timvp
01-17-2012, 05:20 PM
I've gotten a few private messages asking for a health update so I figured a thread was in order. Besides, I owe the SpursTalk community a thank you.
For those of you not around in the offseason, my summer months were quite eventful. Long story a little bit shorter:
In early May, I started to not feel very well. I had a fever and was a bit more fatigued than usual. Kori and the kids had gotten a stomach bug a few weeks prior, so I figured it was just hitting me late. The symptoms stayed relatively mild for a while. However, by the end of May, the fevers started to be upwards of 104 degrees and it was getting more and more difficult to do daily tasks -- so I figured it'd be a decent idea to go to a doctor.
One problem: I hadn't been to a doctor in more than a dozen years. I just never got sick. (Complicating things, when our health insurance policy changed the previous year, I had decided to keep everyone else covered but remove myself. With insurance for the self employed bound to change drastically in a few years, I figured I'd just wait. I never got sick, don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't commute … I don't even play any type of sports anymore. Why did I need insurance?)
On May 28th, I go to the doctor. At this point, my symptoms are high fever and fatigue. He does some blood work to try to figure out what is wrong. A day later, he calls to have me come in. When I get there, he tells me my blood sugar is off the charts high and that my liver numbers are out of range. Guessing I may have diabetes, he prescribes a few diabetes medications and tells me to come back in a month and they'll retest.
I was surprised with the diabetes diagnosis since nobody in my family has diabetes and I only weighed about 190 pounds (which is damn near anorexic in San Antonio) but I rolled with it. I limited my carbs and took the medication as scheduled. Unfortunately, my symptoms were getting worse. To go along with the high fevers and fatigue, I was always cold and was having trouble walking.
About a week later, it was getting to the point that I could hardly moved. One day, June 5th, I literally couldn't get out of bed. I called in to get an appointment with the doctor for the next day. However, that night, I couldn't move at all and I started having trouble breathing. To the emergency room I went.
When I got there, they did a few tests and then hooked me up to an IV machine to start pumping fluids in me. They said the results from the blood work showed I still had really high blood sugar and "a few other issues". Next up was a couple full body CT scans. They told me it would take about five minutes, so when they were still scanning me an hour later, I figured they had probably found something.
Once in the hospital room, they didn't tell me much. The first day, they were just talking mostly about the diabetes and what I should be eating. The second day I'm laying there feeling a little bit better so I tell the nurse that I'm ready to go home and ask what the procedure is to leave. (Yeah, I was still damn sick but with that hospital bill escalating, I wanted to be sick at home rather than waste money being sick at the hospital.)
The nurse looks at my chart, chuckles and says I won't be going home for a while. I ask what's wrong. She says I have to wait for a doctor. The rest of that day goes by without a doctor ever coming to the room.
Early Day 3, I basically demand to see a doctor. If not, my threat was to pull out the IV and walk out. A doctor finally arrives and tells me I either have liver cancer or a liver infection. Hearing the C-word isn't fun but I doubted it right away because the only liver cancer cases I have ever heard of involved alcoholics. I called Kori and she researched it and told me my symptoms didn't sound like liver cancer, so I was pretty confident that wasn't the case.
A couple hours later, another doctor comes in and tells me they had a specialist look at the CT scans and that I have a bacteria-filled liver abscess. (The blood work showed that type of bacteria was extremely unusual. Most instances of it were in England a few centuries ago.) I ask what the plan is and he says I'll be sent to radiology where a surgeon will drain the abscess while I'm awake. I ask when I'll be able to go home. He says probably in about two days.
At that point, I was pretty excited. Liver abscess sounds a lot better than liver cancer. A small procedure and I'll be home in a few days? Awesome. I call Kori to tell her the good news. She asks if I want her to come during the procedure. No, I'm good. She asks how big of an abscess. I don't know, probably the size of a grape?
They come wheel me to the radiology surgery room. The radiologist tells me they found two things wrong with my liver. First, a two-inch by two-inch hemangioma; he explains it's nothing to worry about and it's something I was born with. Second, a liver abscess the size of a softball. WTF, a softball? Yes, about five inches by five inches by four inches. He says it's the biggest liver abscess he's ever seen but the procedure is relatively simple. The plan is to stick a tube through my ribs and into my liver, drain the abscess and then leave the drainage tube in place for a couple weeks.
