AustinPark

In this episode, I awake up to find myself in a recovery room, not the isolation room in the ICU. The medical team had decided to reenter my chest to replace the disolvable suiters with wire suiters and found that I had a massive infection. Instead of closing me back up, they inserted a wound vac to suck out the infection and create an environment for good tissue to grow. That had to be replaced multiple times for several weeks. So I found myself in the operating room every other day while they worked on removing the infection. We also discuss the mental side of the struggle. The importance of staying positive when you are in physical pain even when you laugh. the surprise of being unable to lift your leg high enough to enter the car and go home, and the struggle of walking with an entourage of IV poles and a wagon with your wound vac all connected to you with stitches, and medical tape.

On this day 2005 My mom and I get a phone call at 4am telling us there has been a change and we need to report to the Operating Room immediately. We were staying in a Ronald Mcdonald House (if you have ever donated your change to one of those tip jars, I thank you) as we were extremely poor and qualified for the assistance. This was a good thing as cell phones weren't mainstream and the hospital obviously was connected to the house. I was initially scheduled for the day before as the 3rd operating for the day, but there was an emergency, and I was pushed to the following day. Truth be told I was quite upset with the change. The mental preparation of 15 year old me consisted of actually watching an open heart surgery on YouTube, the movie "Something the Lord Made" and a keen understanding that this might be the end of the line for me. I was ready. I should have been grateful as it gave me an extra day with my siblings and my dad, Todd Park, who I hadn't seen but a few times since the divorce several years prior. But the huge build up of of anxiety and fear was so palpable that even the nurse was concerned about my blood pressure that morning. Even the photo with Santa that day, wasn't lifting my spirits. Delayed to the second slot the following day, we were not required to be in until 8am. So the phone call at 4am saying to be there at 5 was surprising. Turns out, the patient before me broke the "Do Not Eat or Drink" order and was booted from the schedule that day. Rabbit trail: my mom was quite upset that my 8 hour operation was the second surgery of the day, she wanted me to be first so the surgeon was fresh... the lord works in mysterious ways. In retrospect, this was probably a blessing. The morning was such a whirlwind I barely remember the IV being placed, being wheeled through their "bunny room" (it was a children's hospital so there was a toy room) where I snagged the biggest stuffed moose that we affectionately named "Starbucks" and then "coughy", and finally the anesthesiologist gave the first dose of anesthesia that is basically just made me drunk. The curtain rail around my bed was suddenly a snake (which was awesome, btw) and the fish on the curtains were swimming. I remember being wheeled through the OR doors and all 6 people lifting me on a sheet and placing me on the cold table. And though I didnt have both ores in the water at this point, I did have enough wits about me to stop all the activity in the OR. At this point, my 15 year old logic was pretty convinced that it was the end. Convinced that the next time I opened my eyes I would be hanging out with Jesus, I told the staff, that whatever happens, I was grateful for all of them and all the care they had given me to that point and that I know that they did everything they could to save me. It was enough to make one of them cry and go tell my mom, which is the only reason I remembered saying it. Moments later the put a mask on my face and told me it was going to be fine. And that was the start of some of the craziest 3 months in my health history.

In this episode I talk about the events that took place starting when I woke up from my first aorta valve replacement. From waking up in the recovery room with multiple IVs, drainage tubes sticking out of my chest, and still being intubated, to being in my room and moving around and getting ready to go home. Near the end of my planned stay in the hospital I was sitting up in bed and felt a pop in my chest. This set off a chain of events that extended my stay for several weeks and added several months to my recovery. As the infection grew and the resident insisted I was fine, the nurse came to my mom and suggested a protocol that would bypass the resident and get a second opinion. My mom instantly agreed and soon after, this elite team came into my room and saved my life. I was nearly in shock and have very little to know recollection of the events that followed. But when I did wake up next, I was in an isolation room surrounded by every doctor I had ever had in that hospital. The recovery from here was quite extensive and I found myself in the operating room every other day was they swapped out the wound-vac. With everything going wrong it would be easy to consider myself a victim. However, I believe that life happens for you, not to you and that its not what happens to you that dictates your life, it's how you respond to it and what you tell yourself about it. I am not a victim, I will never be a victim. I am stronger because of what I had to endure.