Let me start by saying this post is dramatically different than anything else I have posted here before. With that being said, I’d like to tell you the story of my friend, Mike.
Mike is a 44 year old chef who is married to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Jane. He is a gymnast, a swimmer, a golfer, an adventurer, an avid Grateful Dead fan, a great friend, a loving husband, and a truly spectacular father to his 8 year old son, Jacob. He lives his life to the fullest and enjoys every minute of it. On March 7, 2014, all of that changed. Mike had been complaining of severe stomach pains and was taken to the hospital. While there, he went into multiple system organ failure and cardiac arrest; his doctors determined he had suffered a massive aortic dissection. An aortic dissection is essentially a tear in the aorta and occurs in about 2 of every 10,000 people, typically impacting men between the ages of 40-70. Once the aorta has ruptured, the chance of survival is 50% and Mike’s had already ruptured. He was rushed in to surgery and survived. His medical team felt good about the procedure and Mike had done great. Everyone was relieved that the worst was behind them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Less than 48 hours later, Mike developed sepsis due to complications from the dissection. Doctors told his family that Mike would require surgery if he had any chance of survival. His condition was so delicate, however, that he was only given a 5% chance of surviving the surgery…if he even made it to the operating room. So essentially, the choices facing the family at this point were: 1) Do nothing and he will die; or 2) Operate and he will probably die, but there is a slim chance he could make it. I don’t know if you can actually call those choices, but that was where things stood, so the family took a chance and proceeded with surgery...and he survived. When he came out, he was on a respirator, required dialysis, his hands and feet were necrotic, and he had no pupillary reflex for over a week, suggesting little to no brain activity. Then came more bad news. It looked as if Mike had suffered at least two strokes during surgery and he appeared to be paralyzed from the chest down.
Decisions had to be made. Decisions that no family should ever have to make about a loved one. Goodbyes had to be said. Friends and family from all over the world came to spend some precious time with Michael in what looked to be his final days. Many tears were shed as people left thinking they had seen him and spoken with him for the last time. In those days that turned into weeks, I said goodbye more times than I am willing to count.
While his body was still riddled with infections and developed fever after fever to continue the fight, he slowly began to come back to life. His liver began to show signs of returning to normal functioning. His breathing became stronger and he was less dependent on the respirator. He became increasingly responsive as he would turn his head toward Jane’s voice, would smile while listening to messages from Jacob, and would blink his eyes in response to simple questions. All of these signs brought a strong sense of hope, but those feelings were tempered by the very real prognosis Michael’s medical team presented to his family. “His lungs will probably not return to full strength and he will need to be on oxygen”…”It is unlikely his kidneys will return to full function, so he will require dialysis”…”He will have to lose his hands and feet, at minimum, if he has any chance of survival”…”He will have to be on a feeding tube”…”He will never be able to live independently and will require 24 hour medical care for the rest of his life”…
At the time, all of these seemed like death sentences being imposed on the vibrant, active, 44 year old loved by so many. While the majority of Michael’s medical team, family, and friends felt this was not the kind of life Mike would have wanted, there were others who refused to accept these predictions as truth and encouraged the family to let him fight and see where he could go. And fight he did. Little by little, he came off the respirator and was able to breathe on his own. His liver function returned to normal. He became more alert and responsive to those around him, offering Jane a daily wink to let her know he was in there and fighting. Finally, after nearly 3 months in ICU, he did something that most people would not want a 44 year old grown man to do in bed. Mike urinated. Just a little, but it was pure gold. His kidneys came back. Mike had, once again, beaten the virtually insurmountable odds. Another surgery was performed to amputate the necrosis which had moved in to his hands and feet, but he kept going. He kept healing. He kept getting stronger.
Finally, the day arrived where Mike was ready to move on to a rehabilitation facility.
On August 7, five months after his dissection, Michael moved to a sub-acute physical rehabilitation facility near his home. Despite his situation, he is happy to be alive and to be given this precious time with his loved ones who just can’t believe the miracle they have been blessed with.
Now that I’ve told you his story, I’m going to ask for something from you in return. The family is now faced with immense medical expenses and the cost of making accommodations to their home to allow Mike to be as independent as possible. Below is a link to a fundraising page to help the family raise the funds needed to help Mike continue his fight. Please, if you are able to donate anything at all, please do so. If you are not able to help him financially, then please just pass the word along to your family, friends, coworkers, or whoever will listen. Thanks for taking the time to read this story and I promise my next blog entry will be back to the pointless, ramblings about my life that you have all gotten used to reading. Maybe I’ll even write about that squirrel…or the story about a guy, a Pathfinder, and a dead battery…
http://www.gofundme.com/cin5qw
