Life Interrupted: When the Doctor Becomes the Patient

By Marie Bush Pinschmidt

This is not a book about dying but a lovely written memoir of living, loving, and learning, and finally accepting that which cannot be changed. It's purpose is to inform and inspire as well as assure those in similar circumstances that their strength is immeasurable and that they are not alone.

The author has known great love, great joy, heartbreak and more than her share of life's sorrows. She learned that one cannot control or conquer the will of the wind, but can climb aboard and from the ride learn what it means to endure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456716356

Marie Bush Pinschmidt

Marie is an author and artist residing in Palm Beach Gardens, Fl. Creativity is her game and she plays it very well. She believes love is the most powerful emotion one can experience. In addition to this memoir, she is the author of three published novels: MAN ON THE BALCONY, MAGGIE'S RETREAT(a sequel), and her most recent SPANISH MOSS.Her essays have appeared in national magazines, and on-line newspapers. Marie grew up in the Ohio Valley but lived for eleven years in New Orleans with her husband, Norman Pinschmidt, M.D. who was a staff member at the Ochsner Clinic and Prof. of Ophthalmology at Tulane Medical School.To learn more about her writing and painting, visit her website at http://www.mariepinschmidt.com

Book preview

Chapter One

The periphery of my life was much like any other day that early Monday morning in late March. Outside our comfortable two story colonial home on Lakeshore Drive, the colorful New Orleans sunrise had appeared in the Eastern sky as usual. Oleander, hibiscus and bottlebrush bloomed profusely in the fenced back yard where blue jays vied for attention. Traffic increased as it did every morning as local residents rushed to downtown offices and students made their daily commute to classes at the lakefront campus of the University of New Orleans.

Inside, our home smelled of freshly brewed coffee. There was nothing unusual to prepare me for what was about to happen — something that was to change our lives forever. I kissed our young daughter, Lisa, and sent her off to school with the usual admonition to study hard and be a good girl.

However, there was something very different about one family member that morning. My husband, Norman, still dressed in his robe, rested in his favorite chair in our family room. On the advice of his personal physician, he was taking a few days off from his duties as Professor of Ophthalmology at Tulane Medical School. On the previous Friday, he had experienced a pressure sensation in his chest while walking near his office on Tulane Ave. A subsequent physical indicated high triglycerides but only slightly elevated blood pressure. Because of his symptoms he was advised to enter the hospital for evaluation but he convinced his doctor that hospitalization was unnecessary — that a few days rest at home would take care of the symptoms. This attitude was nothing new; the needs of others were always his first priority.

I was on my way to the kitchen to start the daily post-breakfast chores when he called out to me. I rushed to his side and found him clutching his chest.

Call 911, he told me, his face distorted with pain.

With eyes wide open, our nightmare began.

Within minutes the paramedics arrived and quickly began putting their lifesaving talents to use on a man who had devoted his life to helping others. As preparations were made for transport to the hospital he reached for my hand — to reassure me more than because of any personal apprehension. That’s the kind of man he was.

With my thoughts in total disarray, and my body seeming to function in slow motion, I hurried upstairs to dress. First, I grabbed the bedside phone and called my best friend, Irene, on whom I could always depend in an emergency. Assured that she would look after Lisa, I forced myself to think of only the present — not our very uncertain future.

The short drive downtown to the Medical Center seemed to take an eternity. This couldn’t be happening to my husband, my tower of strength, the wind beneath my wings. He was the one who made life safe and secure. I not only loved him but I respected and admired him as did everyone else who knew him. Obviously, he was having a heart attack, but the possibility of him dying found no place to lodge in my thinking. He was a strong man. He had survived the nightmare of a major operation a few years earlier. He was the one who took charge when a lump was found in my breast, insisting it be taken care of immediately. He knew it would be in my best interest not to dwell on the possible outcome. When our son was confined to a psychiatric hospital for months, Norm had been the strong one — or had he? Had I been blind to the havoc this experience played on his physical and emotional health?

The date was March 22, one day before our son’s eighteenth birthday. Guilt crept into my being like a boa constrictor. I regretted having told my husband about our son’s upsetting phone call two days earlier. However, he had sensed I was attempting to keep some upsetting news from him and insisted I tell him what was wrong.

