Medical Surveillance (Cleveland 2a)

We're off.

A major collision forces us to take a detour en route to the Canada/U.S. border. It is an otherwise uneventful trip to the Customs Check. This time, there's no interrogation about the medical supplies on board. The Customs Officer only wants to see an official document from The Cleveland Clinic before he wishes me better health and allows us to pass.

We stop at the first available rest stop - coincidentally, home of the No Restroom Protest - not to protest its lack of lav, but to run some meds. A few hours along the Interstate, and we're at the exit.

I'm not a map person. I've been here before and have already resolved not to make the same right turn mistake from our earlier sojourn. John, on the other hand, he likes maps. When we get past that tricky right-turn, I sense that he may have a little more confidence in my system...until I miss a turn altogether.

With my system, we would go a few blocks more to confirm we weren't on the right street, then cut over on a different street, traverse back on another street, come to a corner where I would look for a landmark, point and say "There, that's it." John's clearly uncomfortable with that system. I suggest a full turn around and pull the landmark check during a red light.
I get my bearings, point, and presto! We're there.
With help from the staff, the car gets unloaded and registered. We check into the room and call Mom and Dad so they know we're in town.

We meet to review the itinerary for the next day and set a meeting time. We're ready.

Cleveland Part 2 stories continue here
Jump to Cleveland 2e (Final Chapter)

Master Evaluation (Cleveland 2b)

At 9:30, our party of 4 takes the shuttle to the main campus. There are 37 buildings on the 140-acre campus. I wait for a landmark to identify our stop. I describe the entry of the building we're looking for. Here it is, KK. Verify with the driver. And we're in.

The International Center is as polished as ever. I draw the same consultant as before and she remembers the little mix-up from before. Information verified, we wait for the financial consultant.

In the Finance Coordinator's office, I introduce my Financial Advisor:Medical to Lucy. And it's like I'm 14 all over again. Lucy turns all her focus to Dad. They exchange cards and arrange their direct communication lines. "I'll just send it all to you, Joe, no need to bring Chris into it."

Hello? I'm in it. Here's the thing: I'm 40 years old. In September, my son will be a high school senior; my daughter, a junior. When will I be considered an adult?

John accepts the map from Bernice, our concièrge. My method of getting around is a little too dicey. He's concerned that I won't be with them to "recognize a piece of concrete and know to go left." Bernice escorts us to our first stop in the pre-op process.

Welcome to the paperless hospital. I complete the medical questionnaire online. We go to the next stage. Julie begins the online admission. The Resident does a physical and enters the data. My newest itinerary shows a psychological assessment...we all think this could be trouble!

Each member of the surgical team tries to cut and paste the info from one tab to the next. It's a lot of repetition. The team members are helpful and informed. Each patiently answers questions from all of us. Sydney, Teaching Team Leader, reviews the mechanics and engineering of the device.

Ace surgeon, Dr. Bipan Chand, describes the procedure in great detail. He is prepared to spend as much time with us as we need. We discuss protocols and follow up. He quickly dictates a letter to my specialists at home.

For a paperless health care site, I've collected several copies of my itinerary for the day, a binder of instructions, some promo material, papers of I-don't-know-what...and I still have a couple stops to make.

It's a lo-o-o-ong walk from M-building to A, the final destination. We review it all again with the anaesthetic consultant - meds, allergies, history. She understands the cross-contamination/airborne allergy concerns. We reach the fitness part of the questionnaire. I've been indoors too long, so when she asks "Can you walk 6 blocks easily?", I respond, "Is that uphill?".

She leaves the office with my paper chart to discuss whether I'm cleared for surgery. The image of a person, sitting in a darkened office with walls of dark-tint glass makes me laugh. I ask Jennie to sell my case well, and suggest that if this person could only meet me, he'd clear me in a jiffy!

In a short while, she comes back and pronounces me Cleared for Surgery. It's 2:45 p.m.

Cleveland 2a
Cleveland 2c
Cleveland 2d
Cleveland 2e

Operation Order (Cleveland 2c)

At 6:00 a.m., we walk across the street to the Surgical Center. At the check-in, we verify patient information again. John is given a pager. As information about my case is available, he will be paged by the clerk. My code-name is jotted on a piece of paper and slipped across the desk.


The Cleveland Clinic performs an average of 250 surgeries each day. In order to keep families updated on the status of their loved ones, a large video display terminal hangs in the lounge.

For privacy, each patient is listed by code. My progress will be updated throughout the morning on the board. Jokes about Delayed, Cancelled, etc. appearing beside my code ensue.

The rest of the day's recap, courtesy of John's emails from that day:
8:06 a.m. - Chris is in surgery. It will take about 3 hours and then another 2 hrs. in PACU. We'll be able to see her for 10 mins. in the recovery room after that.

11:19 a.m. - Picture the arrival/departure board at the airport. The board now shows she has entered PACU though we haven't heard anything yet.