They told me it was going to hurt but I don't remember feeling any pain. I was just happy that they figured out what was wrong and that I'd be heading home soon. I sat there watching as they pumped an endless stream of fluid out. Afterward, the doctor told me it had more than a liter of fluid in it. He said that I was lucky because the abscess was about to burst on its own and if it did, I was a goner. He also said that if they knew it was that close to bursting, they would have opted for surgery instead of the drainage tube. Oh well, I thought.
The nurses watched my vitals for a few hours and then sent me back to my hospital room. They started me on penicillin via IV (one million units per hour, the maximum allowed) in hopes of killing off any bacteria in my blood. I called Kori and the rest of the family to tell them that everything went well.
That night, I was just thankful and ready to go home. But … that wasn't to be.
In the middle of the night, I started feeling worse than ever. I couldn't move and couldn't even see straight. When the nurses came in to check my temperature, it was 105 degrees and I was getting warmer each time they checked. A doctor came in and told the nurses to strip me naked and pack me down with ice. That, as you may guess, wasn't fun.
Thankfully, my fever started to come down. I called Kori in the middle of the night to tell her about my setback. She told me everything was going to be okay and to stay strong. I told her I would -- but, honestly, I was pretty devastated because I had thought the worst was over.
The next few days were filled with a rollercoaster of fevers. When I felt decent, my temperature was around 101. But then I'd start feeling really bad and then within the hour, I'd get a fever of about 104. This pattern continued for about three days.
Then one day when Kori was visiting, it literally felt like my body was shutting down. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to scare her but when the nurses came in to check, I knew it was going to be bad news. And it was. In addition to having a fever, my oxygen reading was 85% (anything below about 92 is bad), my pulse was 160 (more than double the average pulse) and my blood pressure was something ridiculously low like 50/40.
Needless to say, they sent me straight to ICU. Kori was trying to keep my spirits up but I could tell she was petrified. And me, that was the first time it hit me that I might die.
The doctors came in and laid out what was wrong: I was probably suffering septic shock, likely due to bacteria getting into my blood from the liver abscess; I had worsening pneumonia, made even more severe by pockets of infection in my lungs; my blood sugar numbers weren't improving, no matter how much insulin they were giving me; and perhaps worst of all, they believed I had an addition infection somewhere else in my body due to my fevers and really high white blood cell count.
The next few days included countless CT scans, MRIs and ultrasounds. The fevers remained. The white blood cell count wasn't going down. I was on oxygen because I was having trouble breathing. They gave me blood transfusions (I had five total) because I kept getting more and more anemic. They did just about every test imaginable, including sticking a camera down my throat to see if my heart was infected with the bacteria.
At this point, I was basically just pissed. I didn't understand why I wasn't getting better. I was tired of the fevers. Tired of all the tests. Tired of the attention.
One morning, an ICU doctor came to my room to tell me it was over. They had done all they could. He said that I was suffering from respiratory failure, that my lungs were only 10% functional due to the pneumonia and pockets of bacteria, that they were giving me the maximum amount of oxygen yet the oxygen levels in my body were dangerously low, and that I was too weak to survive any further procedures.
As you might imagine, that wasn’t the easiest news to swallow. I asked him what I can do to give myself a shot. He said everything that could be done has been done. I ask him if he’s saying that I’m for sure going to die. “Uh, you heard what I said, didn’t you?” He then turns around and leaves while I’m in the middle of asking another question.
I try to yell at him to come back but my voice hardly worked. Pissed, I try to get out of the hospital bed. Before I manage to, my heart rate shot up and set off an alarm and the nurses rushed in. I’m trying to fight them off me and explain I want to talk to that doctor. Instead, they gave me some sort of sedative drug to stop me from trying to get up. They asked me if I wanted a priest to come give me my Last Rites. I declined.
After I’m able to think straight again, I call Kori. I tell her that she needs to come now. She asks why so urgent. I tell her that a doctor is saying I might not make it. She tells me that she’ll come as soon as she can but that nobody is willing to babysit anymore; the people we had babysitting said they were worn out.
At this point, we had pretty much run our friends and family into the ground with help requests. Up until this point, I really didn’t want people to know how seriously I was sick. I don’t enjoy sympathy. And I’ve been independent since I was 17 years old. I’m used to handling everything on my own. I don’t like outside help or depending on anyone outside of my wife.
