Living On the Edge of a Scalpel

By Heather B

After years of hearing that she was an inspiration to family and friends, Heather decided to strive to inspire a larger audience by writing. Citing a lifetime of personal experiences, she gives her readers an inside look at her world of insane medical drama, PTSD, pain, grief, and loss. She shares that the only way she has learned to accept each situation she has had to endure was to allow herself time to grieve. She knows that the only way to find lasting peace in the midst of life's many storms may require going through the grief cycle over and over again. The words of Maya Angelou resonate with Heather. "I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887318998

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: Pulmonary Slice

Chapter 2: Intussuscepting Slice

Chapter 3: Baby Slice

Chapter 4: Sickle Slice

Chapter 5: Necrotic Slice

Chapter 6: Life Slice

Chapter 7: Decompressed Slice

Chapter 8: Painful Slice

Chapter 9: Titanium Slice

Chapter 10: Therapeutic Slice

Chapter 11: Bittersweet Slice

Chapter 12: Emergency Slice

Chapter 13: Fine Slice

Chapter 14: Stereotypical Slice

Chapter 15: Cholecystic Slice

Chapter 16: Roller-Coaster Slice

Chapter 17: Holiday Slice

Chapter 18: Twin Slice

Chapter 19: Neurological Slice

Chapter 20: Risky Slice

Chapter 21: Retinal Slice

Chapter 22: Asystolic Slice

Chapter 23: Grievous Slice

Chapter 24: Dissolving Slice

Chapter 25: Unthinkable Slice

Chapter 26: Another Slice

Chapter 27: Future Slice

Works Cited

About the Author

cover.jpg

Living On the Edge of a Scalpel

Heather B

Copyright © 2023 Heather B

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023906965

ISBN 979-8-88731-898-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-900-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88731-899-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

First, I would like to thank my Heavenly Father; Jesus Christ, His Son; and the ever-present Holy Spirit. Thank you for being patient with me as I grow into the person you would have me to be. I recognize that I am still a work in progress. I love you! Be it unto me according to your will O Lord.

Eternally indebted to my parents, Herman and Fay, for not allowing me to give up or give in to despondency, pain, or loss.

Thanks to Ludlow, my husband, for encouraging me not to get bogged down in the semantics of getting a book published, but to have fun and just write. Thank you for seeing the therapeutic and cathartic benefits of writing, even when I didn't.

Thank you, LJ, for always believing in me and thinking that your mom can do just about anything. You boost my confidence on a daily basis without even knowing it.

Shout out to the sisters I never had: Judy, Tania, Joy, Arlene, Sharon, and Olga. You all have been my rock.

Thank you to my spiritual mentor and friend, Joel, for the godly counsel, friendship, and support that you have given to my family and me over the years.

Out of a church full of people, Sonia and Ardith, you have proved your weight in gold.

Special recognition goes to my brother, my aunt Shirley, and my dear friends Sandra and Rachel for giving additional encouragement to me to share my story, especially on those days when I pondered, Who would want to read about my life experiences?

The Scalpel

Scalpel, scalpel, sharp and thin,

I fear it's here to do me in.

Yet in my mind, in God's own time,

He will reveal His will divine

It cuts, it slices, and tears me apart

But God is using it to reveal my heart

—Heather B

Chapter 1

Pulmonary Slice

As I sat rubbing my neck, I felt the three holes the previous anesthesiologist had created while attempting to get an intravenous catheter into my right jugular vein. He had great difficulty even though he had used the latest technology to ensure success.

I picked up the phone and robotically did what I had to do. Hello, I am scheduled for surgery and need to make an appointment to come in to see the anesthesiologist.

The receptionist on the other end of the phone said, Okay, come in on October 6th at 10:30 a.m.

Thank you, goodbye, I said and hung up the phone.

The morning of my pre-op interview found me sitting in a blandly decorated waiting room with twelve nameless people. Of all the people who had supported me through my yearlong journey, none could take the next steps for me.

I sat, surrounded by strangers, all facing our own fears in hopeful, if not anxious, quietude.

Heather! his British voice boomed, shattering the silence.

Timidly I responded, Yes.

Dr. P. had a sympathetic look in his sky-blue eyes. He documented my extensive medical and surgical history and patiently answered all my questions.

I told him about my previous experience with the insertion of the intravenous catheter and requested that this time it be placed in my left jugular, not my right.

You are reading too much into it, he said as he tried to reassure me that all would be well. He ended the interview shortly thereafter with a firm handshake and a cheery I will see you on Monday.

When I got home, I thought about his response to my request. I was not very pleased.

Monday morning, October 8, 2017, I sat straight up on a narrow stretcher, nervously awaiting surgery. The OR schedule had the words left hip arthroplasty by my name. This would make my third major surgery in a one-year period and my second joint replacement surgery. The hip replacement patients I had previously cared for were in their seventies or eighties. I was getting a much earlier start.

The room was cold and only a thin blue gown and a light white sheet covered me.

