In just 18 days, early in the morning, I will be in a deep sleep, as Dr. Michael Rosenbloom begins what will be the most important operation of his career. Perhaps not to him, or to many other people, but important to me and some other people who have shared my life so far. It's not a surprise. I've waited for this day for 45 years. It almost happened in 1964 and could have taken place any time in between. But July 8, 2009, is the day, I go under the knife. Let me share my story.
I was born in 1947, at first appearing a healthy little guy. At 3 or 4 years of age, as I've been told, I stopped running around as children tend to do. My parents took me to the doctor who determined that I had a serious heart murmur. 1951 and 2009 are worlds apart. Now, the solution might be fairly simple. Then, it involved a very dangerous operation. I was diagnosed with a Coarctation of the Aorta, and the condition required a surgical response. In those days, very few doctors were having success, so my parent took me to Boston Children's Hospital (we lived in Trenton at the time), to see whom I was told was the "Best doctor in the world." As a child, I always wondered how anyone could tell. I thought there might be some other doctor, in China, on the other side of the world, who might just be a little better than he. Best? Second best? I can't say I really know, but from the reactions I get from many doctors even now, he was a giant in the pediatric heart surgery field. So, we trekked up to Boston to see, the famed heart surgeon, Dr. Robert Gross. Dr. Gross confirmed the diagnosis, but chose to wait six more years for the surgery to be done. At 10, in 1957, I underwent the operation I needed.
I was a trooper, and hung my hat on being a great patient. I went forward without a fuss, without any fear. Years later, I met a guy who had the same operation when he was a child. Getting out of the car at the hospital, he quickly ran away, and hid in the bushes. He was found, and the surgery went on. I never thought this was something that I could do. It wasn't in my character. Dr. Gross was the best doctor, and I was determined to be the best patient, in the world. The surgery was successful, and one year later, I was dismissed from the great doctor's care.
The heart problem kept me from doing the things young boys are wont to do. I loved baseball, but I simply could not play, or sustain the effort that other children did. I tried youth baseball for one year, but did not go back, it was simply too hard. A few years after I had the operation, I went with some friends to a tennis court. A less popular sport in those days, I was on equal footing with the other kids. This piqued my interest and I began to develop good tennis skills. In junior high school, I met and played with some members of the high school tennis team. They were older than me, and I was a bit behind, but nevertheless, I realized then that I had a good chance of playing on the high school tennis team.
In the fall of my freshman year, the tennis coach ran an informal tennis program. I played everyday, further supporting my belief that I could earn a spot on the team. The spring came, and I signed up for tryouts. The first step was a physical exam. I saw the school doctor, and to my surprise, he would not okay me to play school sports. It wasn't the coarctation. He found something new.
I begged to play, and pushed my mother into challenging the decision. When the doctor heard I saw the great Dr. Gross, he agreed to defer to Dr. Gross' decision. We went back to Boston but to my dismay, Dr. Gross would not let me play on the team. He had no objecction to my playing tennis, but not in a situation where I could not back out, if I did not feel well.
The next year, I did get sick, and again went to see the great Dr. Gross. This time, he was concerned. I spent a week in the hospital where I was given the diagnosis of Aortic insufficiency. There was serious talk of another heart operation, then and there. Dr. Gross, however, decided to wait a year. A year became two, and eventually 45.
That's today's post. The story will go on.
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