Kori asks me to change my mind and allow her to try to get help from people on SpursTalk. I agreed, but I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I mean, yeah, I type a few posts here and there but none of you owe me anything.
As I wait for Kori to get babysitting and come join me, I was pretty much a mess. I was angry that this was how my life was going to end. I was pissed that I’d be leaving behind an enormous hospital bill that I couldn’t help pay. I felt bad for Kori because she’d been so strong through all of this but I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain. I was sad that I wouldn’t see the kids grow up.
An hour later, Kori calls back and tells me that a number of people off of SpursTalk are willing to help. There were people willing to babysit, bring food to the kids, provide transportation and basically just anything that was needed. Others wanted to come visit me in the hospital. Honestly, I was surprised, but beyond thankful.
After I hung up the phone, that’s when it hit me. As Pop would say, I needed to get over myself. Things were going to be okay. Plenty of people were going to step up and help Kori through this. Yeah, it was going to be hard for her but she’s the strongest, lovingest, most organized person I’ve ever known. In the long run, she’d be okay and she’d make sure the kids were okay. If there was a timvp replacement one day, it’d go without saying that she’d hold the kids above all else. And while it was unfortunate to be going out like this, I’ve had the best 30 years on the planet imaginable. I wouldn’t have traded the life I lived for anything. Sometimes people die young. It sucks but people who are a lot better than me die every day. Chin up, if this is it, at least go out with some dignity.
Starting then, I was at peace. Whatever that was going to happen, I was okay with it. If I die, maybe I’ll go to a better place. At worst, I won’t be suffering anymore with these annoying machines attached to me. Either way, Kori and the kids would make it.
That said, I wasn’t ready to give up. The peace of mind allowed me to fully concentrate on getting better. That’s where I could focus 100% of my energy.
A doctor came in and I told him to at least help me give myself a chance. He said it “probably wouldn’t work” but that he can start me on breathing exercises. One breath at a time, I tried with all my strength to force air into my lungs. They put a CPAP machine over my face to help me get more oxygen and I continued to take as deep of breaths as I could.
When Kori got there, I was already on the CPAP so I couldn’t talk to her. She told me she was refusing to believe I was going to die and that I just have to be strong. I nodded my head and kept breathing.
A few people from SpursTalk came that day to visit (I couldn't thank you then, but I thank you now). Later that night, Kori talked to a SpursTalk poster who is a doctor. He took the time to explain everything about what was wrong with me. He explained each procedure and answered every question she had. Considering that we were lucky for one of the doctors in the hospital to talk to us for two minutes at a time, that was amazingly helpful and I could tell Kori felt better after understanding what was truly going on.
The next few days basically consisted of me putting all my effort into breathing. If I ever took a moment to rest, my heart rate would speed up and my oxygen would drop -- which would then set off alarms. Even with me trying my hardest, those damn alarms would still sound from time to time. A couple times, they thought I was having a heart attack. A couple other times, I couldn't get my heart rate under control no matter how hard I tried.
I slowly started to get a little better, to the point that the doctors said I was stable enough to move out of ICU into PCU. However, the first two times I was scheduled to move, I had a setback so they canceled it. Finally, on the third try, I stayed well enough to transfer to PCU.
By the time I was in PCU, Kori was able to stay with me around the clock. Considering I could hardly talk, I wouldn't have made it on my own. Plus, she helped keep me positive no matter how grim the prognosis. I could tell she truly thought I'd make it; having that one person on my side expecting me to fight and win helped immeasurably.
Despite the improvement, things still weren't very good. I still had bad fevers. I was still on oxygen. My white blood cell count was still high. Because I still wasn't improving, the doctors decided that I needed exploratory abdominal surgery. They also figured that, since my lungs were working a little bit better, I was strong enough to get a chest tube inserted to help drain the pockets of infection out of my lungs. Like the tube coming out of my liver, the chest tube would stay in for a few weeks.
That was the day that Kori posted the thread on SpursTalk asking for prayers. Though I consider myself religious, I never really believed in the power of group prayer. Throughout this ordeal, I don't remember praying to God. I thought that it was up to me whether to live or die; a higher power helped give me the strength but I had to fight the fight.
The next morning, I went in for another CT scan, this time ordered by the surgeon. I also had a procedure where they stuck a giant needle through my ribs and into my lungs to suck out some of the infection. The plan was to test the fluid to see what type of bacteria had invaded my lungs.