Rick was out west, finding himself, when he called saying a friend had been killed. We had adopted this child at the age of four and a half, with no prior knowledge of his being born into a world of poverty and addiction, a world totally lacking in love and proper childhood bonding. From the beginning, we struggled to give him a loving and supportive home, a good education, every opportunity to overcome any possible trauma in his past. Throughout the years, we never gave up in our mutual desire to mold him into a happy, responsible and fulfilled adult. Our lives bore the scars but our love for him remained steadfast.

By telling Norm of the phone call, had I given him one more worry— one that might literally break his heart? That just couldn’t happen to a man who brought only goodness and service to the world. The world of medicine needed him. I needed him.

The awesome medical arena was not unfamiliar to me. I worked in a medical clinic for fourteen years before marrying Norm and, during that period of time, vowed I would never marry a doctor. It was not a life I aspired to or desired. It couldn’t possibly be an easy life, I reasoned, and in all probability would be a lonely one. On that Monday morning, I realized my earlier years of medical experience, plus being married to a doctor, had not prepared me for a personal confrontation with the possible death of a man I loved with all my heart.

When I arrived at the cardiac intensive care unit, I found Norm already attached to all the modern tools of lifesaving. Nurses rushed about checking I.V., oxygen supply, and heart monitors, their faces registering disbelief that this was happening to one of their own. A man they were accustomed to seeing in a white coat with his residents in tow, a man with an engaging smile and tremendous concern for his patients, was now a patient himself — a reversal of roles. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. With a sympathetic hint of a smile, a nurse moved a chair to his bedside for me. My heart leaped when I felt his fingers tighten around mine. He was not going to leave me. He had to be all right.

He’s more comfortable now, she reassured me. The doctor will be back soon to talk with you.

A flurry of activity continued throughout the morning and I felt confident that everything possible was being done to save his life. He held onto my hand and an occasional smile broke through as a deep unspoken love passed between us.

You’re going to be fine, honey, I told him, not knowing if the statement was true.

I wondered when his now ashen face had become so frail. Why hadn’t I noticed how tired he was? Had my preoccupation with our son’s problems blinded me to the suffering of my husband? Only a month earlier, with heavy hearts, Norm and I had turned away after saying goodbye to our son at the airport. Norm’s facial expression of utter grief and defeat was one I would never forget. Rick had assured us he was going to thumb across country no matter what. Knowing we couldn’t stop him, yet fearful for his safety on such a journey, we bought him a ticket to Denver and gave him enough money to live on until he found work. Our hearts were broken, but what else could we have done? Norm had been willing to take a sabbatical from Tulane to spend more quality time with his son. That’s the kind of father he was. The doctor, who was head of psychiatry at Tulane, advised him it would be a fruitless sacrifice; that Rick would change only when he was ready.

I sat by his hospital bed with my emotions all over the map, filled to the core with fear and disbelief. The timing could not have been worse. He was only 59 years old, at the peak of his career, and had just been appointed chairman of the ophthalmology department — finally in a position to make changes he deemed necessary for a first class teaching hospital. He talked often of his dreams for the residency program and medical research. During recent months, he had become frustrated at the direction medical care was taking, including over-emphasis on money. He once told me he valued his integrity above all else. His mission had always been excellence in medicine and the highest integrity as a human being. His life could not be cut short; there was still much to be done. Our son had left home but our young daughter needed her father. I needed my husband.

When he entered the room, Dr. Chirino’s face wore a grave expression instead of his usual smile. After reviewing the chart, and a brief reassuring comment to Norm, he motioned for me to follow him outside. He confirmed the diagnosis: myocardial infarction — heart attack. Within that short period, Norm had also developed pericarditis, an inflammation of the lining of the heart. I also learned that my husband had not told me of his symptoms leading up to the attack, nor of his refusal to be hospitalized. The prognosis was guarded. I begged the doctor’s permission to stay with Norm in the cardiac care unit instead of the short visits usually allowed family members. He agreed it would be in Norm’s best interest to have me nearby. A small cot was ordered so I could spend the night. The narrow cot was placed beneath a window by my husband’s bed so as not to interfere with medical activity. I finally fell into an exhausted sleep only to be awakened at three a.m. by a loud bang as the door hit the wall. My eyes immediately shifted to the cardiac monitor which appeared to be going haywire. The room filled with nurses as I sat huddled on the corner of my cot, too scared to speak, but silently praying for God’s help. The skilled mind of a doctor on call soon had the monitor slowed to a more normal rhythm, and Norm slept. A nurse was the last to leave and, once again we were alone. The beeping of the cardiac monitor remained my constant companion until the sun rose above low-lying clouds hanging over the mighty Mississippi.

