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During the May sweeps I developed lung cancer. In June I began to lose my voice for extended periods of time. A tumor constricted the nerve that operates the vocal cords. The oncologist said "Chemotherapy will shrink the tumor, release the nerve and restore your voice." That did not happen. On July 3rd I lost my voice entirely; it has not returned.

Claudia Tellez, MD Oncology, Hematology

My left vocal cord has become immobile. Then in August I developed brain tumors. Since the oncologist, Claudia Tellez, said I would be dead in maybe a year or so, it was difficult to make a decision about the correct course of action to take for the brain tumors. On the other hand, she was wrong about my voice returning.

And now a word from the United States Postal Service

LANCE IN NYC. Three-time Tour de France Champion Lance Armstrong will race through lower Manhattan in the first ever New York City Cycling Championship on Sunday, Aug. 4. Armstrong and his USPS Pro Cycling team will compete against top-rated American and international cycling teams just one week after the 2002 Tour de France. The 100-kilometer professional cycling race will feature 60-70 top professional cyclists riding through Manhattan's financial district with the start/finish line at Wall and Water Streets. Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center will be the official charity of the event.

Since it is important to work, the question is: what can I do for you? I am still able to assemble and distribute tag and marry radio spots for your syndicated programming and your network -- I just can't read the tags anymore. After assembling your spots in MP3, I can distribute them directly to the stations that will broadcast them, or I can FTP the spots to your website so they can be downloaded by the stations that will broadcast them.

I met with a neurosurgeon. She wanted to interrupt my chemotherapy, cut a couple of holes in my skull and remove some of my brain. My first thought was, why bother? The second thought was, wouldn't it make sense to complete the first round of medical torture before jumping into a second round? The third thought was, when the only tool you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

Aruna Ganju, MD Neurological  Surgery

The next day the surgeon called to say I should have an operation right away and she was going to set up a pulmonary function test to make sure I could survive the operation. Because of the way she spoke, when I got off the phone I thought, "I just talked to Ben Casey" -- even though she's much too young to remember the show.

 Ben Casey Monday at 10, 9 central on ABC

The show ran from the fall of 1961 to the spring of 1966.

What would Ben Casey say? You have to have the operation and you have to have it right away. You have not lost any neurological function yet, but once you lose it will not return. Surgery right now can prevent the loss of neurological function, but surgery after the loss of neurological function will only stop the deterioration; it will not restore the functions that have been lost. You won't be able to go up or down the stairs in your house. If there is a miracle breakthrough in cancer treatment, you will regret not being able to walk or feed yourself.

ZD1839 (Iressa™) final, pivotal study results: Encouraging anti-tumour activity confirmed in advanced non-small-cell lung cancer Data presented at the American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO) 38th Annual Meeting

I met with the neurosurgeon for a second time on the Tuesday before Labor Day; she suggested I have the operation on Thursday. I said "okay". After all, it's not Christmas -- it's not something you want to look forward to. So I spent the Labor Day weekend in the hospital.

I spent the Labor Day weekend at Northwestern Hospital where I received not one, but two neurosurgeries. It really is true that brain surgery is not a big deal. I knew this theoretically before the operation, thanks to five years of watching Ben Casey every week. Now, after the operation, I can say this from first-hand knowledge. Within three hours of waking up, I was on my feet. I had to get up for a post-surgical brain MRI.

I checked into the hospital at 6am on Thursday 8/29/02. After a quick brain MRI with special highlights to guide the surgeon, I was taken to a room to wait for the operation at 8am. Susan was with me. She'd told her supervisor at the Galter Library that she'd be in early, since I was going into surgery at 8am and her start time was not until 8:30.

When we got to the post-MRI pre-surgical waiting room, I was told that the start time had been moved to 9 or maybe 10. Susan called her supervisor and said instead of being early she'd be late to work. At 9:15 the neurosurgeon stopped by to say the start time would be 11am. That would have been good timing -- I'd be coming out of the four-hour operation when Susan gets off of work.