A few hours later, the surgeon comes into my room and tells us there will be no surgery. The latest CT scan showed significant improvement. My liver, she said, didn't have have much infection left inside of it. A couple hours after that, the doctor that did the lung procedure came in and told us that they tested the fluid they got out of my lungs and there was no bacteria found. A chest tube wouldn't be needed.
It could be a coincidence that I happened to get better at the same time people began to pray. I obviously can't prove it one way or the other. However, I gotta say that I will never doubt the power of prayer again.
That night, my fever finally broke. The doctor came in and said if I can make it to the next night without a fever, I could go home. Kori and I were both shocked because no doctor had mentioned me going home in a long while. But the doctor said my CT scan looked better, the last blood transfusion seemed to have helped the anemia, my blood sugar numbers had finally become normalized and my white blood cell count was much better.
The doctor gave Kori a thermometer and for the next 24 hours, we checked my temperature about once every 15 minutes. Thankfully, the fever didn't return. The next morning, I was on my way home.
Obviously, getting home and seeing the kids for the first time in nearly a month was emotional. I'll never forget how happy I was to walk out of my death bed and into my home. It was the moment I looked forward to throughout the whole ordeal.
Once home, things weren't exactly easy. I still had that drainage tube coming out of my liver. My heart rate was still elevated and it was my first time without oxygen in a long time, so breathing wasn't always easy. I was so weak I couldn't carry a gallon of milk. I had about a dozen different medications to take every couple hours, a few of which by injection. But I was home, so everything was a million times better. No more damn machines and alarms or any of that crap.
For the next month, I just stayed in a spare bedroom trying to get well. Kori had to help me while handling everything with the kids (I don't know how she did it all). There were a couple setbacks … like the time I rolled over in the middle of the night and ripped the drainage tube out of my liver and ended up back in the emergency room. But all in all, I was slowly but surely getting better.
After that month, I finally got the liver drainage tube removed for good. When I went for the follow-up tests with each doctor I had at the hospital, they all said I was looking better than they expected. A few admitted they thought I was surely going to die.
Today, I'm off of all medications. My latest CT scans looked so clear that the doctor says it looks like nothing ever happened. All my blood work came back normal. The diabetes disappeared. I haven't even had a fever since leaving the hospital. And though I lost about 50 pounds because of everything, I've been able to exercise every day and regain about 80% of my strength so far. I'm not completely healthy yet -- but I'm pretty darn close and I have absolutely no complaints.
What happened to cause me to get sick? The doctors still aren't sure but the current theory is that the hemangioma in my liver, which is basically just a benign tumor that I was born with, caused a lack of blood flow in my liver. That then allowed a bacterial infection to grow (who knows where the bacteria came from), which spread to my pancreas, which caused the diabetes, which made the original infection worse, which caused a viscous cycle.
The doctors tell me that they can't say it will or won't happen again. They say it's probably unlikely since it was such a fluke but there's not much precedence so they don't know for sure. And, honestly, I'm fine with that. I'm still at peace. I've been able to savor each moment since I've been back. If I get sick again tomorrow, I wouldn't be bitter; at least I survived it once.
In a way, I'm actually thankful for what happened. I got to truly realize what in life is important. I got a reminder of how precious life is. I found out who really has my back when I need it the most. Some people I thought would be there simply weren't. Others who I didn't count on, including the SpursTalk community, were willing to help no matter what. For that, I don't even know what to say. A simple thank you doesn't seem suffice.
The people who offered their help gave me the ability to die in peace, which in turn gave me the power to live. I would mention names but I don't want to forget anyone so I'll just say thank you once again. And thanks to those of you who offered prayers. If you ask me, I saw proof that it worked.
The main lesson I learned is to just enjoy life. We don't have enough time to sweat the small things. Learn what is truly important and cherish those things. And if you end up in what seems like a hopeless situation, don't waste time being a coward like I did. I spent way too much time worrying and focusing on trivial things and I almost didn't give myself a chance to fight. The human spirit is strong, as long as you give it a chance.
I love Kori, the true hero in all of this. And I thank each and every last one of you. The Spurs are really my only hobby. I don't like any other team in any other sport. I don't watch television. I don't knit. I spend time with my family, I work and the rest of the time I spend watching, reading or sharing thoughts about the Spurs. I find it fun and you people make it much even more enjoyable. So thank you ... and let's hope this is my first and last health update.
