A seminal moment.
What happened on February 25, 2002 was one of those life events which started with me at the epicenter, and rippled-out through my family and beyond, touching friends, neighbors and even complete strangers.
Like many of life's hallmark days, the time since - in this case an entire decade - has passed quickly at first glance. Only when I step back and view this event in the greater familial context of who is still here - where they are and what they are doing with their lives - and do a head count of who has joined our family and who we now only get to associate with in our hearts and memories do the years seem pronounced.
This story is literally the story of a string of miracles, actual divine interventions, whisperings of the spirit, promptings and tender mercies which added together saved my life. It is also the story of the strength of a family, the enduring power of friendship, the incredible skill and dedication of trained professionals and the power of faith and prayer.
At some point in my post-college young adult life I developed Type 2 diabetes.
It went undiagnosed for years, though most of the classic warning signs were there. Foremost among these was severe weight gain. Even then, it might have remained undetected, with disastrous consequences if not for a trip to a podiatrist in Idaho Falls to try and get some relief from increasing foot pain. Almost as an afterthought, Dr. Michael James ran some blood work, and several days later called and asked me if I knew I was diabetic. This was Miracle Number One.
Through my parent's personal and professional connections, I soon found myself under the care of Dr. Carl Vance and the team at the Rocky Mountain Diabetes Center, a group of doctors and researchers renowned across the country for their cutting-edge expertise with this epidemic disease. Miracle Number Two.
By 2002, my weight had ballooned to just under 300 pounds, had already taken a heavy toll on my broadcasting career, my marriage and was now literally impacting the quality of my everyday life. After what I remember to be a year or so of consulting with Dr. Vance and coaxing from my mother, who had dealt with a similar problem several years earlier and finally turned to elective surgery, I took a deep breath and decided on what is now considered an extreme solution - a gastric bypass stomach surgery.
This was Idaho Falls, not Los Angeles, Boston nor even Salt Lake City. The much less invasive, lower-risk lap-band procedure was still years away as was the variation of this operation which can be done laparoscopically. Mine was to be what's called a roux-en-y, a full incision stretching from navel to breastbone. In the most basic terms, the stomach and intestines are surgically re-arranged to create a much smaller stomach or pouch, which only contains substantially smaller amounts of food. This facilitates rapid weight loss.
As I mentioned, my Mother had made this choice several years earlier and had the operation performed in Salt Lake City. Her surgery went off without a hitch, and minus complications, was back home within days. Little did we know or suspect my experience would be much, MUCH different.
The morning of February 25, 2002, I arrived at Eastern Idaho Regional Medical Center in Idaho Falls accompanied by my Mother and Father. My wife Betty was at work at Idaho State University in Pocatello, and our two youngest daughters, Courtney and Caitlin were in school in Idaho Falls. Tiffany was away in college, making wedding plans with Abram. Nicole was in Cleveland, where Boone was in dental school at Case Western.
At this point I should mention I personally remember very little to almost nothing about my life going forward for the next several months until I gradually awoke out of a deep fog in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit of the University Of Utah Medical Center in Salt Lake City. What I know about the events of February 25, and the interminable hours, days, weeks and months after come through the memories of those who were there keeping watch over me and each other, and from the writings of my dear Mother, who kept a journal of this odyssey.
I was wheeled into the O.R. around 1 p.m. My surgeon was Dr. David Chamberlain, a veteran of gastric bypass surgery locally and someone who had been highly recommended to our family.
My Mother records:
"We waited in the surgery recovery room from 1 PM until Dr. David Chamberlain came apx. 7PM and told us everything went fine....he told us Mike was in post-op and would be for a few more hours and was so heavily sedated he would not come out until morning. It is hard to remember my exact feeling except to feel so pleased that things had gone so well and to be excited because I knew what it would be like for Michael...a truly new beginning for his life. We got home at 10 to 12 so the first 12 hr. period was behind us."