As 1pm approached and we received no word on what was going on, Susan became increasingly upset. I however had an entirely different reaction. Thanks to Dr. Katherine Monti at Cook County Hospital, I knew exactly what to do while waiting in terror for a procedure under general anesthetic: I ordered a 0.5mg Xanax. The nurse was able to give me the Xanax very quickly, but she was not able to get any information about the operation start time.

I told Susan to go to work, because I was going to sleep. I felt a bit like Sharon Osborne. Sharon told her husband Ozzie, after he canceled his tour to stay with her while she got chemotherapy, "Go on tour, don't wait around here". Shortly before Susan got off of work at 4:30 I was moved to a different pre-surgical holding cell.

When Susan arrived she was told, after asking at four different information desks and nursing stations, that I had been taken away for the operation. I heard her react and called out to her. Susan wonders why that last nurse gave her wrong information rather than simply saying "I don't know". Susan was irritated. My reaction was completely different -- my reaction was pure Xanax.

Susan and I worried that my surgeon was called into an emergency and might be tired from a full day of operating on somebody else. I thought, if we don't do it today, there is always tomorrow. As it turned out, there was some kind of neurosurgical emergency, but my surgeon was not involved in the operation, so she was still fresh and ready to go.

At Cook County Hospital, when my rigid bronchoscopy did not occur on the scheduled day, the hospital mantra seemed to be "This is County, where gunshot wounds come first". In some respects there's not much difference between County Hospital and Northwestern.

Shortly after 5pm I was taken away for my 8am procedure. As I was being taken away Susan was told the procedure would last about 3 hours -- once again, bad information from somebody who should have said "I don't know".

Based on what she was told, Susan was expecting a telephone call after 8pm. The operation was not completed and a telephone call was not made until after 11pm. There was no problem -- it was a 4-hour operation, plus set up time before the procedure could begin, but the three hour estimate did cause several unnecessary anxious hours at home.

As the anesthesiologist looked over my pulmonary condition -- my left lung in a state of near-total collapse -- he seemed to wonder "Who cleared this guy for surgery?" He also expressed concern about being able to remove a breathing tube from me after the procedure. I was not troubled or worried by the comments of the anesthesiologist - once again my reaction was pure Xanax.

Thomas C. Corbridge, MD Specialty: Pulmonology, Critical Care Medicine  --  When  Dr. Tom cleared me for surgery he also asked why I was not receiving radation in addition to chemotherapy. Tom said he would talk to Claudia. Nine days later, radation began under Maryanne H. Marymont, MD.

Next thing I knew I was with two people who were discussing whether I needed to be laying on my back or my stomach. One person said, we'll turn him over when he's asleep. A moment later it was 6:15am and I asked for Dr. Zorba, unfortunately there was nobody around who was at least 45 years old, nobody around who had ever heard of Ben Casey. The people around me said they could bring Dr. Goldberg, I told them not to bother, I was all right.

My tongue was swollen. I wondered if it got bitten when I was turned over, and nobody checked so that the biting continued throughout the operation. Seems odd -- skull is removed, brain is removed, staples are placed in head, and the post-surgical complaint: sore tongue. The longer I was awake the more my tongue swelled, and it became more difficult, even impossible, to speak clearly; luckily Susan was there and she brought me paper and pen.

I was asked who is the President of the United States; I said that's a tough one ... the American people elected Al Gore, but I would have to go with the answer "Boy George". They asked if I knew what time it was; the TV was on, tuned to Good Morning America -- it was 7:45

Apparently I took the concerns of the anesthesiologist about removing my breathing tube very seriously. The surgeon said I removed the breathing tube myself at around 3 or 4am. I was just glad, however it happened, that there was no breathing tube in me when I woke up.

Some time after 9 o'clock Friday morning I was taken for a post-surgical brain MRI. I didn't have to move, my entire bed was rolled to the MRI room. In the MRI room I stood up and sat down on the MRI table and discovered what should be the main complaint following neurosurgery: a stiff, immobile neck. I put MRI earplugs in and lay down for a moment, but popped right back up. I needed some support for my head and neck. Luckily this was not a problem because I was in the hands of people who were sensitive to patients who were in pain and distress. A moment later something was injected into the IV, a pillow support was arranged for my head and the MRI was on.