For those of you not around in the offseason, my summer months were quite eventful. Long story a little bit shorter:
In early May, I started to not feel very well. I had a fever and was a bit more fatigued than usual. Kori and the kids had gotten a stomach bug a few weeks prior, so I figured it was just hitting me late. The symptoms stayed relatively mild for a while. However, by the end of May, the fevers started to be upwards of 104 degrees and it was getting more and more difficult to do daily tasks -- so I figured it'd be a decent idea to go to a doctor.
One problem: I hadn't been to a doctor in more than a dozen years. I just never got sick. (Complicating things, when our health insurance policy changed the previous year, I had decided to keep everyone else covered but remove myself. With insurance for the self employed bound to change drastically in a few years, I figured I'd just wait. I never got sick, don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't commute … I don't even play any type of sports anymore. Why did I need insurance?)
On May 28th, I go to the doctor. At this point, my symptoms are high fever and fatigue. He does some blood work to try to figure out what is wrong. A day later, he calls to have me come in. When I get there, he tells me my blood sugar is off the charts high and that my liver numbers are out of range. Guessing I may have diabetes, he prescribes a few diabetes medications and tells me to come back in a month and they'll retest.
I was surprised with the diabetes diagnosis since nobody in my family has diabetes and I only weighed about 190 pounds (which is damn near anorexic in San Antonio) but I rolled with it. I limited my carbs and took the medication as scheduled. Unfortunately, my symptoms were getting worse. To go along with the high fevers and fatigue, I was always cold and was having trouble walking.
About a week later, it was getting to the point that I could hardly moved. One day, June 5th, I literally couldn't get out of bed. I called in to get an appointment with the doctor for the next day. However, that night, I couldn't move at all and I started having trouble breathing. To the emergency room I went.
When I got there, they did a few tests and then hooked me up to an IV machine to start pumping fluids in me. They said the results from the blood work showed I still had really high blood sugar and "a few other issues". Next up was a couple full body CT scans. They told me it would take about five minutes, so when they were still scanning me an hour later, I figured they had probably found something.
Once in the hospital room, they didn't tell me much. The first day, they were just talking mostly about the diabetes and what I should be eating. The second day I'm laying there feeling a little bit better so I tell the nurse that I'm ready to go home and ask what the procedure is to leave. (Yeah, I was still damn sick but with that hospital bill escalating, I wanted to be sick at home rather than waste money being sick at the hospital.)
The nurse looks at my chart, chuckles and says I won't be going home for a while. I ask what's wrong. She says I have to wait for a doctor. The rest of that day goes by without a doctor ever coming to the room.
Early Day 3, I basically demand to see a doctor. If not, my threat was to pull out the IV and walk out. A doctor finally arrives and tells me I either have liver cancer or a liver infection. Hearing the C-word isn't fun but I doubted it right away because the only liver cancer cases I have ever heard of involved alcoholics. I called Kori and she researched it and told me my symptoms didn't sound like liver cancer, so I was pretty confident that wasn't the case.
A couple hours later, another doctor comes in and tells me they had a specialist look at the CT scans and that I have a bacteria-filled liver abscess. (The blood work showed that type of bacteria was extremely unusual. Most instances of it were in England a few centuries ago.) I ask what the plan is and he says I'll be sent to radiology where a surgeon will drain the abscess while I'm awake. I ask when I'll be able to go home. He says probably in about two days.
At that point, I was pretty excited. Liver abscess sounds a lot better than liver cancer. A small procedure and I'll be home in a few days? Awesome. I call Kori to tell her the good news. She asks if I want her to come during the procedure. No, I'm good. She asks how big of an abscess. I don't know, probably the size of a grape?
They come wheel me to the radiology surgery room. The radiologist tells me they found two things wrong with my liver. First, a two-inch by two-inch hemangioma; he explains it's nothing to worry about and it's something I was born with. Second, a liver abscess the size of a softball. WTF, a softball? Yes, about five inches by five inches by four inches. He says it's the biggest liver abscess he's ever seen but the procedure is relatively simple. The plan is to stick a tube through my ribs and into my liver, drain the abscess and then leave the drainage tube in place for a couple weeks.
