My family has a significant history of cancer. My father died in 1967 at the age of 68 from lung cancer. He was a teetotaller but did smoke. My mother, who also smoked, died in 1975 at the age of 70 from an aneurysm. She enjoyed a sherry drink at Christmas time. A brother died of bowel cancer in 1981 at the age of 49. He neither drank nor smoked. Another sibling did take a drink and did smoke. He died aged 68 in 1998 from bladder cancer.

 Very shortly after my 2005 early retirement from teaching yet another non-smoking and non-drinking brother became seriously ill. He died from stomach cancer. My eldest brother also became victim to same fate passing away on May 3^rd 2007 at the age of 78. He, too, was a non smoker but indulged in the occasional glass of red wine.

As the last of my generation, along with all the children of my own family, and my brothers’ families, I was advised to have regular check-ups. I attended the Blackrock Clinic in August, 2007 for a health screen. Various tests - brain scan, heart check, hearing and prostate tests along with colonoscopy and gastroscopy procedures were carried out. Feedback confirmed high levels of cholesterol and blood pressure. Further checks with my local doctor pointed to the need for healthy eating, weight reduction and exercise. Medication was also prescribed. The general indicators were that high cholesterol and high blood pressure were genetic in my case. Cancer-wise the all clear was given but regular screening would be advisable. However, something else showed up from the 2007 health examination. A vascular ultrasound examination indicated a small build-up of plaque in one of my neck arteries. It wasn’t of immediate concern.

Alarm bells rang in 2009 after a neck scan. The plaque in my left neck artery noted in 2007 had now reached significantlevels. My local G.P. referred me to a vascular surgeon who confirmed a blockage of 65% - 70% + in the artery, the same artery that supplies blood to the brain. There was a high risk of having a stroke at some future date unless something was done about it. I was asked the usual questions. Did I suffer from dizziness or have regular headaches there were particularly bad? I didn’t. I felt a little guilty saying no to the questions. Obviously having these conditions were warning signs for the need of attention. I was lucky the symptoms showed up on the scan. What if I hadn’t had the scan? 

 

 Initial shock gave way to one of relief and the need to confront the issue. Having the corrective surgery involved somewhere in the region of a 1% risk. It was like the chance of being knocked down and killed by a bus while crossing the road. Without surgery there was a 33% chance of a stroke or even worse. It was a no brainer!

It was a first operation and first general anaesthetic. I was admitted to St Vincent’s Hospital in Dublin as a prelude tomy scheduled surgery date, Thursday 22^nd Oct. It gave me time to approach the operation in as relatively a relaxed and prepared state of mind as possible. The nurses and medical staff in the Rowan Ward at St Vincent’s kept regular checks on their Wicklow patient, monitoring cholesterol and blood pressure levels and oversaw other various tests. Their cheerful kindness and attention were very reassuring that I was in the best of medical hands.

Part of the routine included a daily visit from the priest and lay chaplain. Their presence was a comfort but in no way intrusive. If you wished to receive communion or even chat with a chaplain you could but there was absolutely no compunction to do so. They were simply there if patients wanted to engage with them.

In my ward there were three others who were recuperating after their own surgeries. Each of our beds had a number. Behind those statistics, however, were four guys who enjoyed the daily banter, stories and fun that each full day brought. There was a rather funny occasion, mind you not that funny at the time, when my friend directly opposite got a bee sting on his big toe. The panic button summoned four nurses promptly to the scene to deal with this most unusual occurrence. I added to the occasion by saying a bee sting was nothing to worry about. In fact, it was I believed very medicinal as it cured arthritis. That was, of course, if the recipient had arthritis. The confusion dissipated. We found the offending bee and somehow managed to have him unceremoniously thrown out through the window from whence it came.

 

The social and political news of the day was always a topic for discussion. All four exchanged different opinions about Enda Kenny’s plan to reduce the number of T.D.s to Dail Eireann and his commitment to abolish the Seanad if elected Taoiseach. We all had views, some at odds with one another but aired without fear of rank or favour. That was then. In the meantime Enda became Taoiseach. So far no move has been made to reduced the number of our T.D.s. Neither has there been a move to abolish the Senate. Perhaps these issues will surface at the next General Election.