I returned to the bed, the bed was rolled back to the ICU and I went to sleep until about 2pm. When I awoke I had the catheter removed, and a few minutes later I was standing and peeing. Later that afternoon my bed was rolled out of the ICU and into the "step-down" ICU. As the day progressed and my neck continued to stiffen, it became increasingly difficult to stand up -- standing was not a problem, just the up part. With the help of a nurse holding my hands I was able to stand without stressing my now very stiff neck. After I was standing, the nurse would leave and I would use the pee bucket.

As the stiffness in my neck continued to worsen, I was unable to turn my head to the left or right, up or down. It became difficult to slide up or down in the bed, but with the help of the nurse, I was still able to stand to pee. When I would cough a spectacular pain would shoot through my stiff neck. Dr. Ganju, the neurosurgeon stopped by and recommended that I don't cough. I told her, "I have to cough and spit. I have a stage four lung cancer and it's part of the gig". Besides, no matter how much my neck hurt, the pain did not compare to the pain in the tongue. I believe this is part of the Moe Howard school of pain management where it was discovered that a poke in the eye will take your mind off of any kind of pain.

Dr. Ganju reported the post-surgical MRI revealed that she had successfully removed the entire "tumor", but we were still waiting for test results to identify exactly what the mass was. Later on Friday night a doctor suggested I wait a day or two and then start trying to turn my head to the left and right. I assumed he suggested I wait a day or two so I didn't stress the wound, or the bandage. For dinner on Friday (or was it Saturday) there was a great steak; unfortunately I was unable to fully enjoy it because of my swollen tongue.

Saturday night my bed was rolled out of the step-down section of the ICU and into a regular room in the neurosurgical wing of the hospital. It was a great room with a great view of the NBC tower, Prudential II, the Standard Oil building and the lake. There was a couch built into the wall. The couch could be opened to allow a visitor to comfortably sleep in the room. I took my IV pole and walked round the floor. Later on Saturday night I was disconnected from the IV; however, the needle (shunt?) was left in my arm so painkillers and other drugs could be injected.

On Sunday September 1st I began to turn my head, working on left and right moves first because it was less painful than up & down. Dr. Han, an ENT resident, stopped by. I played my demo tape for her and asked if she thought I might ever be able to do that again. She suggested I might be able to get some help from Dr. Altman. I said, Kenneth? She was surprised that I knew his name. I told her Kenneth Altman had been recommended by Dr. Hast. I don't know Dr. Hast first hand, but Dr. Han did.

A doctor stopped in and removed some staples from my head and replaced my bandage. Apparently there were two sets of staples in my head. The more serious set of staples were scheduled to be removed Monday 9/9/02 at 9:30am. The new bandage felt loose so I was a little afraid to move my head. I didn't want the bandage to fall off. At that moment Schultz arrived for a visit. While I could move my head when Donald arrived, I was worried about the new bandage and so I restricted my head movements. When I tried to move my head up and down, the bandage pulled on my hair. I thought, protect the bandage!

Then a physical therapist stopped by to find out what kind of condition I was in. Suddenly it was time to stress the bandage so he could see that there was some movement returning to my neck. But his main job was to make sure I am able to handle the 36 stairs in my house. We walked Donald to the elevator. It was a fairly substantial distance and enough to convince the therapist that I was having no trouble getting around.

During the walk Donald told us the story of a schizophrenic with AIDS that he represented. Shortly before he arrived his client had decided to remove all of his IV tubes. Donald arrived as his client's room was being washed down with bleach. Now that's a difficult patient. I on the other hand decided not to poop until I could use a toilet; I didn't want to be responsible for anybody having to wash out a bedpan. (But it wasn't entirely altruistic -- I didn't want to use a bedpan.)