They told me it was going to hurt but I don't remember feeling any pain. I was just happy that they figured out what was wrong and that I'd be heading home soon. I sat there watching as they pumped an endless stream of fluid out. Afterward, the doctor told me it had more than a liter of fluid in it. He said that I was lucky because the abscess was about to burst on its own and if it did, I was a goner. He also said that if they knew it was that close to bursting, they would have opted for surgery instead of the drainage tube. Oh well, I thought.
The nurses watched my vitals for a few hours and then sent me back to my hospital room. They started me on penicillin via IV (one million units per hour, the maximum allowed) in hopes of killing off any bacteria in my blood. I called Kori and the rest of the family to tell them that everything went well.
That night, I was just thankful and ready to go home. But … that wasn't to be.
In the middle of the night, I started feeling worse than ever. I couldn't move and couldn't even see straight. When the nurses came in to check my temperature, it was 105 degrees and I was getting warmer each time they checked. A doctor came in and told the nurses to strip me naked and pack me down with ice. That, as you may guess, wasn't fun.
Thankfully, my fever started to come down. I called Kori in the middle of the night to tell her about my setback. She told me everything was going to be okay and to stay strong. I told her I would -- but, honestly, I was pretty devastated because I had thought the worst was over.
The next few days were filled with a rollercoaster of fevers. When I felt decent, my temperature was around 101. But then I'd start feeling really bad and then within the hour, I'd get a fever of about 104. This pattern continued for about three days.
Then one day when Kori was visiting, it literally felt like my body was shutting down. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to scare her but when the nurses came in to check, I knew it was going to be bad news. And it was. In addition to having a fever, my oxygen reading was 85% (anything below about 92 is bad), my pulse was 160 (more than double the average pulse) and my blood pressure was something ridiculously low like 50/40.
Needless to say, they sent me straight to ICU. Kori was trying to keep my spirits up but I could tell she was petrified. And me, that was the first time it hit me that I might die.
The doctors came in and laid out what was wrong: I was probably suffering septic shock, likely due to bacteria getting into my blood from the liver abscess; I had worsening pneumonia, made even more severe by pockets of infection in my lungs; my blood sugar numbers weren't improving, no matter how much insulin they were giving me; and perhaps worst of all, they believed I had an addition infection somewhere else in my body due to my fevers and really high white blood cell count.
The next few days included countless CT scans, MRIs and ultrasounds. The fevers remained. The white blood cell count wasn't going down. I was on oxygen because I was having trouble breathing. They gave me blood transfusions (I had five total) because I kept getting more and more anemic. They did just about every test imaginable, including sticking a camera down my throat to see if my heart was infected with the bacteria.
At this point, I was basically just pissed. I didn't understand why I wasn't getting better. I was tired of the fevers. Tired of all the tests. Tired of the attention.
One morning, an ICU doctor came to my room to tell me it was over. They had done all they could. He said that I was suffering from respiratory failure, that my lungs were only 10% functional due to the pneumonia and pockets of bacteria, that they were giving me the maximum amount of oxygen yet the oxygen levels in my body were dangerously low, and that I was too weak to survive any further procedures.
As you might imagine, that wasn’t the easiest news to swallow. I asked him what I can do to give myself a shot. He said everything that could be done has been done. I ask him if he’s saying that I’m for sure going to die. “Uh, you heard what I said, didn’t you?” He then turns around and leaves while I’m in the middle of asking another question.
I try to yell at him to come back but my voice hardly worked. Pissed, I try to get out of the hospital bed. Before I manage to, my heart rate shot up and set off an alarm and the nurses rushed in. I’m trying to fight them off me and explain I want to talk to that doctor. Instead, they gave me some sort of sedative drug to stop me from trying to get up. They asked me if I wanted a priest to come give me my Last Rites. I declined.
After I’m able to think straight again, I call Kori. I tell her that she needs to come now. She asks why so urgent. I tell her that a doctor is saying I might not make it. She tells me that she’ll come as soon as she can but that nobody is willing to babysit anymore; the people we had babysitting said they were worn out.
At this point, we had pretty much run our friends and family into the ground with help requests. Up until this point, I really didn’t want people to know how seriously I was sick. I don’t enjoy sympathy. And I’ve been independent since I was 17 years old. I’m used to handling everything on my own. I don’t like outside help or depending on anyone outside of my wife.
Kori asks me to change my mind and allow her to try to get help from people on SpursTalk. I agreed, but I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I mean, yeah, I type a few posts here and there but none of you owe me anything.