The Irish Times was our preferred choice of newspaper but we also had access to a plethora of others and various magazines which earned us the reputation of being one of the most informed wards in the hospital. We became good friends. When the main lights were switched off for the night we became accustomed to keeping an extra caring eye on one another until early morning.

My surgeon visited me regularly. His last visit was to confirm the operation would proceed as planned. He discussed the routine yet again mentioning surgery time would be around the two hour period. I signed the consent form. The anaesthetist also visited and assured me that he was an important medical cog in the surgical team that would be looking after me.

With my wife by my side I was wheeled down the lonely corridors to the operating theatre. A very caring and friendly nurse from Northern Ireland chatted with me and reassured me I was in the best of caring hands. I actually felt this sense of attention, totally confident that the Lord himself was on my side. Within minutes I was anaesthetised.  

All went according to plan and I was afterwards transported to the H.D.U. (High Dependency Unit) but not before two smiling nurses asking me to stick my tongue out and smile. This was normal procedure after major surgery. They were checking my responses for any obvious signs of paralysis or strokes. My wife and son were momentarily there to welcome me awake from slumber deep. The H.D.U. is a step down from the Intensive Care Unit. The nurses and medical staff kept a 24 hour eye on their patient who was hooked up to all kinds of medical apparatus. This long 24 hour stretch was a most uncomfortable one. I kept tossing and turning a lot being very sensitive to neck soreness.

Nurses checked me on a regular basis. I distinctly recall the change over of staff from the early evening to the night shift. What struck me was how each outgoing nurse would introduce her incoming colleagues to me and the other two patients in the room. The night nurses were fully briefed by their opposite numbers about the three patients’ post-operative conditions. At the end of each bed was a high, large lectern with a patient chart where the medical staff recorded regular information about each patient’s progress while in the H.D.U.

 

    Gentle sips followed by the occasional lengthy sips of water were given to me periodically. There was one sleepless night. The next morning after what seemed to be an eternity I was offered a cup of tea and toast. ‘Did you enjoy your tea and toast, Brian?’ asked Cynthia, my nurse from the Philippines. ‘Like a four course meal in a five star hotel’, I remember replying. After 24 hours I was returned to my own ward. My surgeon visited me early next day and was delighted the way the whole procedure had gone. He was particularly happy with the post-operative examination, so much so that I could go home on the Sunday morning soon after breakfast, a day ahead of schedule.

The artery and neck incisions had been stitched up. I looked battered, bruised and bloodied like Frankenstein’s apprentice with a little numbness in my lower neck region, a condition that would last for about a year. There would be a permanent neck scar that would be hardly noticeable once it blended with the natural folds in my neck. I was pampered by the family, all six of them, who were wonderfully supportive and caring throughout the whole ordeal and were a huge encouragement in my rehabilitation. Driving, lifting things and vacuum cleaning were outlawed. The occasional short car journey in the passenger seat after a few weeks was permissible. Short beach walks and scenting the garden flowers were especially recommended before resuming all those activities I jettisoned in the short term.

 After visiting my vascular surgeon on a number of occasions since my surgery and more recently in January 2011 I finally got the good news. He discharged me as his patient. I am particularly fortunate to have pre-empted a possible stroke or worse. I cannot stress strongly enough how important it is for everyone to have regular medical check-ups. This is especially so for men who are traditionally reluctant in this regard. What if I didn’t have those health screens and surgery’? I might have become one of the statistics of 20 people who suffer a stroke every day in Ireland.

 Stenosis – the narrowing of the artery in the neck – makes the chances of suffering a stroke in the future much higher than in a person who doesn’t have corrective surgery to prevent it. The carotid endarterectomy– the operation I had – will reduce the chances of stroke or worse. That’s a comforting thought!

My more recent heath screen and –oscopy procedures were in July and August 2011. The feedback continues to be positive. That said a healthy diet, regular exercise along with prescribed medication that addresses the high blood pressure and cholesterol levels are all related pluses in keeping my life on an even keel.     

Be checked out.

    

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