On Monday September 2nd, Labor Day, Dr. Han returned with two other ENTs; again I played my demo tape. One of the ENTs took a look at my vocal cords and said my left cord is immobile. The right vocal cord vibrates, but with no movement in the left cord I can't get sound. Even Dr. Altman might not be able to offer help. Maybe, if Thomas Corbridge's recommendations for radiation on the tumors in my chest and neck are enacted, the tumor's pressure on the vocal cord may be reduced and I'll be able to speak normally, if not professionally.

Later on Monday the bandage doctor returned. He removed the bandage and decided not to replace it. I believe Dr. Ganju arrived later and approved the "no bandage" condition, but she told me not to touch her wound.

I was told the Gamma Knife would happen Tuesday morning. I was told Gamma Knife just takes a little longer than an MRI. I was told it's like getting 2 MRIs with a short pause between the two. Since a full MRI takes 45 minutes, I assumed the whole procedure would last 90 minutes, maybe 2 hours at most. I was told "since Gamma Knife is usually performed as an outpatient procedure", I would likely be released from the hospital Tuesday afternoon, although they might want to keep me Tuesday night for observation.

Tuesday at around 5 or 6am the night nurse came by and started a saline IV. He told me transport would come by some time after 7:15 to take me to the Gamma Knife. I thought that meant I'd get back to my room by 9:15 or 10 o'clock at the latest. Unfortunately transport arrived at 6:45 am so I missed my regular pain medications. My medications were 4mg Decadron four times a day, 2mg morphine every 2 to 4 hours and 60mg codeine every four to six hours.

The move to Gamma Knife was the first time I had been moved without being moved in my bed. This was unfortunate, and painful. While I had developed a fairly substantial ability to turn my head left, right, up and down, I did not have full movement and the movement was still painful. I was in great need of the neck support that my bed provided.

I was brought down to Gamma Knife, on a floor called "LC" in a wheelchair. (There is no place for head support in a wheelchair.) LC stands for Lower Concourse, but from my perspective LC stands for "Like County", a horrible space that reminded me of my stay at County Hospital. It was just as dirty, just as open, just as unprivate. The room allowed me full access to the pain of other patients. And other patients were allowed full access to my agony.

I was greeted by a nurse, Jennifer White, who had me sign permission forms for the procedure. When she was done I used the table to rest my head and neck. This was the longest my neck had been required to support my head since I woke from the brain resection Friday morning and I was in distress, but the table was a big help.

When another patient arrived Nurse Jennifer took my table away. I asked her where I could rest my head. Nurse White pointed to a place in my holding cell and said, "you can't rest it there because that area is sterile". That was not my question -- the question was, where can I rest my head. I tried to point out on Jennifer's neck where I was in distress, but she recoiled in horror and said "don't touch me".

Jennifer told me I was going to have to sit in that wheelchair, without head support until after 8am when the doctor arrived. Well, that's rather rude -- I could have been left in my room, in my bed with my head supported and my medications delivered until 8am, instead of being brought to the County Hospital ward of Northwestern at 6:45am. There was a table across the hall that was not being used, I asked I I could lie down on that table. Jennifer's attitude was that a patient in distress is a difficult patient. I guess she never had to deal with any schizophrenic with AIDS who decided to remove his IVs squirting the room with his own blood.

When I was no longer able to tolerate the discomfort of sitting in that chair, I took action. I removed the seat pillow, put it on the floor, then I covered the seat pillow with my blanket and laid on the floor. It provided much needed blessed relief for the distress I was feeling in my neck. It seemed an appropriate motif for Northwestern's County Hospital room -- where the nurse is unwilling or unable to help a patient in distress, the patient must provide his or her own relief.

Jennifer told me I was not allowed to lie on the floor. I was not moving. So the empty table was moved into my cell from across the hall and I was allowed to lie on it. I should not have had to make such a dramatic move to remove distress. Until I hit Northwestern's County Hospital ward, every nurse and nurse's aide I had dealt with was a compassionate caregiver, constantly asking me to rate my pain or distress on a scale of ten and acting to relieve it.

Around 8 o'clock the surgeon, Dr. Robert M. Levy, arrived. He was terrific. Great spirit, great personality, and he was over 45 so he knew who Ben Casey was. His personality was so big that it almost helped me get over the horror and terror that I felt when I realized that nurse, Jennifer White, was going to be assisting in the procedure.

