Collapse of the Lung (May 12)

"Jen, I'm afraid to even speak this out loud." "What?" she replied. "I think my lung collapsed again." So began last Saturday morning, getting out of bed at my mother-in-law's in Wisconsin. With her massive surprise birthday party that evening, we wasted little time in taking me to the University of Wisconsin Hospital.

The ideal location, timing, insurance, and connections all were in place when my lung collapsed, forcing me to credit God yet again for taking good care of me, even when it seems like a collapsed lung is more cause for complaint than compliment. Our health insurance had started on the first of the month through Jen's job, so we were covered. Through two connections, one through Jen's friend who works at the hospital and the other through doctors my mom works with in Michigan, the cardiothoracic surgeon instructed us to inform ER he was expecting us. Talk about an in.

The ER folks were nice and not too busy, quickly confirming my lung was indeed collapsed and probably moreso than when it first collapsed last July in Texas. I was not in great pain, only a little short of breath and more sore from my back and shoulder muscles trying to compensate for the lung's limitation. No trauma caused the spontaneous pneumothorax; being a tall, lanky young male increases one's odds. Better than heart disease or cancer I suppose.

The few hours of waiting for my inpatient room were well worth it. I had the room to myself, a flat screen TV, cable, DVD player, cell phone coverage, room service (that's what they called their dining options), and best of all, wireless internet. I misspoke and told someone, "This hotel, I mean hospital, is pretty nice." Exceeding expectations, the surgeon called that evening to explain things and answer a few of my questions. The surprise birthday party went off without a hitch. Jen even came to visit with me that evening and was back bright and early for the pre-op with the surgeon at 6:00 am.

The minimally invasive VATS (video-assisted thoracic surgery) procedure involved two small incisions, one on the front and the other on the back of my chest, as well as a chest tube between the middle ribs for a total of 3 holes. I was under general anesthetic the whole time and didn't feel a thing. The surgeon cut and stapled off the part of my lung that was weak and causing these spontaneous pneumothoraces. Then a pleurodesis was performed to fuse the lung to the chest wall, thereby making it difficult for a pneumothorax to develop again (4% chance of recurrence). The chest tube withdrew bad air, allowing the lung to re-expand. The procedure took about an hour.

I came out of surgery like the last Fruit Loop floating in the bowl of milk, thanking everyone in sight for their good work, proclaiming how good I felt and how thankful I was that my lung was fixed. I vaguely remember the words I spoke; hopefully my hearers quickly forget as well. I slept a lot that day and didn't eat a thing. They set me up with on demand morphine (at the touch of a button) that was kept under lock and key. It made me thirsty, which made me drink and throw up. My throat was sore from the breathing tube used during surgery.

The worst part of the day was trying to suck up a ball of mucus that would not dislodge itself from my throat. I even asked the nurse for suction akin to what they use on you at the dentist's office. After about five minutes and my sore throat worsening, I asked the nurse to take a look. She said she saw nothing. Jen solved the mystery, exclaiming, "It's his uvula!" (translation: the hangy ball in the back of your throat). It was swollen to the size of a quarter. I nearly cried and hit the morphine button again.

I spent the Monday and Tuesday taking things easy and working to regain my strength. Friends and relatives from Wisconsin ate meals with me and visited after work. My mom and grandparents made a surprise visit on Monday. I spent the evenings watching the NBA playoffs as I fell asleep. The Pistons finally won their series after I was discharged.

The surgeon removed the chest tube on Tuesday in one swift motion, revealing the bloody snake that had been inside my chest helping my lung to stabilize. Jen estimated eighteen inches were actually below the surface. I hit the morphine button as much as I could before it was removed. To my surprise, it felt like a gentle thud. I thought something had gone terribly wrong, but all was well.

I was discharged on Wednesday. Fresh air never tasted so good! My chest was sensitive to the bumps in the road. We spent that night in Wisconsin. Thursday, we returned to Chicago. I slept long hours at night and took naps during the day. The pain wasn't much. I felt sluggish, timid, weak and out of sorts in the days that followed. I'm told it's all normal after general anesthesia and a hospitalization. Walking outside, having friends visit and showering in the morning all seem to help. I will return to work this week and see how it goes.

My concluding thought is gratefulness for God's provision, family and friends who supported me through it all, especially Jen, and the wonderful advances in medicine that fixed me up so amazingly. I have to give my compliments to my surgeon and all the other doctors, nurses, aides and staff that cared for me so well at the UW hospital. I hope it never happens again!