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July 22, 1999 I am a 43 year-old male who was born with aortic valve stenosis. Dr. Denton Cooley surgically repaired my aortic valve on February 25, 1958, three-days before my second birthday. I have been told all my life, that the aortic valvotomy performed on me was the seventeenth attempt of its kind. After surgery, my parents were told that I would most likely need to have the valve replaced before I turned eighteen. I have lived a very active life, enjoying many activities such as golf, basketball, softball, water and snow skiing, dirt-bike riding (a recent addition). I had regular cardiology exams until around 1982 when I moved to Saudi Arabia. In 1990, I returned to the US and settled in San Antonio. Two years later, I resumed regular cardiology exams as a matter of prudence, not because of any symptoms. In May of this year, my cardiologist, Dr. Steven Bailey, advised that I was within 6 - 12 months from needing to take some corrective action with my aortic valve and recommended that with that time frame, I might consider choosing a time for surgery that was most convenient for me. He referred me to Dr. John Calhoon, Chief of Thoracic Surgery at the University of Texas Health Science Center, for surgical consult. On June 10 (Thursday), my wife and I met with Dr. Calhoon and discussed alternatives. For what its worth to the reader, I was extremely impressed by Dr. Calhoon at that initial session. He spent three hours with us explaining the various options available: multiple mechanical valves, homograph (human donor valve), porcine (pig) valve, and the Ross Procedure. He carefully described pros and cons of each alternative. From the readings I have done, I suppose conventional wisdom would suggest the best alternative for me would be a mechanical valve, based on my age and the longevity of these valves. I, however, ruled out the mechanical valve because of the lifelong commitment to blood thinners. I have never been "overly dependable" to take medications on a regular basis and I have too many scars all over my body from my various interests which suggested to me that blood thinners and me were a dangerous combination. I elected the Ross Procedure based on this feeling combined with the very strong feeling that my heart has defied the odds for a long time. I feel much more secure in the belief that my own pulmonary valve will always be able to do a better job for me than any other option - we're kind of a team. To make a lousy sports analogy in an attempt to explain my thinking on this, I'd rather have my guy, who I've know all my life, practiced with every day, etc, pound the ball up the middle 30 times a game, when the starter goes down, than some new guy I never met before. Anyway, we scheduled surgery for July 14. I made this June 10 appointment with Dr. Calhoon, with every expectation that I would come away from it with a scheduled date for surgery. I must admit though, that for the next two days, I was somewhat of a basket case. All those thoughts of mortality and things left undone can be overwhelming, at least for a while. By Saturday, my head was back on straight and I was ready to get it over with, making sure to get in a couple of rounds of golf and some quality time with my family before hand - just in case. So, the big day finally arrives. Last Wednesday, at 0630 hours, I and my entourage (wife, son, daughter, father, step-mom, and my wonderful, whacky sister) stormed the University Hospital. They wheel me down the hall with my sister running along side the gurney holding my hand and both of us wearing our absolutely, atrocious, hideous (and other similar adjectives) Buck Teef. We sure turned a few heads and lightened the mood a bit. I was in surgery for about 5 hours. They moved me to ICU around 2:00 PM and told my family that they were going to keep me heavily sedated all night and that their time might be best served by going home and relaxing - all had gone well. I remember Dr. Calhoon holding my hand and asking questions; can you hear me, can you squeeze my hand, can you wiggle your toes - stuff like that. I remember hearing him clearly, seeing him (not so clearly), and thinking, "sure Doc, I can do all that stuff, easy!" but being unable to do any of it. That was a creepy feeling! When I was cognizant enough, I took stock of my situation. Two IV's in my left hand/wrist, one in my right hand, one monster IV in my jugular vein, urinary catheter, drain hose coming out of my belly, and a hose down my throat and taped to my face, and of course, a 10-inch incision in my chest. The hose down the throat was the only part that was truly uncomfortable and it was quite tolerable. I found saliva beginning to collect in my mouth, but no way to get rid of it - couldn't swallow and couldn't spit. The good news was they removed that hose in fairly short order. Later Wednesday night, the nurses began their routine. Sponge bath, shave, change sheets, rolling me around, etc. I remember, thinking, "Wow! I always wanted to have an attractive young lady give me a nice close shave, but there's gotta be an easier way to go about it!" Thursday, the whole entourage is back and I am amazed that I feel so good. Everyone keeps saying how amazed they are at how good I look. All the material we read said be ready to see someone who is ashen gray and looks dead. I had good color, felt good and was only a little groggy. Late that day, they move me to a regular room. Friday morning (less than 48 hours after surgery), I'm up, out of bed, sitting in a chair, going for a walk around the floor, and Friday at 6:00 p.m., I'm home in my own bed. The past few days, I settled into a routine: get up, read the paper, have coffee (don't tell the Doctors, but it's not caffeine-free), go for a walk, have breakfast, take a shower, take a nap. Then I get up an hour or two later and spend the day mostly reading, watching TV and taking short catnaps. I expected this routine to last for a few weeks. However, yesterday, one week after my surgery - no nap needed. I feel this is a significant development and am absolutely amazed at how good I feel, so soon after surgery. My strength is returning much faster than I expected and my chest, in spite if the 10-inch incision, is not painful. It can best be described as bothersome. In all honesty, the most painful part on my body is where they had an IV in my jugular vein. In summary, you can clearly see that I am one blessed individual. I have the blessing of a wonderful family who loves and supports me more than any one can convince themselves that they deserve. I have had the blessing of untold numbers of prayers from friends and family members all over the country. I have the blessing of a truly remarkable medical team looking out for me. I can only view Dr. Calhoon and Dr. Bailey, as a gift from above. My wife has been an absolute rock throughout this entire experience and that is exactly what I needed. I am blessed with children who refuse to let me take myself too seriously, ever. And the last, and most important blessing of all; I've been blessed with a remarkable heart that refuses to quit, and continues to defy the odds. Will this be the last heart surgery for me? Only God can answer that, but I can assure you, that whatever years I get from this procedure will be good and full years. When my motor stops running, there won't be any gas left in the tank to be wasted. This has been a remarkable experience, which I would be glad to share with anyone pondering similar alternatives.
Dan Herrington |