The Gamma Knife procedure works like this. First a cage is placed over your head. Then a local anesthetic is injected into four spots into your head. Then the cage is literally screwed into your skull. Then the cage is covered by an additional, weighty piece of equipment. This must be difficult and painful under any conditions, but for me it was extra painful -- I was still experiencing painful restricted neck movements resulting from the neurosurgery, and the sudden and unexpected separation from my pain medications.

I don't understand why the pain medications were not delivered to the patient. I was still in the hospital. I was still a patient. The medications were still ordered. There was even a nurse from the neurosurgical wing down in Northwestern's County Hospital ward. I asked the nurse not to let food service take my breakfast away; I told him I'd eat it cold. He asked why I would want a cold breakfast when I could have a hot lunch. I told him I'd eat the cold breakfast and follow it up with the hot lunch.

After a cage is screwed into a person's skull, every measure should be taken to have the contraption removed as quickly as possible; any other procedure is cruel and inhumane. Unfortunately in Northwestern's Cook County Hospital ward this is not the procedure. First I had to listen as the other patient had the cage screwed into her head, then it was my turn. I would have been happier without the coming attractions. Then I had to wait while the other person had her MRI, then it was time for my MRI.

Then it was time to wait while the doctor performed the Gamma Knife calculations. Since the doctor was performing two procedures at the same time, I had to wait while the doctor performed two sets of calculations. Finally I had to sit and wait, with the cage screwed into my head while the other patient received her treatment. Please remember, I was awake, fully conscious, without pain medication, left in a room without radio or TV.

When the cage was screwed into my head, it was extremely painful. Jennifer would have preferred that I "take it like a man", or at least that's what I assumed when she audibly expressed disgust at my discomfort. One of the four screws was extra painful and hearing the sound of my skull crunching inside of the helmet made it even more horrific. When I mentioned that the screw in the upper right side of my head was extra painful, Jennifer took that as another cue to show her disgust with me. Luckily she was not the doctor. Dr. Levy took my expression of pain as a cue to apply additional topical painkiller to the location of that screw.

After the diagnostic MRI I was brought to a waiting room with a good chair and a clock, but no radio or TV. The time was 9:50 am. I asked how long I would be in that room and was told two hours. I was horrified! As it turned out I remained in that room until 1:20 pm -- three and a half hours! I was never given any estimate how we were doing on time. But shortly after noon I was able to figure out how long it might be when I heard Dr. Levy start the other patient's treatment by saying she would have eight sessions that would last a certain number of minutes each and take a total of about one hour.

When my treatment began, Dr. Levy told me his MRI had discovered a third brain tumor. He said the Gamma Knife would be used on my tumors two and three, and he would also radiate the cavity where the first tumor was removed. Dr. Levy said my procedure would require thirteen sessions. Although he did not provide a total time estimate, I knew I was in for something that would go on for much more than an hour.

During a Gamma Knife, in addition to the cage that is screwed into the person's skull, the cage has a cover, and a treatment "hat" is then attached to the cage cover. Once attached, adjustments are made to the settings in the treatment hat. Then the patient is laid back onto the Gamma Knife machine where the treatment hat is connected to machine. This connection requires straining of the neck in order to fit into the machine. With my neck still stiff from the brain resection, getting into the correct position so I could be attached to the machine was difficult and painful.

There are two ways to connect a patient for treatment: a good way, and a bad way. The good way is gentle, compassionate, caring and quiet. The good way to connect or release a patient from a treatment session is the way it was done by Dr. Levy. Unfortunately the doctor did not make all of the connections and releases. The doctor only made the connections for maybe a third of the thirteen treatments.

When Dr. Levy connected a treatment hat to the cage cover, he was like a fine German mechanic performing the first tire rotation on a brand new luxury car in front of the owner. The screws were attached smoothly, quietly, without stressing the cage that is screwed into the patient's skull. When Dr. Levy attached the treatment hat to the machine the movements there were also smooth. In spite of my stiff neck the doctor managed to get me into the proper position with a minimum of stress. His hand behind my head seemed to be fully aware of the wound in the back of my head, so I didn't have to be.