What none of knew at this point in the story is something had gone wrong during the operation, something so small as to go undetected by Dr. Chamberlain and his team. To this day, Dr. Chamberlain, Dr. Vance and the many other doctors and specialists who would become involved in the fight to save my life are not exactly sure what went wrong and why.
The short answer is, an infection had started at the surgery site, which rapidly led to sepsis, a condition where bacteria overwhelm your bloodstream. Blood pressure drops, resulting in shock, and major organs and body systems including the kidneys, liver, lungs and central nervous system stop working properly.
By 5:00 the next evening, my vitals and ongoing lab results were alerting my caregivers that something was seriously wrong. After much consultation, a decision was made and at around 6:30, they opened me back up and went in, where they discovered the rapidly-spreading infection and necrotic, dead tissue at the surgery site. Dr. Chamberlain basically had to re-do most of the original operation and debride the surrounding area. They finished shortly before midnight.
Thus began a running, round-the-clock battle to save my life which would test the skill and resolve of teams of the best medical professionals in Idaho Falls and Salt Lake.
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This is just the first chapter of a long story which would stretch over months and affect the lives in ways big and small of many, many people; as I mentioned, family, friends, neighbors and even strangers. For the actual ten-year anniversary date, I wanted to at least mark the occasion with this much of the story.
In the best spirit of attempting to leave meaningful parts of family history for future generations, this specific blog entry will be an on-going effort until the entire, remarkable story is told. It is my hope that even in the midst of all our busy lives, those in the immediate family will be able to pause somewhere in the weeks and months ahead and add their recollections of this time and how it impacted them using the comments feature below.I think this is important, because in the family discussions we have had at various times over the last ten years, we have agreed that in times of challenge, crisis and trial, it is critical to ask not 'why me' or 'why us' but rather 'what are we supposed to learn from this?'
We have had some interesting moments during quiet conversations wondering aloud what was supposed to be learned through this time in our lives and who exactly the lesson was meant for.
To be continued...
2 comments:
Let's see, I had a 9 day old baby the day you went into surgery, and had been on my own with her (meaning without Mom's help) for all of 2 or 3 days when I got the news that your surgery had not gone well. I sat on the other side of the country -- still recovering from childbirth -- and feeling completely disconnected from the family and helpless to do anything about it. It was awful, and as the weeks and months ticked by, I couldn't believe that I remained stuck in Ohio while my family was in crisis in Idaho/Utah. And yet, when the time finally arrived in May to come out for Tiff's wedding, I was absolutely terrified to come see you in the hospital. I felt guilty, I was scared, and most of all, I didn't want to face the reality of what had happened. Up until that point part of me was able to remain convinced that it wasn't real. But I knew once I saw you there in that bed, I would have to come to terms with what had really transpired in the 3 months since Rylan's birth. I remember coming out of the hospital room and sobbing, and having everyone else say, "No! No he looks SO good! This is so much better than how he looked before!" It was a very difficult time for all of us, but it was AWFUL to be so removed from all of it.
Even though I was only 12, I remember that day very vividly. I had been at a friend's house after school when Courtney showed up and said that I needed to come home with her. Her demeanor scared me, because it was clear that something was wrong. When we arrived back home, Tiffany and Abram were waiting for me in the living room. Tiffany sat me down next to her, and told me that something had gone wrong with your procedure and that it was possible that you wouldn't survive. It took a moment for that kind of information to sink in. When it did, I literally curled into the fetal position, trying to block out this horrific news. For a little girl who had just had to face the very real possibility of losing a mother to cancer only two years earlier, it was more than I knew how to deal with. Tiffany spent a moment trying to coax me out of my little ball, but quickly gave up, instead pulling me into her lap, where I sobbed for what I remember to be a very long time.
Most of my memories have faded and blurred as the years have past, but I will never forget the absolute terror I felt as a little girl, yet again having to face the fact that I might have to say goodbye to one of my parents far too soon.
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