The nurses tucked my long black hair under a blue paper cap, then put on a pair of dreadfully ugly brown nonslip slippers on my feet.

The pre-op nursing staff was exceptionally friendly. It did nothing to relieve me of my stress, which at this point was off the chart.

My early morning support system constituted of my parents, my husband, and my son.

We prayed together, and at 7:30 a.m. I told my family, See you later. I cried silently as the operating room technician wheeled me out of their view, all the while I hoped I would really see them later.

Having done previous surgeries on me, Dr. Rush, my orthopedic surgeon, had taken all necessary precautions. As a highly skilled surgeon, his efforts paid off greatly.

His surgical part went very well. The anesthesiologist's part went very wrong.

Dr. P. had punctured my right lung while inserting the intravenous catheter into my right jugular vein. I was not yet aware of the cause for my increasing chest pain and difficulty breathing. As a matter of fact, no one else was.

The next morning was when we became aware of a problem. Being more awake and in tune with my body, I was keenly aware that my chest was hurting with each breath that I took, and each breath proved to be extremely difficult to catch.

A stat chest X-ray was ordered. When the results became available, the doctor came in to inform me that I had a pneumothorax and needed a tube inserted in my chest wall to help to re-expand my lung. My lung was 50 percent collapsed and would continue to collapse without intervention.

The cardiovascular surgeon came at 4:30 p.m.. He promised that he would do this barbaric procedure as humanely as possible. The thought came to mind that a promise is a comfort to a fool. I was no fool.

Having no other options, the consent was signed. He did not believe it needed to be done downstairs in the special procedures suite. It would be okay to be done at my bedside.

What is essentially a pediatric dose of a commonly used narcotic was given to me for pain relief and relaxation.

I listened as he gave me step-by-step explanations and instructions. I felt as the eight-centimeter-long catheter was inserted in the newly created opening in the right side of my upper back. I felt an overpowering need to sleep.

Sleep I did!

My mother, who is also a registered nurse, was allowed to stay at my bedside throughout the procedure. She stood on the left side of my bed and soothingly rubbed my hip and my head. As my head was not hurting me, I secretly believed that she rubbed my head to soothe herself.

At the end of the procedure, Dr. C. said, I am finished. You can roll on your back now.

I did not move!

Getting concerned, he again instructed, Heather, roll on to your back.

Again, I did not move!

The two nurses, my mom, and the surgeon who were all at my bedside had to roll me over themselves.

I was unresponsive! I was not breathing!

In the waiting room, my father jolted to attention at the announcement he thought he had heard overhead.

Was that Heather's room they just announced? He listened for it again.

Code blue, room 323A!

Yes, he had heard correctly! That was the room he had just stepped out of at the doctor's request.

He hurried down the hallway. While he walked, he frantically dialed Ludlow's number and told him, Something is wrong with Heather!

When the call came in, Ludlow, my husband, and our son, LJ, were just pulling into the hospital's parking garage. He now heard the panic in his otherwise calm father-in-law's voice. At the same time, he also heard the operator making her own frantic announcement in the background, Code blue, room 323A!

Code blue, room 323A!

Chapter 2

Intussuscepting Slice

Fay and Herman had recently added a daughter to the family. Early one Tuesday morning, Fay noticed that her four-month-old baby girl was extremely restless and in intense pain. She stood and observed as her daughter writhed in agony. She had no idea what was the cause of the distress, but her maternal instinct told her that something was very, very wrong.

As the day progressed, she noticed that the baby's stool contained a lot of mucus and blood.

She noticed that the writhing continued. Her three-year-old son tugged on her sleeve, seeking her attention. She was distracted. The baby was sick.

Fortunately, there was a doctor who lived a few houses from theirs, and he operated his medical practice from his home. The family only had one car. Herman had already driven it to work that morning.

The family had a live-in housekeeper. Fay quickly told the housekeeper to watch out for Handel while she packed a diaper bag and rushed over to Dr. Wong.

Dr. Wong ascertained a thorough medical history and completed a physical examination.

Without saying a word to Fay, he rushed out to his waiting room and told his receptionist, Clear my schedule for the afternoon. He then apologized to his waiting patients that he had a life-or-death emergency that he had to attend to.

The person facing that life-or-death emergency was me, Heather!

Dr. Wong bundled me up in my pink-and-white bunny blanket as he hurried my mother out to his car. He drove us directly to the emergency room of the children's hospital.

Before leaving for the hospital, Dr. Wong had called to tell them that he was bringing in a four-month-old baby who needed to be prepared for emergency surgery. He also gave them our estimated time of arrival.

The attending physician was waiting for us at the door to the emergency room. Diagnostic tests confirmed that I had intussusception. My intestines were telescoping inward.

The nurses prepped me for surgery. The prep included trying to find a site in which they could put an intravenous catheter. I had very few usable veins. The best place they could find was on the top of my right foot. They did what was called an IV cut-down. Instead of using