Out-of-town relatives were expected at any time. I knew my call was devastating to Norm’s father, a wonderful, caring man whom I loved dearly. My own father died when I was a child, so he had become my substitute father. Three sons made him proud, but Norm, the eldest, was the one his dad relied on for medical advice. From past experience, I knew he would be at our side to add support and help during the crisis. Norm’s daughter, Sandy, would be arriving from Atlanta. His younger brother, Bill, a marine biologist, would fly in from Virginia. Norm had played a part in helping direct his career and Bill was very close to his ‘big brother’. Bob, the middle son, had a responsible position as quality control specialist at Lockheed in California. It was uncertain when or if he might arrive.

Our good friends, June and Fritz Lampe, owners of the art gallery where I studied, would pick up everyone from the airport. Irene was looking after Lisa until Dad and his wife, Mary Nettie, arrived. My job was to be with my husband and keep him as stress free as possible.

I wondered if all doctors believed themselves to be indestructible. It’s true that doctors often make the worst patients. I learned that truth when Norm underwent radical stomach surgery a few years earlier. That, too, had been a traumatic, frightening time. Stomach cancer was strongly suspected and I feared I would lose him, but he came through a winner. No cancer was found and, after a recuperative period, he returned to his role of helping others. During that time, I made many promises to God if he would just let my husband live. When life is threatened, everything else pales by comparison.

On day two after the attack, Dr. Chirino informed me Norm, in addition to the pericarditis, had developed pneumonia. Treatment had been started, and all we could do was await the outcome. I sat by Norm’s side with a smile on my face and reassurances coming from my lips, but inside, my fear intensified. Even during periodic naps his hand held tightly to mine. I left his side only to make calls or when summoned from the waiting room by friends and well-wishers.

That evening, Dad, Mary Nettie, and Norm’s brother Bill arrived. They had been in Norm’s room for only a few minutes when a nurse came in to inform us that only two visitors were allowed at a time. Norm became agitated and they exchanged a few words. Dr. Chirino had previously told me it would be all right for them to visit as soon as they arrived. The usually mild-mannered me, who never wished to rock the boat, saw red. I took the nurse by the arm and led her into the hallway.

What do you mean, arguing with a heart patient? I hissed at her.

I’m just seeing that rules are obeyed, she retorted officiously.

Those people in there are his father and brother, and Dr. Chirino gave his permission for them to visit as soon as they arrived. You have done the patient more harm than ten visitors. You could have called me outside and avoided a confrontation with the patient. I was furious. Being the wife of a doctor isn’t easy but I had never stepped over the line when it came to being a lady, always friendly and gracious to hospital staff as well as employees. I knew my place. Now, I realize I acted out of fear. Other nurses and aides were wonderful to me, even brought me a lab coat to wear when the room was chilly. Word must have gotten around, because I never again saw that particular nurse in the cardiac care unit.

On Wednesday, the third day, Norm showed some improvement but the prognosis remained guarded. Sandy arrived from Atlanta, and close colleagues were allowed brief visits. During it all, Norm managed to be cheerful and grateful for their visits. His main concern seemed to be for Lisa and me and if everything was all right at home with Dad and Mary Nettie in charge. Lisa was still in diapers when we adopted her and she had developed into a lively and loving daughter. Unlike our son, she had arrived in our home without excessive emotional baggage. At least we believed that to be true at the time.

The future looked brighter on Thursday. I knew Norm was on the road to recovery when he asked to see his administrative assistant to go over his mail. Ruth Fellom, an extremely capable, loyal and charming lady, had worked with my husband for the six years he had been at Tulane. She became much more than an employee; we both thought of her as a cherished friend. Norm particularly admired her for spending every vacation with her elderly mother in Germany.

Ruth came to CCU every day to check with me regarding Norm’s progress and to reassure him there were no problems in his office she couldn’t handle in his absence. Other staff members carried out his teaching duties and his patients were referred to other doctors. Although I was unbelievably thankful for his improvement, I knew it was just a matter of time before my job would become more difficult.

By mid morning he was feeling anxious to get out of that bed. A cute red-haired nurse, who had been on the day shift from the beginning, came into the room to collect a urine sample. Her smile indicated her pleasure in his improvement. He wanted to go to the bathroom to fulfill her request and light banter erupted between them regarding his restricted activities, what he was allowed and not allowed to do. Finally, in exasperation, she stretched both arms above her head and looked with rolling eyes to the ceiling. Dr. Pinschmidt — Sir; I need a specimen. I don’t care how you pee, just pee! Pee on the ceiling for all I care.