As I wait for Kori to get babysitting and come join me, I was pretty much a mess. I was angry that this was how my life was going to end. I was pissed that I’d be leaving behind an enormous hospital bill that I couldn’t help pay. I felt bad for Kori because she’d been so strong through all of this but I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain. I was sad that I wouldn’t see the kids grow up.
An hour later, Kori calls back and tells me that a number of people off of SpursTalk are willing to help. There were people willing to babysit, bring food to the kids, provide transportation and basically just anything that was needed. Others wanted to come visit me in the hospital. Honestly, I was surprised, but beyond thankful.
After I hung up the phone, that’s when it hit me. As Pop would say, I needed to get over myself. Things were going to be okay. Plenty of people were going to step up and help Kori through this. Yeah, it was going to be hard for her but she’s the strongest, lovingest, most organized person I’ve ever known. In the long run, she’d be okay and she’d make sure the kids were okay. If there was a timvp replacement one day, it’d go without saying that she’d hold the kids above all else. And while it was unfortunate to be going out like this, I’ve had the best 30 years on the planet imaginable. I wouldn’t have traded the life I lived for anything. Sometimes people die young. It sucks but people who are a lot better than me die every day. Chin up, if this is it, at least go out with some dignity.
Starting then, I was at peace. Whatever that was going to happen, I was okay with it. If I die, maybe I’ll go to a better place. At worst, I won’t be suffering anymore with these annoying machines attached to me. Either way, Kori and the kids would make it.
That said, I wasn’t ready to give up. The peace of mind allowed me to fully concentrate on getting better. That’s where I could focus 100% of my energy.
A doctor came in and I told him to at least help me give myself a chance. He said it “probably wouldn’t work” but that he can start me on breathing exercises. One breath at a time, I tried with all my strength to force air into my lungs. They put a CPAP machine over my face to help me get more oxygen and I continued to take as deep of breaths as I could.
When Kori got there, I was already on the CPAP so I couldn’t talk to her. She told me she was refusing to believe I was going to die and that I just have to be strong. I nodded my head and kept breathing.
A few people from SpursTalk came that day to visit (I couldn't thank you then, but I thank you now). Later that night, Kori talked to a SpursTalk poster who is a doctor. He took the time to explain everything about what was wrong with me. He explained each procedure and answered every question she had. Considering that we were lucky for one of the doctors in the hospital to talk to us for two minutes at a time, that was amazingly helpful and I could tell Kori felt better after understanding what was truly going on.
The next few days basically consisted of me putting all my effort into breathing. If I ever took a moment to rest, my heart rate would speed up and my oxygen would drop -- which would then set off alarms. Even with me trying my hardest, those damn alarms would still sound from time to time. A couple times, they thought I was having a heart attack. A couple other times, I couldn't get my heart rate under control no matter how hard I tried.
I slowly started to get a little better, to the point that the doctors said I was stable enough to move out of ICU into PCU. However, the first two times I was scheduled to move, I had a setback so they canceled it. Finally, on the third try, I stayed well enough to transfer to PCU.
By the time I was in PCU, Kori was able to stay with me around the clock. Considering I could hardly talk, I wouldn't have made it on my own. Plus, she helped keep me positive no matter how grim the prognosis. I could tell she truly thought I'd make it; having that one person on my side expecting me to fight and win helped immeasurably.
Despite the improvement, things still weren't very good. I still had bad fevers. I was still on oxygen. My white blood cell count was still high. Because I still wasn't improving, the doctors decided that I needed exploratory abdominal surgery. They also figured that, since my lungs were working a little bit better, I was strong enough to get a chest tube inserted to help drain the pockets of infection out of my lungs. Like the tube coming out of my liver, the chest tube would stay in for a few weeks.
That was the day that Kori posted the thread on SpursTalk asking for prayers. Though I consider myself religious, I never really believed in the power of group prayer. Throughout this ordeal, I don't remember praying to God. I thought that it was up to me whether to live or die; a higher power helped give me the strength but I had to fight the fight.
The next morning, I went in for another CT scan, this time ordered by the surgeon. I also had a procedure where they stuck a giant needle through my ribs and into my lungs to suck out some of the infection. The plan was to test the fluid to see what type of bacteria had invaded my lungs.
