This discussion covers my stay in the hospital after the Whipple surgery and before I was able to return home. I will try not to be too graphic. But I want to continue to be as honest as possible and give my full view of events. Remember, even then, I was quite strong-willed in my determination not to be depressed and to be thankful about my prognosis. At the time, this was not easy. But I kept a positive attitude. I was resolute that the future would be bright.
So, please do not be discouraged from what you are about to read. There’s another old saying I like to keep in mind. It is attributed to the philosopher Nietzsche: “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.” I never realized how true that saying was until I began traveling along this journey that I’m on.
Initially, I was placed in an intensive care unit (ICU) in the hospital. There were five other people in the room besides me, set up three and three. At that point, I was completely out of it. I was on various IVs and high-dose pain medications. I was being fed through my nose and had a catheter to relieve myself. Moving at all was the last thing that I had on my mind.
Being in the ICU was an experience in and of itself. One woman was hallucinating and screaming, and had to be sent to another room. And with the actions of one man, I thought I too must be hallucinating. He kept taking off all of his clothes and fighting with the aides when they tried to get him dressed. He too was removed from the ICU. After seeing that patient, I thought it’s sure interesting being in the hospital.
I was regularly visited by various doctors and nurses. They all took excellent, compassionate care of me.
And they monitored me very closely to make sure I was improving.
After two to three days, I was moved to a regular room. Yea. That meant I was doing much better and didn’t have to be monitored as closely. I still had the feeding tube and the catheter though. I was not allowed to move around for a couple of more days.
My good luck continued as I was able to secure a heavily-discounted private room. That was great. My family appreciated the snacks that were always available. I could only look at them and smile in envy. But I very much cherished the extra privacy and nursing care that this gave me. Thanks to CB for help with the discount.
When my gown was changed, I noticed these drainage bags hanging from the left and right side of my abdomen. Hmm, I didn’t expect that. But again, I was so happy to be alive and getting better that I didn’t care. They just looked peculiar.
Here’s an anecdote that I hope you do find funny. Every morning, Dr. Coppa and his team would visit me. Once in a while they were together, and often they were apart.
Dr. Coppa is an early riser and makes his rounds while it’s still dark out. One day, when his team visited me separately from him, I said to the team members: How come he always beats you? Shouldn’t you be ahead of the boss? They got all flustered by that. So the next day, they were there at 5:00 AM. They proudly asked: We beat him today, didn’t we? I laughed and replied: Nope, Dr. Coppa was here at 4:30 AM. I’m sure he teased them about that.
Gradually, I transitioned from the feeding tube to hot broth and eventually to soft food. When I would call in my food order to one of the hospital’s nutritionists, I would chuckle and ask: What am I allowed to eat today? It was always the same answer, not much. Furthermore, they also had a special “yummy” diet for me because of my diabetes. Rather tasteless, sugar-free orange Jell-O was one of the choices.
I was quite happy (that means elated) when the catheter was finally removed. Some of you know what I mean.
Wink. Wink. At first, I had to be accompanied on each trip to the bathroom by an aide. But since I am VERY determined, after a short while, I convinced the staff that I could maneuver my way out of the bed and walk into the bathroom by myself—dragging the hospital pole with me.
My next achievement, and one that made me really proud of myself, was to get out of bed (along with my pole) and walk laps of the hospital floor. There was actually a line on the floor to follow. At first, I did about two laps. By the time I was ready to leave the hospital, I was averaging two to three miles a day. I had to try hard not to knock into anybody with my pole as I “zipped” along through the hallways.
The physical therapist did a lot of breathing exercises with me. And it took a while to build up my stamina. By the way, I lost about 40 to 50 pounds from the time just before I was diagnosed until a couple of months after the Whipple surgery. I had to push myself to want to eat more and to train my one-third of a stomach as to how to digest food again.
While I was convalescing in the hospital, I had a lot of visitors. My family members were there all the time. Several of my friends and Hofstra colleagues stopped by, although I tried to hold the count down since I was always so tired. Even though I’m not naming you, for fear of leaving someone out, you and I both know who you are. And I will ALWAYS appreciate you for your great kindnesses and best wishes. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you. You are the best. This remains true in summer 2020, as part of my fond memories.
To quote Dr. Albert Schweitzer:
In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. 4
On day nine in the hospital [or it might have been day ten], I was cleared to go home. One of the procedures I had to clear was to be approved by physical therapy.
When I told the therapist what I exercises I was doing, she watched me take one-half of a lap around the floor and proclaimed me good to go. Determination pays off.
There were a lot more forms for me to fill out and sign. Many detailed instructions were provided for me to follow. And I required final clearance by the attending doctor on the floor. I wish I could say this was all fast and simple. But my wife Linda and I waited for a while for everything to be completed.
By the time we were approved to go home, it was already night time [remember, it was February], and it had started to snow. I felt badly for my wife Linda because she had to worry about the lengthy drive home as well worry about me being okay during the longer than usual drive, due to the steady snowfall. Nonetheless, we both got home safe and sound. Unrealized by me, there remained one more challenge for the day. I had to navigate the 14 steps from the entranceway of our house up to the bedroom. It felt I was in slow motion.
Upon reaching the bedroom, I plunged (plopped) face first onto the bed. I was so incredibly exhausted. Linda had to help me get out of my clothes and into my pajamas. And I immediately fell into a peaceful and contented sleep. No matter what (even if in a luxury hotel, let alone a hospital room), it’s always wonderful to be in your own home and in your own bed.
Upon awakening the next morning, it was now, on to the next step of my recovery and my personal journey— getting myself physically stronger. The Whipple surgery had left me worn down, tired, and thin. Yet, I was ready to live life every day. And I wanted to truly be upbeat about my situation.
I just needed my body to cooperate.