At the conclusion of a treatment, the doctor's release from the machine was again smooth. His hands were caring and delicate, his respect for the integrity of Dr. Ganju's wound, perfect. With his strong hand behind my back Dr. Levy would sit me up and smoothly change the treatment hat. Maybe I should have asked the doctor to perform all of the connections, but I didn't want to do anything that would delay the treatment, or cause me to suffer the wrath of an associate who felt slighted.

When Dr. Levy's staff connected or released a treatment hat, I had a totally different experience. His staff consisted of the nurse (Jennifer White) and some guy. When Jennifer and the guy were connecting a treatment hat, there was a lot of banging around. I didn't know what the banging sounded like outside of the hat, but on the inside the noise was thunderous. While Dr. Levy's movements seemed like a fine automotive technician with fine parts and fine tools, the actions of his staff were more like a corner mechanic trying to remove rusted lug nuts from a 62 Chevy.

The patient is aware, hearing sounds that are made by stressing a cage that is screwed into his own skull. The sounds and jerky movements are both painful and terrifying. When it was time to connect the treatment hat to the Gamma Knife machine, the staff was unable to move the apparatus smoothly into place -- there was a lot a banging around. There was a lack of respect for the integrity of Dr. Ganju's wound. Twisting my head into the correct position to be attached to the Gamma Knife was awkward and painful. After being released, instead of Dr. Levy's strong arm raising my body, I only heard the voice of Jennifer say "sit up" as she walked away from me.

At one point when Jennifer and the guy were performing one of their awkward connections, the nurse decided to ask me what the trouble was. Unfortunately, with my swollen tongue it was impossible to enunciate. Not being able to speak clearly is particularly troubling to a person who spent the past thirty years earning a living as a radio TV announcer and industrial narrator. I tried to answer the nurse's question about what was wrong, but she just said with disgust "I can't understand a word you're saying". I believe nursing is a profession for people with compassion. Jennifer's personality seems more suited to a prison guard. I suppose that is why she works in Northwestern's Cook County Hospital wing. Maybe she should transfer to the real County Hospital.

After ten of the thirteen treatments were completed Dr. Levy said I would now have to get an MRI every three months so future brain tumors could be caught in time to be cured by the Gamma Knife rather than traditional neurosurgery. Based on my experience I find traditional neurosurgery far less stressful. After all, how many screw holes can a skull handle?

After the 13th hat was complete, Dr. Levy unscrewed the cage from my head. The doctor said that my pain would increase as he released the screws as the pressure on my skull returned to normal. Since Dr. Levy was aware of present and pending pain, I assumed that as soon as the screws were removed from my skull, Dr. Levy would immediately inject morphine into the IV shunt. It was nearly 4pm when the Gamma Knife was concluded and by then I had missed two to four morphine injections and 60 to 120 mgs of codeine. Unfortunately my faith in pain relief was not rewarded. After the screws removed nothing was given, nothing was offered.

Jennifer did say "I'll call transport in about ten minutes" -- by all means please don't rush on my account. After a few minutes Jennifer White rolled me to a room in a wheelchair (again, no neck support) and told me to wait there for transport. It was 4 o'clock. Just as Dr. Levy predicted the pain rose to unimaginable levels. I could still have gotten out of the chair, gone to the elevator and returned to the neurosurgical wing of the hospital -- that is the choice I should have made. I would have been back to my room in less than five minutes, and in the care of a compassionate nursing staff.

Unfortunately I decided to wait for the transport person. As the pain continued to grow, I began to moan, and then scream. I was in pain and could see no benefit in keeping it to myself. A nurse came by and asked if I needed something, I said morphine, she said transport had been called. Jennifer came by on several occasions, angered by my pain. She offered no drugs but did say transport had been called. If Jennifer found my screams of pain so difficult she should have returned me to my room -- I'd have been out of her hair in five minutes.

