I had lived through the procedure and so I thought I was doing okay. I was sent home in a few hours. I cringe when I think how lucky I had been, to be smart enough to make an appointment with Dr. Acher for three days after the catheterization. That following Thursday, 12/21/06 (Christmas being on Monday), I was almost sent home by Dr. Acher until I said, “But why are my legs so much worse?” I could barely walk into the building. He said, “Maybe we should get another test or two. I’ll see if the Doppler person is still here. It’s so close to Christmas, people are leaving early.” Again, I was lucky the guy was there. When he was doing the test, he jumped up, almost knocking his chair over in his rush to get to the doorway, and yelled down the hall, “Dr. Acher, don’t leave, she has a blood clot!” Now it was an emergency. Dr. Acher told me that I needed to get to the hospital right away.
Because Dr. Acher was scheduled for an airplane flight to go on a skiing trip, he couldn’t do the surgery. Before I left for the hospital, he introduced me to Dr. Mell, his colleague. Dr. Acher assured me I would be in good hands in spite of my worries about how serious this could be with all the other times that right side had been traumatized. I wanted Dr. Acher to do the surgery so badly, however, I needed to have the surgery right away and could not wait for him to return. I agreed to get to the hospital to get the pre-op done that night and the next morning. On the way to the hospital, I prayed that the blood clot would not cut loose and travel down into my leg. I knew I was at risk to lose my leg or worse. I told my three kids what was going on, but I didn’t want to tell them how scared I was. We prayed that God would spare me, putting our trust in Him, and asked that whatever was to happen that we would have the courage and strength to deal with it.
That night and the next morning I had all the pre-op tests. The surgery was scheduled for noon on December 22, 2006. I was getting smarter now about setting my brain on important details, by paying more attention to times and events. Just before surgery, I already had the IV in my arm, and the attendant told me, “Dr. Mell is right on time, he’s waiting for us.” I looked at the clock; it was now five minutes to twelve. As I was rolled out of the cubicle on my way to the operating room, I knew I was going under, and I do not remember getting to the operating room. The next thing I remember was waking up to a conscious level when my bed hit the doorframe to my private room. I looked at the clock; it was now 5 minutes after seven. My brain was set on the last thing I remembered, seeing noon on the clock. I knew I had been out for 7 hours, never remembering the recovery room.
Despite my previous surgeries and the pain I had suffered, that night was the worst I had been through. I had sent my family home because I had spent many hours in my life sitting with people, waiting for them to either recover or die, and I knew how long those hours were. I didn’t want my kids watching me when they were helpless and unable to do anything for me. The night seemed endless and I felt terrible. I believe it was all those hours of being unconscious and the effects of sedation, but I just wanted the pain to stop and to be at peace. I knew I was older and these surgeries were taking a toll, not just physically, but emotionally, too.
Two days later, I was feeling that I shouldn’t be sent home so soon, but I wanted to get out of that hospital. I had a wonderful neighbor to check on me during the day until my son got home from work. What would I have done without my son John? He moved in with me to help in 2000 when I was having my first back surgery. I thought the stigma of living with his mom bothered him, but he never complained. It’s just that after the first back surgery, the procedures never stopped, and I don’t believe that he dared to leave me. Even though he was working two jobs, he was still there at night and on weekends. I wasn’t completely alone. My other two children, Diane and Steve, and their significant others, were always there when I needed them, assisting continually with housework and yard work. Without their help, I would not have been able to remain in my house.
On December 28, 2006, I returned to Dr. Mell. I still felt terrible and I didn’t have a clue if the surgery had been successful or not. Dr. Mell wrote that I was on track for six days post-op. By January, I wasn’t feeling things were on track. I was planning on returning to Dr. Timmerman, even though he was with Dean, because I trusted him. I was devastated when I received a letter from Dr. Timmerman stating that he was also leaving Dean and moving to Spring Green to open a practice there. His letter to me explained that he was not allowed to see former patients from Dean.
On January 18, 2007, I saw Dr. Mell again. I reported how limited my walking was, and asked if I could have a treadmill test. Dr. Mell was very defensive, and I felt he was extremely rude. He told me, “I won’t order any more tests for you with the results I have on the Dopplers and other tests.” I was stuck; I couldn’t go back to Dr. Acher now. I did not feel that he would go against his colleague, and besides, I felt that the UW was protecting the Dean system, as the UW doctors seemed reluctant to talk about what had happened to me in the past. Given my past experience, I felt that doctors wouldn’t speak against other doctors, in spite of the misery of their patient. Only a Dr. Timmerman would jeopardize his position to stick up for me, and Dr. Timmerman was gone.
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