Five years ago -- getting ready

It was Tuesday, April 3, 2007. I would be undergoing transsphenoidal surgery the next morning at United Hospital to remove a pituitary tumor. As the day went on, my siblings started to arrive in Minnesota. My brother Mike, who lives here, had already been around a few times to help out with the kids. My brother Pat and my sister Marge came from their respective homes in Wisconsin. They would spend the next day in the hospital with my wife.

Their support was great to have, but there was more than a little fear underlying the events we were facing. In the years prior to my surgery, hospitals and surgery hadn't been so good for my family. My father had a heart attack in 1990 and had a number of complications following bypass surgery. He eventually died two weeks later of a pulmonary embolism, which happens when a blood clot forms in your leg and travels to your lungs. Ten years later, my mother faced breast cancer surgery. She had had a number of underlying health issues as well, including emphysema from over 40 years of cigarettes. She ended up dying in the hospital five days later.

Everything about this surgery would be, in theory, different than that. I was 15 years younger than my father was and although no one has ever confused me for a great physical specimen, I was not suffering from any serious health issues other than the immediate issue. I had been assured, repeatedly, that the surgery, although complicated, would be fairly straightforward and that the recovery time was predictable. I had mentioned the pulmonary embolism issue to the doctors at United the week before, and they assured me that with the compression devices that hospitals now place on the legs of bedridden patients, the chances of a clot forming were slim. Still, it was tough not to worry. We'd had a lot of worst-case scenarios happen before.

We had a nice visit. My brother Pat brought up several books for me to read. My sister spent a lot of time talking with the kids, catching up with them on their activities and also trying to reassure them that everything would be okay. We told tales of the past and laughed a lot. And we kept smiling, because we knew that this time it was going to be different. We were convinced of it. Or so we told ourselves. As they left for the evening, my sister gave me an enormous hug. "You're going to be fine, Mark," she told me.

"I know, Marge. Nothing to it," I replied.

That's what you have to believe. And we did, mostly. But not entirely.

Next -- a long day at United Hospital