide.  I would be awake most of the night just laying there with my mind racing and reviewing my life and every mistake I ever made, which I must say is quite a bit.  I tried once to use the Morphine pump to try and relax me to sleep and it worked.  But I had the most horrible nightmare about the fall of the USA with a Russian/Chinese attack in which they were just killing people wholesale much like the Germans in Poland.  I grew to hate the night and still do even after being home for 3 weeks.  Since the operation (and I think it was the anesthesia) I have felt a black hole within.  My faith, my outlook which usually sided on the positive are empty.  I feel empty within and I do not like it.  I hold no hope anymore.  The sleepless nights provided me with a clear picture of how many decisions I made to go a certain path and it was the wrong path.  I also came to an understanding about my age.  Prior to this operation I never felt I was 62 and I had a kids idea of mortality and  I now realize that I am on the tail end of life.

What really sent me over the edge though was my second room mate.  A 30 year old man from North Philadelphia who had his gall bladder removed.  They brought him in about 11:00 pm and he seemed in great pain.  What little sleep I was getting now disappeared.  He had my sympathy until the next morning when the nurses and techs started doing their rounds.  A nurses aide who would come in and take my vital signs came in and took his.  He started to complain of pain and wanted some pain killers.  She asked where his pain was located and various other questions that were the same questions but he kept giving different answers.  She told him that she too had the same surgery a couple months earlier and that the best thing he could do was to get up and walk around.   Later that morning she came back and they began a conversation and he asked where she lived.  She told him Chestnut Hill ( one of the nicer sections of Philadelphia with racial diversity but income levels are higher than most other sections)  When he heard that his attitude was demeaning and he called her a name I never came across.  She was surprised and when she came over to take my vitals she looked hurt.  She had someone else take his vitals after that and would not interact with him again.   I realized then that there is not a racial divide in this nation it is a class divide and my new room mate was of the class that envied rather than striving to achieve and he verbally bullied the young woman of the same race but had the audacity to try and improve her life.  When I thought of the hundred of thousands like him in Philadelphia my despair grew even deeper.

During the day he had a group of friends visit which added more pieces to the puzzle and he was in a jovial mood.  That night was the longest night I experienced.  He was in great pain and at 1:30 am he had to call his momma because he was afraid he was going to die.  As he had her on speaker phone I couldn’t help but hear the conversation which was part babying and part ripping the hospital and the staff and the mistakes of conventional medicine.  All through the night he was visited by doctors who would be asking him questions in order to find the cause of his pain.  Listening to his replies I noted that his answers would change with the person asking the questions.  But the one constant was he wanted pain killers, specifically Percocet’s.  I guess he wasn’t aware that they exchange notes.  That went on all night and when the morning arrived so did another group of doctors.  They were quite concerned and wanted to help this guy but in looking back I sense that they knew the problem but decided to take the long route.  They introduced him to a doctor who was going to study his case from the beginning.  After they left she sat down and asked if he were comfortable talking in front of his sister, mom and girlfriend which he consented to; I guess I blended into the wall.  She started with his dietary habits then switched to what he did for a living.  I had the feeling that she was a doctor who also had a law degree because she was weaving a net in her questioning.  His sister and girlfriend also filled in gaps that he either forgot or didn’t wish to say, his mom remained quiet.  In the middle of talking about any sports he played she asked him about drug and alcohol use.  He said he would smoke pot on a daily basis and stop at the local tavern and have one shot of whiskey maybe once or twice a week.  When she asked about the amount of pot he downplayed it and his sister and girlfriend then hammered him.  It seems that if you combined Cheech with Chong you might approach what he consumed on a daily basis.  Not only that his sister also mentioned that he would take Percocet also on a daily basis.  And that one shot was actually four or more and he would often come home early in the morning in a stupor.  All the time his mother remained quiet.  Finally the doctor told him what the doctors already knew; the intense pain he was feeling was him going through detox and now they knew that they could treat him properly.  They were going to set him up with AA and he would have to accept the responsibility for himself.  When the doctor left it was quiet for a minute then his mom finally spoke, “They should have realized all that before and you wouldn’t have to go through all that pain.”  She then got up and left.

I decided then that I had to get out of there.  I saw clearly the problem that faces our country and I felt only despair for it.  Here next to me was the embodiment of “The Great Society”.  No father was ever mentioned and it is quite possible that his mother was widowed but in the conversations from the prior night indicated that he was the only male in the family which was totally dominated by his mom.  I gave thanks for my mother and father and the home they created.  Not perfect but it was complete.  I was going mad in there so the next day when the doctor on the Surgeons staff offered me the chance to leave that day if I felt up to it I jumped at the chance.  And home I came; physically sore and mentally shredded.  My physical recovery at this point is almost complete and I have returned to work but mentally and emotionally I still have a way to go.  Six weeks later that black hole is smaller but is still present.