11:58 a.m. - Spoke to the doctor. Surgery went fine...The pacemaker is on and seems to be working fine. Probably another hour before we can see Chris.
Keeper, The Caring Canine, stopped to visit us. The hospital has a Chocolate Labrador Retriever that is walked through the waiting area, offering comfort to family members.

1:00 p.m. - We had our first 10 minute visit with Chris...She looks better than expected and is feeling pretty good overall. Once she's in her room, we will be able to stay with her longer. Looks like we can finally celebrate. Time to go have a beer!

At some point, we'd been told that 2 visitors would be allowed to see the patient in the Recovery Room. I pictured John, Mom and Dad playing Rock-Paper-Scissors in the waiting room. Luckily, they find Lloyd is willing to bend the rules a little. At the 9-minute mark, he shows up to escort them out.

I am moved into a room in M-building. At some point, the Nursing Aide comes in to present me with some swag. Cruel to receive a water pitcher and not be able to use it, don't-ch-ya' think?

Cleveland 2a
Cleveland 2b
Cleveland 2d
Cleveland 2e

Positive Wave? (Cleveland 2d)

It is a terrible night. I do not have good symptom control. I'm miserable.

Knowing that I'm being discharged, I'm convinced that if I could just get out of the bed, clean up and dress in real-people clothes, I will feel better.


I jimmy the side-rails down, gather the various equipment on one side and devise a system for getting up. After a few modifications, I am up and moving. It takes a couple trips to drag stuff around to where I can access it. Ready to become human again, I realize that until I'm disconnected from some of the paraphernalia, there's really not much I can do. I put on some brand new sister socks...and nearly wipe out on the slick floor. The bag of swag included some slipper-socks, so I don those instead.

When the nurse comes with the meds, we discuss the discharge and she disconnects me from everything so I can get dressed.

John, Mom and Dad arrive. I'm really bad company. I haven't slept and I've done a lot since 6 a.m. Let me now apologize to Gladys and Ethel, the nice ladies from the church who stopped by to see me. "This is not a good time," I snapped at them. Ladies, I'm sorry for treating you so poorly. If they ever go online and Google their names, maybe they'll see it.

After some confusion, shortly past 1:00, I'm cleared to go. John works with Bernice to arrange transport back to the hotel. He's prepped the meds.

Back at the hotel, I return to my regular routine of med delivery and at 5:00, I call my parents to play some cards. They are surprised by the difference. I feel well enough to count trump. And my partner and I win at Pinochle. At least, that's my version.

Meds, TPN and a good night's sleep. That's what I need.


[Gladys]
[Ethel]

Cleveland 2a
Cleveland 2b
Cleveland 2c
Cleveland 2e

Return to Base (Cleveland 2e)

I'm grateful that my husband and my parents still love me after I was so miserable most of yesterday.

At 6:00 a. m., I take an inventory and determine I feel pretty good. I work the numbers: if I take one med now, prep the other then infuse it an hour from now, I can supplement the first one at 9:30 and we can be on the road for 10:00 a.m.

John works with the gracious staff to clear the room and load the car. Dad befriends the police officers directing traffic on West 89th. Mom chats up the family waiting by the door. I'm tempted to ask the producer what he and his crew are doing, but decline, only because it's pretty tough to get up from the chair.

Smooth sailing all the way. John wins the first car game. We still need the Commissioner to rule on a play in the second game. I'm pleased that the $12.60 we've paid in Interstate tolls this year is working: parts of I-90 have been recently resurfaced. It is a comfortable drive.

Nothing unusual at the border. No funny stories from the Duty Free Store. It's good to be home.

Michelle has stepped in and handled the household like a superhero. She has directed the day's power-work but her staff have to leave early- one to a football game and the other to work. John tries to take the dog for a walk, but Buddy refuses to go unless I go too. His feelings are still hurt because his Auntie can't walk him either. Eventually, we trick him into going.

Michelle cuts off the 4 allergy hospital i.d. bracelets. Other hospitals in which I've been a patient just use one bracelet and write on it 'Multiple - see chart'. The Cleveland Clinic staff wrote each allergy individually: one bracelet for drug allergies, one for latex, and 2 for food.

When Andrew gets home, he greets me by a warm and loving, "What are you doing home?" At least he let me kiss him in front of Calvin, his teammate who drove him home from the game. I could tell Jess missed me, "Hey! Hi!" she said when she got home from work.

We sit down to the meal that Michelle has slaved to prepare. Michelle decided to have Andrew and Jess select dinner each night by its picture. I don't think she'd ever do meal-planning that way again.

It's hard to choose a movie to watch that evening. We want something funny, but not too funny because it hurts to laugh. We're not up to a thoughtful documentary; our brains are too tired to try a mock-umentary; not looking for a whack-'em-sock-'em-blow 'em upper either. Jessica feeds us Fever Pitch. I see a movie critic promises this movie is "A Grand Slam Comedy", but I know it's tame enough for us tonight.

I can't measure if I feel better or different at all. We're all hopeful because I responded so well with this treatment before, but I have to heal from the surgery first. I'll take it all one day at a time.

Back toThe Beginning of this trip