She knew just how to handle him. He had a great sense of humor and enjoyed anyone who could hold his or her own with him. She not only got a chuckle out of him, she got her specimen without further ado.

Dr. Chirino came into the room, plopped into a nearby chair, looked at Norm and shook his head.

Norm, how do you do it? You’re about to beat this thing. Your blood count and temperature are back to normal. At least, we have the pneumonia and pericarditis under control.

That’s because I have a fair to middling doctor, Norm replied. You’ll be a fine doctor when you tell me I can go home.

I know you’re anxious, but for a while you have to stay on the receiving end of medical care. You had a myocardial infarction with complications and it’s going to be a while before you get your strength back. If you don’t follow orders, I’ll send your wife home, he threatened as he got up to leave. Apparently, the staff as well as the employees knew we were a pretty tight couple.

I was delirious with joy; he was going to be all right. I called Dad and shared the good news. He and Bill had visited once or twice every day. Lisa arrived each evening after school to see her father, reporting on the activities of her pet rabbits. Norm had bought the rabbits for her, but I suspected they were also a gift to him. Cages were built in the back yard and he let her know that the care of them would be her responsibility.

Jolie misses you, Daddy, she said. Jolie was our miniature poodle and was a source of much joy. We purchased the dog when we first moved to New Orleans in spite of the fact that Norm had said he would never own a poodle. It seemed he couldn’t stand a dog that would live with the kind of people who would have a poodle. Norm liked big dogs. We had Irish Setters on our little farm in Ohio, but Jeff, our favorite canine, had to find another home after we adopted Lisa. He was accustomed to much attention and so didn’t take too well to children. One day she was playing in the yard and he nipped her in the arm, breaking the skin. Before leaving for his office the next morning, Norm told me we would have to find another home for Jeff. He couldn’t take a chance on our little girl being harmed. With zero lot lines in the city of New Orleans, I convinced him that a housedog was the only solution to the pet problem.

The morning after the purchase, Jolie came to the breakfast table and looked up at Norm. The chandelier above the table cast a bright light into the eyes of our newest adoptee. Norm looked down with obvious affection but quickly his expression turned to disbelief. Marie, this dog has a cataract. No wonder the lady greeted us in a dimly lit room. An ophthalmologist buying a dog with a cataract! I’ll never live this down. However, it wasn’t long before the two were inseparable.

Seeing her father in a hospital bed instead of driving her to the ice rink, attending school functions, or taking her crabbing with a string and a chicken neck in Bayou St. John, was very upsetting for Lisa. Dad and Mary Nettie were there to look after her needs but she didn’t have her mother or father to tuck her into bed at night. But we were going to make it through this crisis and things would be back to normal. At least, that’s what I told her, as well as myself.

That night, I slept in my own bed — alone. Other couples took separate vacations, but Norm and I never liked being apart. A couple years earlier, he had sent me to Guatemala for a few days to visit our friends, Candy and Monty Montrello, but it had not been without strong objection on my part. First of all, I didn’t like flying, but mostly I didn’t want to go without him. As usual, he was doing what was best for me. I had been under a lot of emotional stress with our son and his school problems; the end result being pylorospasm of the stomach necessitating a couple visits to the emergency room.

Candy and Monty had become dear friends after Norm diagnosed a serious eye condition that Monty had struggled with for some months. After seeing numerous other ophthalmologists, Norm not only was able to halt the progressive disease but also to save his vision. Grateful beyond measure, they couldn’t do enough for us, including sending tickets for the entire family to spend Christmas at their home in Guatemala City. They enjoyed our children, as well, and on every trip to New Orleans they arrived laden with native gifts. Norm’s problem solving once again had been right, the un-welcomed trip turned out to be just what my body needed - a short time away from responsibility.

The few days and nights I spent at the hospital with Norm seemed like a month. Dad kept a meticulous log of phone calls. I couldn’t believe the many expressions of concern, not only from family members, but also from Norm’s residents and their wives, Tulane staff members, and former Ochsner Clinic colleagues. I knew he was well liked and respected in the medical community— I just hadn’t realized how much.

