Today's blog message is dedicated to all the amazing staff at the University of Iowa Hospital where I got to see first-hand why they are considered the cream of the crop in the health care world.
There's a fine line between life and death and I'm here to share with you today that I was nearly 100% certain I crossed that line around 3pm on Monday, February 5 while driving home during a major snow storm. The angel seated in the car next to me who was only 8 weeks away from earning her wings when our Honda slid across the yellow line, continued sliding off the roadway and suddenly veered back to the wrong side of the road directly in front of an oncoming van traveling approximately 50mph. The angle of our car put the angel seated next to me in the center of the target. There was absolutely no way to avoid the oncoming vehicle. All I could do was yank hard right on the steering wheel and pray for a miracle. I don't know how I remained conscious but all I can say is there must have been some kind of Divine intervention at the moment of impact and beyond that kept my daughter and me alive. The explosion of glass was intense and our vehicle pinged back across the road missing other vehicles before spinning and halting on the side of the road. The impact from the van pierced the left side of my body and broke seven ribs. I also suffered a lacerated spleen. You can read my posts from the last couple of days for more details about the accident and the ambulance ride to the University of Iowa hospital. Here's my report about my visit to the trauma unit:
The entrance to the emergency room looked like a busy weekend shopping day at Costco. You know the trauma team is at its limits when the ambulance drivers are forced to park outside in the snow. For me, it was a delight. I enjoyed the chill in the air outside the ambulance and the snow flakes landing on my exposed chest while paramedics carted me in. The admin folks were doing their best to yell out assignments and there was a full team of doctors waiting for me when we entered the trauma unit. The team methodically and effortlessly assessed my situation. The only thing that maybe could have sped things up was tattooing 7-4-60 on my forehead to answer my birthday question that was asked every time I met a new doctor. I'm sure they do that to make sure I'm the right patient or that I'm reasonably coherent. The crazy thing is that when you go through something like this, your senses are so alive you notice even the most minute detail and I have a feeling I will remember every face I came into contact with at the hospital. The staff truly is in a league of their own.
The trauma team used advanced body scanners to assess what was happening inside my body and they knew almost immediately that I had broken bones. As the images came through, the broken bone count increased. Final count was seven broken ribs, numbers 6-12, and one lacerated spleen. They were unsure if I had a neck or spine injury so they asked me to remain flat on my back and wear a neck brace until the next morning. They gave a private room to stay in on the top floor of the pavilion. Staff told me the room was once an office that was converted to a patient room and that it was the largest room on the floor.
Our oldest son who lives nearby was my first visitor and he described the details of the room to me. I asked him to please keep all other family members away until the roads were safe. The next morning, my wife and our daughter visited me. They couldn't believe how beautiful my room was.
"I'm seeing everything in the room for the first time," I said. "They just took my neck brace off before you came in."
I further explained that all the other pavilions only have seven floors so this level is definitely the penthouse. My room had a view to the aircare helicopters. Even the room number, 21, added to all the good luck I was feeling.
There was a great deal of discussion about when to release me and I sat back and listened as the team went through the list of criteria needed for me to go home. The spleen had to be healing okay, the hemoglobin levels had to be moving in the right direction, and I needed to be able to pass some walking and moving tests. I learned a great deal from the occupational and physical therapists on site and promised to follow their suggestions. When they asked how far I could comfortably walk, I answered, "five miles."
My wife, family and extended family have been taking great care of me at home. Today I'm visiting my primary care physician and then return home for rest. As much as I want to chat with friends and family, I need you to know how vital it is for me to go slow right now. My sister, Ann Mazzola, is keeping in touch with me and my wife about my progress and she will be posting FB updates. You can find her on my list of friends on FB. Thank you for your continued prayers. Have a great day.
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