Someone told me "we can't give pain killers down here". I ask why not! Is this not part of the hospital? Are my medical records and authorized treatments unavailable to you? If the staff in the LC can't or won't control pain, at least send out for one of the good nurses from the neurosurgical wing of the hospital.

What is Gamma Knife? I thought it was state-of-the-art neurosurgery. Based on the way Northwestern treats the doctor who provides the service and the patients who receive the service, NMH's attitude seems to be equate a Gamma Knife patient with a Medicaid patient who is coming down to the basement for a government-paid pedicure.

At some point Ms. White returned with Dr. Marymont. It seemed as though Nurse White was entertained by the sight of a person in pain and she wanted bring along a friend to enjoy the show. I was still sitting in the very uncomfortable wheelchair, still in a great deal of pain and having been offered no pain medication at all. As I sat in the chair screaming in pain, Nurse White said "don't yell at Dr. Marymont". I was not yelling at anybody -- I was in pain and hoping somebody would do something, but nothing was done.

After a full forty minutes the transport person finally showed up. At that point Jennifer White offered me a Tylenol; by then I thought, thanks for nothing -- transport is here and I am a quick elevator ride away from good nurses, morphine and codeine. Jennifer said smugly, "Well, I've offered him everything I've got". If I had accepted her offer it would have further delayed my return to the neurosurgical wing! Maybe she wanted to extend my pain. She really should not be working in medicine.

On the way back to the room the transport person pressed the up button for an elevator. A down elevator arrived and I was pushed onto it. The elevator went down, making three stops on the way down and another three stops to get back to where we started. When we passed the nurses' station in the neurosurgical wing, my nurse Hope asked where I had been all day. I said "Gamma knife, please morphine-codeine quickly".

Then the transport person attempted to push me into the wrong room. I grabbed the doorway to stop her and not interfere with the privacy of another patient. The transport person insisted she was taking me to the right place. I told her my room was 1224. Susan was there, she also told the transport person "yes he is in 1224". With the help of Susan we were able to convince the transport person to try the correct room. I don't know the name of the transport person, but after the experience at the elevator and the doorway I understand why it took the transport worker forty minutes to arrive.

When I got to my room, I found my breakfast and lunch waiting. I began to eat. Drugs arrived, and the pain decreased. As I chewed my food the screw hole on the upper right side of my head, the hole that was extra painful going in, started leaking blood. I did not stop eating. I had two meals, that meant two napkins -- one for my mouth and one to mop up the blood that was leaking from my head.

Dr Ganju stopped by, she said I would be released from the hospital first thing in the morning. Wednesday morning I showered, dressed, Susan took my hospital stuff away and put it in the car. I waited for word about a release. Lunch was being served when transport came by. I was taken to a post Gamma Knife Brain CT Scan. When it was over, I was told transport had been called. I knew lunch was getting cold. I gave transport a minute or two, then I got up and headed for the elevator.

At 4pm I was still waiting for word about when I would be released, I started making telephone calls. This was difficult for me because I lost my voice to the cancer, and my tongue was still swollen. I was not able to get any information. Nurses told me doctors were on the 9th floor, then they were coming to the 12th floor and I would be released. At 7pm I went to the nurses' station and said we're leaving … now. They gave me prescriptions and directions, removed my shunt and I was on my way.

On Saturday afternoon 9/7/02 I realized that the bottle of Lidocaine was about empty, and my tongue was still sore. How do you find a doctor on a Saturday afternoon to write a prescription for Lidocaine? I called the nurses' station in the neurosurgical wing of the hospital, gave them the telephone number of my local Walgreen's, and they took care of the rest.

Suggestions for improvement at NMH

1. All persons responsible for waking patients after neurosurgery should know who Ben Casey and Dr. Zorba were.

2. Get Jennifer White out of medicine.

3. All nurses and nurses' aides should receive a free "wildcard" (that's Northwestern-speak for free parking).

4. ( -- more coming -- )

.

.To get your free

"Let's get Jennifer White out of Medicine"

button, send a self-addressed stamped envelope to:

.Jennifer White -- P.O. Box 11358 -- Chicago, IL 60611-0358