Friday morning, Dr. Chirino informed us Norm was out of the woods and with proper rest and recuperation he should do well. He was allowed more visitors and to sit in a chair for the first time. The improvement was obvious. Now that my concern for his very life was lifted somewhat, I had a new concern. Would he focus on his own health for a change or would he revert back to trying to save the world? It was wonderful to see him without tubes and more color to his face. His irresistible smile was struggling to break through on a return trip from a dungeon of despair. If I had lost him, I honestly don’t know if I could have gone on.

My optimism and joy on that southern sunny day helped renew my faith, strength, and belief in what a person as well as a family could endure. I didn’t dream the next day would bring another devastating blow, one that would become an endurance test beyond my worst nightmare.

Chapter Two

Early the next morning, I went to the hospital, anxious to see if there was continued improvement. Dad was to bring Lisa for a visit later in the day. Rick had not left a number where he could be reached after his upsetting phone call. All I could do was await another call. My concern was for my husband’s continued improvement filled my every moment. I had learned a valuable lesson and his health would become my first priority. However, I knew that no one would be able to stop Norm from doing what was right as a doctor or lessen his dedication to helping others. Would I even want him to change? If that happened, he wouldn’t be the man I married.

I found him propped up in bed, his breakfast finished.

I’m so glad you’re here, he said, his old smile back.

You’re chipper this morning, I said as I leaned over for a kiss.

It’s time I got out of here, he told me, his determination obvious. Fear gripped me. Was he going to treat a heart attack like a mild case of the flu?

Unaccustomed to telling him what he could or couldn’t do; I gave him a brief but loving wifely lecture about surviving a very severe myocardial infarction. Aware that a lengthy discussion wasn’t to his advantage, I told him to rest while I looked at a new issue of The American Artist magazine I’d brought from home.

He closed his eyes and napped for a brief time while I sat in the chair, the magazine unopened in my lap. He awakened with a need to use the bathroom. I quickly handed the urinal to him, but he insisted on getting up. The bed rail was elevated so he maneuvered himself to the foot of the bed, with me urging him back. What happened next, I will never forget in this lifetime.

He suddenly slapped his hand against his forehead, twisted in pain, exclaiming, Oh, my head!

As he fell back on the bed, my thumb was pressing the call button. If the heart attack was a nightmare, this was even worse. His room immediately became a beehive of activity and, this time, I was forced to leave the room.

I leaned against the wall outside the door, so frightened I could barely stand. Finally, the doctor on duty came out. Norm has suffered a stroke and he’s unconscious. Dr. Chirino has been notified and a neurologist called. They will be here immediately. You may go back in.

In a state of disbelief, I re-entered his room. Gone was the sweet smile that had welcomed me two hours earlier, replaced by a face without expression. The man I loved more than life itself was in a deep sleep, one from which he might not awaken. A gripping grief filled every core of my being. This couldn’t be happening. I held his motionless hand tightly in mine, praying for even a slight indication that he knew I was there. I vacillated between fear and anger. This stubborn husband of mine shouldn’t have tried to get out of bed. Had his willful determination caused him to have a stroke? Could I possibly have prevented it?

Tears I had repressed for days could no longer be contained. Feeling not even a hint of response in his hand, I moved to the window and gazed unseeingly at a cloudless sky. For everyone else, it was a beautiful day. Inside the hospital room and at the center of my heart there was nothing but despair. The quiet beeping of the monitor leveled to a steady normal pace. Was the stroke going to help him recover from the heart attack, or was it going to take his life?

Dad would have to be notified but I couldn’t bring myself to call him — not yet. I was fearful for his health as well. Bill, with hope in his eyes, had just returned to Virginia. How could I tell him? And Lisa — what would we do if Norm didn’t recover? We needed him so desperately. His patients needed his years of knowledge. Ironically, I had brought to the hospital that morning the Bulletin of the Orleans Parish Medical Society containing an article about Norm being named chairman of his department. He had assumed direction of patient care, teaching

Reviews for Life Interrupted

[maryann12_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Life Interrupted takes the reader through the ups and downs of life, love, and family. Marie Pinschmidt does a wonderful job of putting words together to convey the emotions of life. An excellent read! The characters were well-written and developed. A true depiction of family life when tragedy has struck. Funny, sad and very real this book touched on a lot of the emotions and feelings that family have for one another, and how we all seem to always revert to our long established family roles when we are thrown together. Crisp writing, great characters and a realistic story line made this a really satisfying read. A great read from start to finish. I highly recommend!