A few hours later, the surgeon comes into my room and tells us there will be no surgery. The latest CT scan showed significant improvement. My liver, she said, didn't have have much infection left inside of it. A couple hours after that, the doctor that did the lung procedure came in and told us that they tested the fluid they got out of my lungs and there was no bacteria found. A chest tube wouldn't be needed.
It could be a coincidence that I happened to get better at the same time people began to pray. I obviously can't prove it one way or the other. However, I gotta say that I will never doubt the power of prayer again.
That night, my fever finally broke. The doctor came in and said if I can make it to the next night without a fever, I could go home. Kori and I were both shocked because no doctor had mentioned me going home in a long while. But the doctor said my CT scan looked better, the last blood transfusion seemed to have helped the anemia, my blood sugar numbers had finally become normalized and my white blood cell count was much better.
The doctor gave Kori a thermometer and for the next 24 hours, we checked my temperature about once every 15 minutes. Thankfully, the fever didn't return. The next morning, I was on my way home.
Obviously, getting home and seeing the kids for the first time in nearly a month was emotional. I'll never forget how happy I was to walk out of my death bed and into my home. It was the moment I looked forward to throughout the whole ordeal.
Once home, things weren't exactly easy. I still had that drainage tube coming out of my liver. My heart rate was still elevated and it was my first time without oxygen in a long time, so breathing wasn't always easy. I was so weak I couldn't carry a gallon of milk. I had about a dozen different medications to take every couple hours, a few of which by injection. But I was home, so everything was a million times better. No more damn machines and alarms or any of that crap.
For the next month, I just stayed in a spare bedroom trying to get well. Kori had to help me while handling everything with the kids (I don't know how she did it all). There were a couple setbacks … like the time I rolled over in the middle of the night and ripped the drainage tube out of my liver and ended up back in the emergency room. But all in all, I was slowly but surely getting better.
After that month, I finally got the liver drainage tube removed for good. When I went for the follow-up tests with each doctor I had at the hospital, they all said I was looking better than they expected. A few admitted they thought I was surely going to die.
Today, I'm off of all medications. My latest CT scans looked so clear that the doctor says it looks like nothing ever happened. All my blood work came back normal. The diabetes disappeared. I haven't even had a fever since leaving the hospital. And though I lost about 50 pounds because of everything, I've been able to exercise every day and regain about 80% of my strength so far. I'm not completely healthy yet -- but I'm pretty darn close and I have absolutely no complaints.
What happened to cause me to get sick? The doctors still aren't sure but the current theory is that the hemangioma in my liver, which is basically just a benign tumor that I was born with, caused a lack of blood flow in my liver. That then allowed a bacterial infection to grow (who knows where the bacteria came from), which spread to my pancreas, which caused the diabetes, which made the original infection worse, which caused a viscous cycle.
The doctors tell me that they can't say it will or won't happen again. They say it's probably unlikely since it was such a fluke but there's not much precedence so they don't know for sure. And, honestly, I'm fine with that. I'm still at peace. I've been able to savor each moment since I've been back. If I get sick again tomorrow, I wouldn't be bitter; at least I survived it once.
In a way, I'm actually thankful for what happened. I got to truly realize what in life is important. I got a reminder of how precious life is. I found out who really has my back when I need it the most. Some people I thought would be there simply weren't. Others who I didn't count on, including the SpursTalk community, were willing to help no matter what. For that, I don't even know what to say. A simple thank you doesn't seem suffice.
The people who offered their help gave me the ability to die in peace, which in turn gave me the power to live. I would mention names but I don't want to forget anyone so I'll just say thank you once again. And thanks to those of you who offered prayers. If you ask me, I saw proof that it worked.
The main lesson I learned is to just enjoy life. We don't have enough time to sweat the small things. Learn what is truly important and cherish those things. And if you end up in what seems like a hopeless situation, don't waste time being a coward like I did. I spent way too much time worrying and focusing on trivial things and I almost didn't give myself a chance to fight. The human spirit is strong, as long as you give it a chance.
I love Kori, the true hero in all of this. And I thank each and every last one of you. The Spurs are really my only hobby. I don't like any other team in any other sport. I don't watch television. I don't knit. I spend time with my family, I work and the rest of the time I spend watching, reading or sharing thoughts about the Spurs. I find it fun and you people make it much even more enjoyable. So thank you ... and let's hope this is my first and last health update.