A LAYMAN’S PERSPECTIVE OF CORONARY BYPASS SURGERY
Paul JasonOne of the things that I discovered during my illness is that people that you least expect to give you support and assistance take on roles which are truly astonishing. One such person is a client of mine who is a real estate builder/developer. He called me at the hospital a few hours after I checked back in, when he discovered from my secretary what had happened. After I described my current condition to him, he asked me whether or not I was going to have the surgery performed at Montefiore Hospital and, if so, who the surgeon would be. When I gave him the name of the surgeon who had visited me, he exclaimed: “That’s the doctor would performed triple bypass surgery on my father over fifteen years ago. He’s great. My father is almost eighty years old now and the bypasses are still holding up.”
Truly comforting news. But I still knew I had to get a second opinion. And I didn’t know who to get it from.
My client told me that he had had extensive business dealings with a well-known philanthropist, who had given generous endowments to several metropolitan area hospitals. This philanthropist had heart problems himself, and had an outstanding thoracic surgeon. Within an hour, my client called back and said that I should arrange to have my film delivered to this surgeon at his office near Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center in Manhattan at 10:00 a.m. the next day, a Friday.
The arrangements to deliver the film the next morning were made. Before 10:30 my bedside phone rang. It was the thoracic surgeon. I was startled, and thankful, that he would take the time, on such short notice, to review my film and to call me. I guess that’s why he’s in the “Castle Connolly Guide: How To Find The Best New York Area Doctors” also. He confirmed the severity of my arterial blockages and said that I was not a good candidate for angioplasty and the insertion of stents. He agreed that a quadruple bypass operation should be performed.
Then I asked him whether he thought that I should remain at Montefiore and have the recommended surgeon perform the procedure. His answers to both questions were in the affirmative. He opined that Montefiore has a very good cardiac program, that he knew the surgeon at Montefiore, and that this doctor was a very competent cardiothoracic surgeon.
Whew, what a relief! I had lucked out: without leaving the hospital, I had received my second opinion and professional guidance as to where and by whom the surgery should be performed. The die was cast. The only remaining questions were: when would it happen, and would I survive?
I then called the surgeon’s office, advised his staff that I was still a patient at Montefiore, and had decided to have him perform the surgery. Since the weekend was fast upon us, they advised me that the procedure would occur the following week, as soon as the doctor had an “opening.” (A double entendre?).
I forget who first said it, but “into every anxiety a little misery must come.” In my case, the misery came in the form of gout. The classic gout symptom is sudden, severe pain in the joint of the big toe, although it may also occur in the ankle, wrist, knee or elbow. The pain ordinarily intensifies and the joint becomes very sensitive to the slightest pressure applied to it or the surrounding skin. My left big toe started to kill me. I guessed, just from general knowledge, that it was gout, but I had never before experienced it . . . why now?
Gout, I later learned, is a type of arthritis, and it occurs when uric acid accumulates in the body and forms crystals in a joint. It is known that a gout attack can be precipitated by injury, surgery, the consumption of large amounts of alcohol or protein-rich foods, fatigue, stress or illness. Hmmm. Gout is also associated with high blood pressure, and the chance of an attack increases when the victim is taking the blood pressure medication “thiazide”. Hmmmm. Had they introduced thiazide into my IV?
All I know is that the attack came suddenly and within one day I could hardly stand up because of the pain in my left toe. What a predicament!! Here I was on the verge of open heart surgery, during which I knew they were going to remove a vein from my leg . . . and I couldn’t even stand up. If I couldn’t stand up prior to the surgery, what would it be like after the surgery?
I advised the medical staff of my affliction and the diagnosis of gout was confirmed. Some medication was introduced and, impressively, within a day, the symptoms were under control. After another half day they were gone altogether.
On Sunday I was advised that the operation would not occur on Monday, but would probably happen on Tuesday
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On Monday a young man walked into my room and advised me that he would be the anaesthesiologist for my surgery. He asked me a bunch of questions and then asked if I had any questions. Of course I couldn’t think of any pertinent questions because I had not been under general anaesthesia since I was twelve years old. That had been a horrendous experience, but I had every reason to believe that things had changed since then.
The one thing I did tell the anaesthesiologist was that I was terrified; that I had no adult surgical experience; that I didn’t know what to expect; that I was distraught over the idea of being wheeled into the operating room while I was still conscious. I asked if I could be rendered unconscious before I was brought into the operating room and he said “Yes.” This served to allay a good part of my apprehension, for I felt that if I were rendered unconscious prior to entering the operating room, I would be totally oblivious to anything they did to me. If I survived, no one could truly prepare me for the ordeal of recovery; only someone who has experienced it can have any valuable preparatory information, and, even then, each person’s body reacts differently. I knew several by-pass patients personally, so I had some idea of the immediate effect of the surgery. But, at least if I survived, I could look forward to the restoration of my life; and, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t know what happened.
Monday night, April 3rd , a nurse’s aide appeared in my room and advised me that he was going to shave me in preparation for surgery the next day. Now, there’s shaving, and there’s shaving. The aide proceeded to remove all of my hair, from my nose to my toes, front and rear. I had grown a full, but trim, beard more than thirteen years previously. I had watched it turn from a reddish-brown to salt-and-pepper gray. Three years prior, I had decided to remove the sides of the beard and retain a mustache and goatee. In fact, I had grown rather accustomed to, and fond of, facial hair. As a result, when he finished, I felt like a naked ape.
Talk about shock! This was the first time I had seen my clean shaven face in all those years. For the first time I had to acknowledge Nature’s brutal ability to change us imperceptively as we wander through life. I peered into the bathroom mirror at the strange face staring back at me. God, I hadn’t realized how much my face had changed over the years. After looking at myself in the mirror every morning and night for thirteen years - - - that’s about 9,500 times - - - one sort of gets an image of what one looks like. Was that really me?
It surprises me that in moments of great stress, the human mind can occupy itself with such trivia. It must be a natural defense mechanism.
To be continued next week….


